Timeless

Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

            There’s this really hyper girl in my science class. Her name’s Sophia. She was a blonde, but around the beginning of September I think she dyed her hair brown with lavender streaks. She’s sorta-kinda-maybe annoying, but I really shouldn’t judge her ‘cause she practically lives on coffee. I swear, every time she walks through the door she’s got two Starbucks coffee cups occupying her hands. I think it may be because of this that her obnoxious behavior has been overlooked by many and has instead gained her a spot up there with the “popular” kids. It seems to me that to be a popular girl in middle school, you either have to be a slut, pretty, (which usually results in being a slut anyway) a flirt, (slut) dramatic, or interesting in some way that’s not normal to the human eye, which means ending up being annoying.

            Sophia was one of these people.

            Now, I am not one of those people. I do my work, (I actually prefer to do my work rather than hang out with other people; Pixie says I need to be more social) I cause no fights whatsoever, and I’m most definitely not a ladies’ man. (For boys though, the only way to really be popular is to be good at sports or a player [like, with girls, you know] or be funny.) So I can utterly say without any sort of doubt or hesitation that I was absolutely astonished—maybe even a little mortified—when Sophia handed me a little blue envelope with Hunter scrawled in very girly handwriting across the opening.

            “You’re invited to my party!” Sophia said happily.

            Okay, let’s back the truck up here. 1) I don’t even know you. 2) How the hell do you know me? 3) Why the hell do you want me at your party? These are the necessary questions that I would’ve loved to have asked her, but all I could really mutter as I stared at the envelope was...well, nothing really. For one, I was speechless, and for another, Sophia was already skipping away down the hallway to hand out more invites. So, it goes without saying that I, Hunter Cale Emerson, had just actually been invited to a party by one of the most popular girls in school. And she knew my name.

***

            “So I saw you got invited to Sophia’s party, too.” London commented on our way home.

            “You got invited?”

            “Yeah, Sophia invited a lot of people she usually hates, I think maybe she’s desperate for people to just show up. You know it’s on the 11th, that’s the day band and orchestra people get to go to Jump Street—or maybe it’s Elitches—and it’s the first three-day weekend in a long time. Most of the regular, popular people aren’t going to be able to go, so I think Sophia’s just trying to get people to come.”

            “She knew my name.”

            “Hey, that’s better than me. Look what I got!” London held out her blue envelope where across the front the name Linton was written out. “Who the hell names a child Linton?” London half-laughed, half-screamed-in-frustration. I had the same thought about the name London when I first met her.

            “Are you going?” I asked.

            “Um...I don’t know. I’ve never been to a party before. And Sophia is throwing a ‘classy party.’ Who the hell throws a classy party in October? What in the world do you do at a classy party?”

            “Eat classy food, play classy games, listen to classy music. Hey, like my name! Hollywood Classic Entertainment!” I realized.