One Big Cliché

Chapter 1

Nicole

          Jake stands there glaring at me. He always seems to be doing that, brows low, dark eyes brooding under a shag of brown bangs. I take a deep breath and roll my eyes at him, flicking my pencil down into the crease of my chemistry book as I pull open my drawer and pull out the fifty that The Wench left for him. He doesn't even wait for me to get up and hand it to him, he just impatiently paces over to me and snatches it from my hand before storming out of my room.

          He's so charming. Really, he's such a great guy.

          Not.

          Maybe it's because I'm not the actual one paying him, maybe because I turned him down when he was still in high school last year, or maybe because he gets a kick out of being a jerk. I don't know. All I know is he's lucky he didn't slam my door shut this time, because I am about one nerve away from snapping at him. I don't, though, because no matter how much I hate him, that hate doesn't block out the memory of him cornering me in the kitchen three weeks ago. Or how nobody else but me seems to notice the way his eyes follow me around the room.

         It's only one day a week, I tell myself. Still, my gaze lingers on my door as I slowly lift my earbud to my ear and press play. I only wait a few more seconds before pulling my attention back to my homework.

          Most people do not like homework, especially Calculus. I am not most people. Numbers make sense to me. They get right to the point. I don't have to figure out some ambiguous, hidden meaning behind the text or try to interpret what it all means and what factors could influence the data. It doesn't evoke feelings or need to be tested. It is one formula with one solution. You don't have to anticipate any undesired outcomes.

          My friends may think I'm crazy, but they don't mind when they need help with their homework. I don't complain when Eddie and Andrew get all geeked out with their video games, or when Claire makes art with her food instead of eating it, or when Max blushes like crazy when Claire talks to him, or when John pretends we don't all already know he secretly likes boys, or when Sarah makes me help her watch her little brother, The Dweeb.

          Alright, so my friends are just as weird as me, and maybe that's why we all put up with each other. Well, Claire has been known to lash out at Eddie and Andrew, but usually for a good reason. They're continuously making pervy jokes and talking about what they'd do to the scandalously clad women in the various videogames they play. Every time I start to feel a little sorry for them, though, they open their mouths.

          I heave out a sigh and check my phone. 4:32. Shoot, I promised Sarah I'd help her watch The Dweeb at five, which means she'll be here to pick me up in 13 minutes so we can be at her place before her parents leave. I sigh again and work on finishing my last few problems; I just hope she gets here before The Wench. I hate when The Wench sees my friends. She tries to talk to them and seem cool, but really she's just talking crap about me and judging them.

          The first time The Wench met Sarah was five years ago. All she could talk about at dinner was, "Nicole's new poor friend, who is probably just using her for her money. Nicole, honey, don't be naïve. Watch your money when you're around her in case she tries to pull something funny." Says the girl who was pouring drinks for sleazy dudes at a bar when she met my dad. Well, my dad isn't sleazy. He just went to work out a business deal. He does that a lot. The deals, not the bars. Although what he saw in The Wench, I'll never know. All I know is that she's been around since I was ten, and the last seven years have been filled with her caked-on makeup and artificial cackle.

          Four more problems and several minutes later, Sarah's rusted blue Volkswagen pulls into my drive, the horn beeping. I shove away from the desk, close my Calculus book (thankfully done with homework), and jog out of my room, down the stairs, and out the door.