Sidelines

P R O L O G U E

Dear diary,

I am Moira Leigh Lowery. Nobody knows me except my best friends and my enemy.

I am the girl at the sidelines. No one knows me and I would like to keep it that way.

Nobody else knows me.

Or so I thought.

____________________________________

As I was sitting during History, I was glancing through the window, looking for a few seconds at the teacher, pretending to be listening. I have always wanted to jump out of the window and feel the adrenaline pumping and the touch of the wind caressing my skin. But it will only last for a few seconds before I touch the ground and feel my breath being washed out of me.

I was 9 storeys from the ground. The bell rang and it seemed like the students were aching for the bell to ring. History has always been dreaded.

“Moi, let's go. My tummy screams for a salad.” Riss told me when I was out of the room.

Clarisse is my best friend. I have always loved her in a friendly way. She likes it when we call her Riss. She's so friendly, smart, and open-minded, and absolutely stunning it hurts, no wonder she's one of the most popular girls here in Melway High, and in this city.

“I'm hungry too.” Margo butted in. She's also a friend of mine.

“You're on a diet Go.” Deb told her.

Debbine Gartener and Marguerite Del Lara. They're super rich and popular. And of course, as stunning as Riss. Although there is something about Clarisse Abigail Brown that makes you want to look twice everytime you pass by her.

Deb, I hate her. Hate is a strong word, but there's something behind those brown eyes that is purely vile. She insults me and my taste for clothing. She judges every move I make and insults my evident flaws.

Speaking of the way I clothe myself, I never dress to impress. I just take what I see, even though if I wore it a thousand times. But, I always prefer wearing jeans and tees instead of tank tops and skirts that boys like. I don't, I grew up conservative, even though my mother forces me to wear skirts and dresses.

“Ew, Moi. That shirt is so er- boyish. You can't sit with us wearing that.” Deb commented. That, that was the much awaited insult. Who does she think she is? Regina George?

The three of them dress to kill. Since they are celebrities- models. Every guy wants to date them, and every girl wants to be them. Maybe except me. I'm just the tag along experiment. Maybe I'm the girl they turn into some hot chick like what Cher did in the movie ‘Clueless’. But they did everything they can for 3 years to turn me into their ‘Cinderella’ and they'll be my godmothers, and I'll owe them. But they did not succeed. I was more stubborn than they thought. So they gave up, and I became- no, not a personal assistant, and no- not a nerd who gives them notes, I became their very own friend. Maybe except for Deb, we have bad blood.

Everytime a person greets them by name, they just skip me. I'm like some invisible force or something. I'm just the girl on the sideline, giving them advice and vice versa. Boys talk to them and ignore me, never sparing me a glance. Sometimes they introduce me to the people they know, but they just give me a simple ‘hi’ and that's it. Am I really that plain and boring? Maybe...

“Deb, how many times do I have to tell you!? She can sit with us anytime. If you can't stand being with her, then leave.” Riss snapped at her.

Deb's eyes got big and then narrowed it. Then she crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. She pissed, I sensed it. “Fine, I'll leave. There's nothing special about her anyway. In fact, she shouldn't even be hanging around with us.” she said with venom. Then she glared at me and walked away, her hair slapping my face.