A gay adaptation of "Mean Girls," newcomer Caden Marshal moves to an Illinois suburb after being homeschooled in Barbados by his scientist parents. As he navigates public school, he falls in with " The Plastics," a popular clique, but soon realizes...
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Chapter Two| The Plastics
After waking up with a severe headache from crying myself to sleep, I came to the realization that this is probably how the average American teenager starts their day.
Miserable.
Wandering through the halls on my second day of school, while trying to find my next class, was almost as challenging as it had been on the first day. The students who would stop in the middle of the hall to chat were nearly as irritating as those who shuffled along slowly. It took me several frustrating minutes, but I finally found my classroom after passing it at least 20 times. As I stepped inside, I couldn't help but notice everyone staring at me, their eyes following my every move. It felt like I was under a spotlight, and I wondered what they were thinking. Trying to shake off the nerves, I quickly held my head down and quietly made my way to a seat beside two people who had kindly helped me avoid the awkwardness of choosing a seat the day before.
After settling into my seat, I took out my notebook and began copying what was written on the board. Despite my best efforts to understand the text, I struggled due to the terrible handwriting—it resembled that of a 5-year-old. Since my mother first told me I would attend a real school, I dreaded encountering teachers with messy handwriting. It was a pet peeve of mine, especially since I was used to neat handwriting and possessed that trait myself.
As I continued to write down the notes, the boy sitting beside me reached for my hair, and our heads gently bumped. "Wow, your hair is fucking amazing," he marveled, his eyes tracing the intricate pattern of the long cornrows with admiration. "It's like my ultimate hair goal. I need to get my hands on whatever Caribbean hair product you're using, because this shit is fye!" he exclaimed, his voice tinged with genuine awe. His fingers twitched, as if itching to feel the texture of my hair for themselves, eliciting a slightly awkward chuckle from me.
The girl sitting beside him gently grabbed his hands and politely removed them from off of my hair. "Damon, maybe ease up on your 'gay paws' with our new friend here," the girl interjected, her tone tinged with genuine concern. Damon rolled his eyes but complied, returning to his notetaking. "Sorry about that," she continued, her voice softening, "He's dealing with a condition that affects his brain function and thoughts."
