FRIDAY'S GIRL ·ϿʘϾ·

Chapter 1

And so, the long-awaited Thursday, August 24th, finally arrived. Yay! Another year at this 'wonderful' dump of a high school. packed with brainless idiots, jerks, and annoying pests, a real hotbed of testosterone and estrogen. I can almost see those hormone-driven teenagers fighting each other, like wild animals in the jungle, all desperate to be special and stand out in the midst of so much mediocrity.

"1, 2, 3, 4..." I murmured to myself, huddling in the uncomfortable seat of my sister's old Ford. The peeling paint on the hood screamed that it was at least fifth-hand. I breathed in and exhaled slowly a few times to try to calm myself, while outside, several kids ran towards the school bus. Their laughter echoed distantly transporting me back to a time when there were no worries. I felt a pang of nostalgia for those days that would never return.

As that rickety heap rolled down the road, I couldn't help but notice how dry my mouth was getting and how my leg started shaking compulsively. And it wasn't just because I dreaded going to Saint Therese of Lisieux High School, but also because of my constant struggle with my weight. Since I was little, I've always carried the humiliating burden of being overweight and having no self-esteem. I secretly always wanted to be thin, to wear fashionable clothes without feeling judged, avoiding being the target of my classmates' cruel jokes.

My sister Lucy hummed along to a song on the radio, oblivious to my discomfort. That catchy rhythm momentarily distracted me. Seeing her so calm, confident, and beautiful only made me feel more inadequate. She constantly reminded me that no matter how much I wished for it, I would never be like her.

"Cheer up, little sis, you're starting to look like a Tim Burton character every day." With a couple of turns of the steering wheel, she parked her beat-up car in front of the school entrance.

"I don't know who that is," I lied, trying hard to curl my lips into something resembling happiness, but the gesture felt forced, like a theater mask.

Lucy would never understand what it felt like to be an intruder in your own skin, in your own life. My brilliant sister would never understand what it was like to be an outcast, not fitting in with anyone. Much less with those lucky students who lived in the Green Valley Creek neighborhood at the foot of the hill. Their parents earned decent salaries, though not quite astronomical enough to live in the upscale area where the truly rich kids resided, those who attended Green Valley Prep, savoring the pleasures of the good life.

In contrast, my family rented a 650-square-foot house in the most economical part of the Cottonwood neighborhood, south of Fairfield. Our mini-home had only one bedroom, one bathroom, and a kitchen-living room. Mom, Lucy, and I made do as best we could, stretching our budget to the max. We were always counting every penny to make ends meet.

"You look like Wednesday Addams. Her dance went viral on social media recently. It's weird you haven't seen it," murmured Lucy thoughtfully while I pretended not to have any idea what she was talking about. Sometimes I play dumb while laughing inside, having a good time with myself. How wicked I am, Jesus! And how much I enjoy other people's confusion!

"Thanks for brightening my day," I said with complete indifference. "Now I'll go shoot myself. But don't worry, I'll mention you fondly in my suicide note."

Some might say I'm a bit antisocial—and maybe that's true, I won't deny it—although, from my perspective, I prefer to think of myself as a survivor or, as my sister says, "traumatized." The truth is, anxiety has stuck to me like gum to a shoe. I have a lot of social anxiety, generalized anxiety, nighttime anxiety, daytime anxiety, anxiety about the future, anxiety about not measuring up in my studies, anxiety, ANXIETY, ANXIETY!

"I hate it when you say things like that, April. Instead of sulking, you should smile. Today could be a great day!"

"Yeah, sure, and if you want, I'll skip along singing 'Shake It Off' by Taylor Swift," I replied, struggling to get my seatbelt off. My clumsiness made me even more anxious.