It was cute the way Lyra was such a paradox. She wore plaid skirts and corduroy pants to collect creepy insects from the mud. Always coming into the dorm with dirt dusting her knees and palms. The way she crossed her legs when she sat with a book in her lap yet burped louder than any grown man I’d heard after downing a can of Coke. How she could be so soft, so feminine, yet do something that would be viewed as tomboyish. I admired the way she was able to balance out the pieces of herself so easily.
