Alanna swallowed, and carefully placed the piece of fruit she had been peeling on the shimmering plate in front of her. Absently, she noticed that she had managed to carefully remove every piece of the skin and white pith from only a quarter of the orange, in what had to be a record for the slowest peeling in the history of oranges. She had been purposefully drawing out removing the skin from the fruit, knowing that if she ever reached the stage of placing a segment in her mouth, she would look like a cow endlessly chewing the cud as she attempted to pulp it enough to squeeze down her tight throat. Helene's hand under her elbow steadied her as she rose on her shaky legs. 'I will not look at him', she vowed silently to herself, while Helene shook out the soft, silken folds of her gown, but her eyes betrayed her, darting shyly across the table, to where the men remained seated.
Forget all the youth and university books you've ever read. Because more than half of the books you read contain many clichés. As someone who does not like to write clichés, I promise you my dear reader, I will do my best to prevent my book from becoming a cliché. This story was written for the competition.