Revenge is Best Served Sexy

Chapter 1

I walk into my homeroom class just like every day. The only difference being that today is my birthday. I don't expect to get any well wishes or "happy birthdays". I never do. And honestly, that's fine with me. I only have roughly, six months, and twenty days left in this hell hole until I finally get to start my actual life, but who's counting? I walk over and and sit down next to my best friends Zack, and Amy. We've been friends since middle school when I moved from Virginia to Atlanta. And somehow when the rest of the world turned on me, they remained loyal. Also, I tutor them both in pre-calculus, so they need me.

Am I the school weirdo? No, that's Andy. Which is honestly not fair. He didn't mean to wet his pants that one time during freshmen year when we were forced to do 100 sit-ups in PE. Now, I can't say anything about the time he ate a snail off the ground in middle school, but, people are cruel. They often forget all the times you were normal, which is most of the time, and never forget the one time you did that weird thing.

So, no I'm not the weirdo, and thank god for that. My curse is being born with bad vision and developing a mind for math. I know what you're thinking, "Oh my god check your privilege. Some people would love to have bad vision if only they could see!" I know, I know, it's insensitive of me, but this is my story, so you check your privilege.

Anyway, I've had to wear glasses since I was three. And it was cute when I was little, but when you have to get your glasses made out of aquarium glass you can tell me how cute it is. Also, I understand that being smart doesn't seem like a curse. And if I'm getting to the root of the problem here, being labeled "gifted" isn't it. It's the pressure to perform that sucks. It's the nail-biting, 'a lion is going to jump out and tear my leg off' brand of anxiety that consumes my thoughts before every test or assignment, and the crippling guilt I feel when my nights of studying result in anything less than an 'A'. That's what sucks. I would probably suck more if I didn't get that intoxicating rush of dopamine every time I turn a paper over to an 'A' and a smiley face etched on the front. But hey, gotta get my fix somehow. Everyone's addicted to something, I like to say.

If I were a Bill Gates or Marie Curie type of 'gifted' it might be welcome. But I'm more of the 'Oh what's that girl's name again? She was top of the class, but one time she tried to educate me about aphid anatomy. Yeah, she was odd.' Kind of girly. I'm above average at best and socially challenged at worst. I think it's some kind of divine trade off, and anyone who has both brains and charisma can kiss my ass. Or not, because they might very well be a serial killer.

In the spirit of my therapist, I will add that despite my less-than-perfect eyes and generalized anxiety disorder, Amy says I could be in a Neutrogena commercial for how clear my skin is. She also asks frequently if my mom secretly gives me fillers to keep me looking young to which I can never decide if I should be grateful or offended. Also, we are only seventeen. Well, I guess I'm eighteen now, but I'm pretty sure that's still young. I always end up explaining to her that my mom isn't that kind of doctor. No, she's the one who cuts things out of people.

"Yeah but you've gotta have something that's keeping you so skinny!" Amy had argued once when we were younger, "Did she import a tapeworm from Mexico? Or, let me guess, you're on a weight loss shot. Because I've seen how much you eat, and there's no way you look like that without secretly being an Olympic swimmer."

"First, don't food shame me. I'm just a hungry person. Second, I've got a fast metabolism. Third, tapeworms are extremely dangerous and I'm pretty sure it's illegal. And Fourth, thank you." I had replied from behind my hand pretending to blush even though I hated it when someone pointed out my protruding collarbone or thigh gap.

Turns out, I have something called Grave's disease. So yes, I was always hungry. And no, it wasn't actually hot when it snowed outside. It was just me. Constantly sweating. And while some of my anxiety stemmed from my parent's divorce when I was nine, I'd say about fifty percent of it came from my thyroid gland giving the rest of my body the middle finger as it pumped loads of T4 into my system.