Inhuman

Chapter 1 - Average

Average
Adjective - 1. constituting an average. 2. usual or ordinary. 3 mediocre.

Well that's what the dictionary says anyway.

In my dictionary, under average, there are just three words, comprised of eleven letters. Amy Rose Wren.

It's always been the only way to describe me. Average. It's all I am.

I'm an average height (5'5), average body shape (stick out a bit in the middle and still more in the chest), average hair (dark brown and reaching to just below my shoulders), average complexion (pale with freckles that make me look like someone's been let loose on me with a paint sprayer), average knowledge (mostly B's across the board, with the occasional A), average friends (there are populars, geeks, emo's, grungers, all sorts), average family (parents and two point four kids, me, my sister and another little one on the way).

Basically, I can't find anything in my life that isn't vaguely average. Even my sister is a bit more interesting. At least she has some interesting stories about how people have been taunting her because of her name. It's the only thing I hold against my parents. Seriously, when your surname's Wren, you don't call your daughter Jennifer. Ok, yeah it's cute when they're younger, 'Little Jenny Wren' and all that, but when she gets to twelve, she will get picked on. There's no escaping it.

The only thing that doesn't make me your average 'sweet' sixteen year old is the fact that I don't let my hormones take the wheel and run down everyone near and dear to me. In other words, I don't get stroppy very often, and more importantly, I don't go drooling after boys. My friends have on several occasions wondered if it was because I didn't fancy boys, but when they worked out that I didn't fancy girls either, they simply assured each other that I just hadn't found the right person yet (either that or I was dead inside). At any rate, I let my friends do my fair share with boys. Sophie's been out with tonnes of boys (I'm not surprised though, she's un-averagely pretty with her short blonde hair, pale skin and bright blue eyes), and most of my other girl friends spend their time drooling over boys. Tasha spends much of her time keeping me up to date with the current hotties in her life, and when she's not she's faffing about if her longish light brown hair really brought out her periwinkle blue eyes or whether she should try some other colour. Meanwhile Lucy seems to spend every other minute freaking out about the various guys she likes and whether they would go for her, being that she was taller than average and her hair tied in a high ponytail giving the impression that she was several inches taller than she was. I prefer to hang out with my guy friends, Charlie and James, at times, since they don't spend their time drooling over hot guys. It's quite nice like that. They mean so much to me, the two guys. Charlie I'd grown very protective of over time and now I suffered an almost mother like complex with him, maybe it was because of his longish scruffy brown hair making him seem younger... and his brilliant blue eyes that seemed to stand out... they had no earthly business of being there... like an octopus in a flower bed... you heard me, an octopus... James meanwhile had a habit of making me laugh at stupid things that most people wouldn't find amusing, and I have reason to believe it was him that warped my sense of humour so badly. Whether he was impersonating Eric Morcambe using his glasses as his only prop, or pretending to impale me on his spiked dark hair, James always knew how to make me smile.

For a while, things were ok like this. Then came the terrifying letter that the rest of my friends went nuts over.

"PROM LETTERS!" shrieked Tasha rushing up to me after one form time holding the crushed piece of paper in her hand.

I blinked before diving into my bag and pulling out the piece of paper I'd carelessly shoved in there. Sure enough, details of the Prom were plastered across the page in clear black and white.