How to Be Cliche (A Novel)

(3) Oh No She Didn't

Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay! Anyone want to make me some banners? <3

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            Mondays.

            Oh, Monday's. Where do I even begin with you? Why are there even Monday's? Why can't it just be Friday and the weekend? Why must people get up in the wee hours of the day after struggling with Insomnia the whole night, forcibly get clothes on, and get out the door before they're "late?" Oh, I know.

            Work. Workidy-work.

            And school.

            School.

            School.

            I know what you're thinking. Why hasn't that pesky alarm clock on the side of my bed buzzed so I can smack it with my hand? Wait for it...wait for it....

            Yeah, no. I didn't own an alarm clock and my mom and dad were at work. However, I do have Salt.

            Wiping the slobber off of my face from Salt, I pushed him to the side and slid one of my legs out of the bed. Moaning, I forced myself to pull my other one over as well, and sat on the edge of my bed, my hair entirely in knots and all over my face.

            "This is going to be a terrible day, Salt," I said, scratching Salt's butt as he backed up into me on the bed. "This high school is going to be the death of me, I just know it. There's going to be rich, snobby guys with perfectly swooped hair like Justin Bieber. There's going to be girls with acne-free skin and bleach blonde hair, putting their fake chests in my face. Just watch, Salt, I'm going to walk into that school, introduce myself as Plain Jane, and some crazy cheerleader is going to tackle me to the ground and force makeup on my face. I just know it."

            "And the worst part of it all? I don't want to be noticed by these people. I want to blend in. But damn it, I'm going to blend in like White Out tries to blend in paper, and even though it tries, and tries to blend in, if you look closely, you can see the difference. All of that struggling, all of those attempts for that bottle of White Out to finally fit in with the paper, and you can still find that White Out, still peel it off and laugh at it's feeble attempts to become one with el papel. That's Spanish for paper. As big as this house is, our cable isn't hooked up right, we only get Dora the Explorer. But you wouldn't know that, would you, bud? You haven't conformed to this disturbing, clichéd society with iPhones and--and those Easy Bake ovens they came out with that somehow makes banging mac and cheese and cookies. Now I'm really ranting... And I'm hungry. I guess what I'm trying to say, Salt, is that I love you for being--"

            Salt let one rip right in my face.

            "Thank you for that, Salt," I said sardonically. Suppressing a gag, I got up from the bed and walked to my full length mirror and took in my appearance.

            Good god, woman, my inner Pepper spoke to me. You need to wax those caterpillars on your face that you call eyebrows, pronto. How are you going to land a hot billionaire at this new school? This is your chance!! You're in billionaire Play Boy paradise!

            I turned myself away from the mirror, blinking back tears.

            Great, now I was going to cry?  Was The Titanic suddenly playing in the background or something? Yes, I could hear Celine Dioon singing in the distance. "Don't die, Jack Dawson!" I whispered to myself. "Let the bitch drown, let her drown and survive. Survive!"