[ON HOLD] The Chronicles Of Your Average High School Loser

WEEK 4.10 OF SEP 26th

Monday

        Sharon surprised me today. She asked me to go shopping with her tomorrow.
Hmm. I don't know . . . should I . . .  like YESYESYESYESYESYESIWOULDLOVETOTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU!!!
        i didn't say that though. I attempted flipped my hair like she does and went, "Pssh, okay whatever, I'll go. Tomorrow, when?"
        She raised her eyebrows, as though surprised at my super witty response. Ha, ha. Then she sort of smiled, and shrugged. "That's awesome, and, um,  hmm . . ." (it wasn't too stupid to overlook the fact that someone isn't supposed thinks of the details after they invited you, right?) "Five? Five thirty?"
        I pursed my lips, all cool like (I thought) and slurped, "Kay, that's cooooool."
        She pressed her lips together, as if suppressing laughter. But she couldn't be, because I was being cool. Not funny. Cool.
        "Okay then," she hitched her designer bag over her shoulder, and looked down at her phone, already taking big steps backwards. "See ya whenever."
        Yes.

Tuesday

Today was a disaster. It was absolutely chaotic. Havoc. Pandemonium! Whatever the heck you would like to call a bad situation. And I can't even begin to describe what hath occurred today. See?! I have even resorted to my British language (or whatever you call it) to emphasize that I'm mad. I always resort to this when I'm mad. Ask Mom. Or Dad. Or Juliet. Cause I'm mad now. I'm so mad that I think I will tell you everything that happened today. Yes. I will.
        Okay, so, I rushed home from school cause I was obviously super duper excited for this and jumping out of my toes with anticipation. Juliet was on the couch talking on the phone with Mom, but when I screamed out why I was so jubilous, she dropped her phone and ended the call and flew me up to her room.
        Her sisterly instincts kicking in as she basically scrubbed me bald and flesh-less with everything she caked onto my hair and face. She had this creepy wide grin on her face the entire time, muttering how her little baby sister was growing up already. For the record, I have been a teenager for two years now, and am about to become sixteen in only a short two months. But that is besides the point.
        She also made me wear skinny jeans. I told her that I'd prefer to wear the plaid skirt I always wear but she snapped at me to never ever suggest that to her face ever again. I closed my mouth after that.
        She made sure I didn't wear my headband too. I didn't argue that time.
There was a sharp honk outside, and then Juliet squeezed my hand and slipped in four twenties, handed me her white leather purse, and whispered, "you now owe me a hundred, plus interest," and push me down the stairs, blowing me a kiss as I left.
        I rushed outside, my body nearly exploding from the sheer excitement. Sharon's car was long and black and lean. But no one offered to open the door for me, but it was unlocked so I entered myself, wearing this big goofy grin that probably matched the one Juliet was wearing previously. 
        Sharon, who was occupying the drivers seat, greeted me with a small smirk and a nod of her head. Shotgun next to her was taken by Kristy, so I sat in the back with Dakota and Milandianne. I grinned at them, and Dakota raised her brows high, and Milandianne shifted a little.

        Sharon drove us to Macy's. When we parked and entered, she immediately led the way, as if she just knew exactly where she was going. She started sifting through the racks of hangers, pulling some out and shaking her head no and putting them back in. How come the the others were just standing there, looking at each other and giggling? 
        But I forgot about it when she pulled out an outfit and finally nodded yes. It was a very . . . inappropriately made dress. The neck line dipped low, the hem hung up way to high, it was excessively tight, and colored neon yellow.
        To be frank, it was the definition of ugly.
They didn't seem to think so, though.
        "OMG, it's gorgeous!"
        "So pretty!"
        "It's a must have."
        "Wear it," Sharon commanded.
I shifted uncomfortably. "but -"
        "You don't know what's in, Charlie. But we do. Wanna be one of us? Wear the dress."
So I took it.
        They herded me to a restroom instead of a changing room, and shoved me inside. I passed a row of three weird looking sinks on my way to the stall, but I ignored it and changed. When I finally emerged, I though I would see them their to speculate over my beauty. They weren't there. But guess what I did see. 
        I saw that there were three men at the weird sinks. Three men, and not one of them was washing their hands.
       It hit me like a truck. They tricked me. How did I not see it coming?!
        The men at the toilets stared at me in my ridiculously skimpy attire. Nothing wrong or bad happened, but either way, I don't think I need to explain the rest of the night. I think you get the point. 

