Awkward.

 1. That Awkward Moment When You Realize You're Awkward

“They’re my blow job nails!”

Freeze frame. There are moments where you just need to take a step back and evaluate the situation. Take time to ponder the poor choices that led up to that moment and face cold, hard facts. For example, come to the understanding that you are, indeed, a nobody. No matter how hard you try to change the label that’s been firmly slapped across you forehead since the moment you began your academic life. Think of a Twix commercial. Without the chocolaty treat or a happy ending.

As I stare across the sticky table at my childhood friend, her lips painted with an impenetrable coat of lip-gloss and pulled back over her teeth in some sort of grin, I question my life.

I am not special. I am not unique, nor am I a loner. I am just…there. I’m the girl everyone overlooks. I have friends, but I am a pawn in their life. The co-star of whatever adolescent adventure they’re living out. If my life were a movie, I would not be front and center. I’d be the random chick in the background picking up papers she dropped as Lindsay Lohan learns about how hard high school is. I’m an extra.

When faced with any sort of drama or confrontation I turn into a horrible, socially unacceptable beast. My mingling skills exceed no higher than small talk about the latest MTV show and I am undeniably awkward. It’s not that I always say the wrong thing (though, I must admit, this is the case most of the time) awkward situations just seek me out. I’m the Pide Piper of uncomfortable circumstances.

 I learned early on that I am not destined to have the picture book high school experience commercialism prepared me for. And, being the efficient little bugger I am, I learned to just roll with it. I am the perfect friend. Being able to blend into the sidelines as your peers achieve greatness is almost a blessing.

My weekends involve holding back hair as girls convulse over buckets, toilets, and trashcans. I spend weeks planning extravagant birthday parties, keeping the snack table and alcohol replenished as the star of the show has the time of his or her life. My listening skills are uncanny, partly because I never have much to say. I was made for this.

But as I cringe away from the sparkly pink talons Katie has shoved into my face, I feel something…different. Almost something lonely.

I want to get blowjob nails. I want someone to give a blowjob to. As horrific as it sounds, it’s true. Never before have I felt this nagging, sickening need for a guy.

I stood back and watched as Katie flung her self into the realm of boys. I comforted her when she lost her virginity, bought a pregnancy test during one of her many scares, helped her sneak around without the three clueless guys knowing. I watched all of this without ever needing the help of a boyfriend. But out of nowhere, in the middle of a mall food court, that has changed. Shit.

“Pheebs? Phoebe?” Katie taps my temple, her mouth still hanging open as it usually does. I shake my head and sit up.

“Sorry, Kat. Yeah, they’re gorgeous,”

“Oh, I know!” She gushes, cradling her fingers to her chest like a kitten.

Katie is the epitome of hot. Her make up is perfection, as well as the countless outfits she adorns. The shiny black locks that cascade down her shoulders are practically manmade they have so much product in them, but they’re still soft and gorgeous. Her bone structure would turn a Greek goddess green with envy and she’s taller than most of the guys she dates. I’m not sure when it happened, sometime the summer before our freshman year, when she turned into this bombshell. No longer is she my gawky sidekick; her baby fat vanished almost as quickly as her almost eating disorder appeared, she now cares about self hygiene and has an actual schedule for what face masks to wear on what days of the week, she goes running willingly and she is a flirtatious minx that known no bounds.