Anvaila Emerson, a vibrant party lover, juggles her crush on Kevin Diaz, the basketball team captain, and the return of mysterious Austin Smith to senior year. Caught in a high school drama, Anvaila faces the complexities of emotions, friendships, a...
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"You ever notice how easy it is to tell people what not to do? Like, I’m basically a professional at it. I’ll tell my friends, ‘You should really stop overthinking everything,’ meanwhile, I’ve been awake since 3 AM deciding whether the sweater I wore two weeks ago still has the vibe I’m going for today. Spoiler alert: it doesn’t. So, now I’m running late because I had a full-on fashion crisis.
Or when I tell people, ‘Don’t worry about what other people think of you!’ And then I’m standing in front of the mirror, practicing the exact way I’m going to say ‘hey’ to the girl who works at the coffee shop. Like she’s ever going to remember if I said it with a confident tone or like an awkward duck. But do I let that stop me from rehearsing? Absolutely not.
Oh, and here’s the big one: I’m always telling people, ‘Don’t stress out about school, just relax.’ Like I didn’t just have a mini meltdown in chemistry class because Kevin looked at me and breathed in my general direction at the same time. What do I do? I make a whole scene, and my friends? They’re like, ‘Vinny, take your own advice!’ Ha! Yeah, no thanks. Why would I do that when I can just bottle up my stress and then let it explode when I get home and trip over the cat? Classic me.
But here’s the thing: hypocrisy is an art. You’ve got to commit to it. It’s like I’ve got two modes—‘Wise Sage’ to everyone else and ‘Hot Mess Express’ to myself. And honestly? I wouldn’t have it any other way. Keeps life interesting. Plus, who else is going to give me this level of entertainment if not me?"
I was in the middle of committing a terrible crime—swiping Jade’s favorite chocolate bar. As her "baby sissy," I had a moral duty to protect her from the perils of chocolate, right? Right. Life’s short, and chocolate this good? Even shorter.
There I was, mid-bite, savoring the sweet, guilt-laden goodness when my crime was suddenly, horribly discovered.
“ANVAILA AUGUSTINE EMERSON!” Jade’s voice tore through the house like a tornado hunting for its next victim. My heart leaped into my throat, and the chocolate bar slipped from my hand, landing on the floor with a depressing little splat. She used my full name. Not good.