Wednesday

Picture day is on Monday the first. I am not looking forward to it. I'll have to do my hair and dress up and put on makeup. I already know that something will go wrong. Can't you feel it? I can almost literally see the Fates laughing at me from their quilt, sowing in my unfortunate future that was yet to come. Yet to come and to come to go wrong.

Thursday

Nigel asked me at the library at lunch.
        I did. (I don't really enjoy lunch anyway. Eating alone isn't really my thing. And plus Nigel couldn't be much worse.)
So what was there to loose?
A whole heck of a lot, that's what. Cause guess what he had? Another love letter he wrote. Grooooaaaannnn.
        I stood up when he took it out and said I needed to use the bathroom.
        "You don't like it," he said.
        "No, it's not that . . ."

        "You don't like me either."
        I turned to leave, but he grabbed my wrist.

        "Tell me why you don't like me. Tell me what to do to make you like me. I'll do it, I'll change. I'll be whatever you want me to be."
        I was getting creeped out, cause I'm just not used to guys like liking me. It was always just Nigel. But now it turned to this. And I DID (AND STILL DO) NOT LIKE IT.

        I wrenched my arm away, and muttered, "Leave me alone."
        "Do you think I'm a loser?"
        I took a few steps back. WhatdoIsaywhatdoIsay? He is a loser. Am a loser. He likes me for real now I think. But I don't. I know. Why couldn't he just leave me alone?"
        He stood up with me. "Is that why?" he snapped.

        "Nigel . . ." people were staring at us. At me. I needed to get out. Like now.
        "Don't you know? You're a loser too! Why can't we be losers together?"
        Mrs. Gabriel looked up from her book, startled. But for once I just didn't care anymore.
        "YES! YES, I KNOW! I KNOW THAT I AM A LOSER. I KNOW I AM! BUT YOU MAKE EVERYTHING WORSE! THERE IS NOTHING BETWEEN US! THIS DOESN'T MEAN ANYTHING, OKAY? WE ARE FRIENDS. THAT IS IT. SO JUST LEAVE ME ALONE IF YOU WANT ANYTHING MORE, CAUSE GUESS WHAT?! YOU WILL NOT BE GETTING IT."
        The librarian stood up briskly. "Ex-ca-use me? Don't you know that this is a library?"
        I turned and fled out the door. Running seemed to be the only way out.

Friday

Today is when we hand in our maths homework. We're learning the roots of a quadratic, a bunch of equations we needed to complete using the quadratic formula. Which I totally know. I just can't remember it.

        Since the Macy's incident, I've spent most of my time up in my room, locked away and writing or reading. Nigel came over again (to play with Annabelle, he told Mom). He also told Mom about our fight, and she's waiting 'til I come out of my room to force us to be "friends" again. She says it's a way to make me feel socially accepted and SALVE my conscience. Conscience? What conscience? It's not my fault Nigel chooses to be a rude, obnoxious put-down stalker.
        I finally finished my homework because Annabelle was occupied and wasn't screaming and Juliet wasn't blasting her pop-music. And let me note, I rarely ever complete my maths because I don't see why I should waste my time on something I know I can't do. But today was different. I did do it.
        But she must have somehow escaped from Nigel's sight, because she sort off waddled into my room and said, "I forgot to go to baffroom, Charwie."
        I didn't understand.
"I no make it."
        "What?"
        "I pooed."
        I leapt up from my post on the bed and flew to the window, flinging it open and wafting out the bad air. When I turned around to take her smelly butt to the bathroom for changing, I saw that she already had her pants down, and was trying to wipe her bottom. And guess what she was using.
        Mr. Garret won't believe me. He says it's just one of my ingenious excuses for being a slacker and not handing in my homework. I must admit it would be a great excuse if I hadn't done it.
        Which I had.