nerd.

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just a quick author's note, this was my very first book on here so please forgive any mistakes or gaps in the plot. its not my best writing so please don't comment about the plot being wrong, etc as i had just started to write when i published this. thank you, and enjoy :)

Arielle Evans

"Oh, Little Mermaid!" A high voice screeches behind me. I snort and keep walking, ignoring Chelsea, the head cheerleader who picks on me every day. I feel someone tug on my hair, and I whip around, my long hair smacking Chelsea across the cheek.

"Excuse you, Mermaid!" She shrieks, her face turning red. She fixes her obviously dyed blonde hair back into a side-part whilst glaring at me. I look down at my worn knockoff Toms and adjust my glasses. "So, Mermaid, I heard it's your birthday today."

"Yes," I answer quietly.

"So that must mean you have a gift or some crap, yeah? Hand it over," she demands. I blink back tears when I think of what she will do if I don't give it to her so instead I unzip my bag and sift through it. I pull out the red velvet cupcake my mom had packed me and hand it to Chelsea, looking down so I can avoid her angry glare. "That's it? God, Arielle, your mom must actually hate you like everyone says," she laughs. She takes it and glares at me evilly before sashaying away. I sprint through the crowd that was watching us and into the bathroom. I push the heaviest trash can in the bathroom against the door and let my tears fall freely. I press my back against the wall, remove my glasses, and freely sob into my arms, in a crouching position. I am so glad I didn't let my mother talk me into wearing makeup this morning. I knew this would happen. A knock interrupts my sobbing, but I ignore it.

"Go away!" I cry. Another knock. Thinking it's just Miss Robinson, my guidance counselor, I push the trash can out of the way and open the door, wiping my tears. Just my luck. Mason Richards stands outside the door, his hands in his pockets. The second I see him, I start to shut the door. He stops it with his foot, much to my annoyance. He winces at the same time I do when I hear a sickening crack from the foot he jammed in the door. 

"Are you okay?" He asks.

"Are you?" I ask softly. My anger bubbles at the fact that he's one of them too but I feel awful for what I did to his foot. 

"It's alright, I'll go get some ice later. Right now, I just want to help you."

"Just go away, Mason, please." I beg.

"I just want to help you, Arielle." He says calmly, unfazed by my outburst.

"No, you don't!" I weep. "You're one of them, Mason. You're one of the populars. All you guys have ever done and all you ever will do is torture me." 

"Arielle-"

"Please, Mason, leave." I beg, my voice just barely above a whisper. He sighs and nods, leaving me alone to cry. I wipe my tears after a few minutes, blow my nose into the cheap toilet paper at our school, and walk out of the bathroom. A few snickers and giggles resound from around me, and I struggle keeping my cool. I open the door to my advanced math class, and my teacher, Mr. Young, gives me a sympathetic look before continuing. I zone out as usual as he continues talking, because I already have this lesson and the next six finished. I rest my head on the palm of my hand and stare at my teacher's messy handwriting on the chalkboard. A piece of paper whacks me in the ear, and I wince from the sting. I ignore it, knowing it is another insult note. Just like the ones I get every single day. More fly at me, and I wince from the stinging pain all over my face as they hit me.

"Enough!" Mr. Young roars from the front of the classroom, just as I wipe the first tear from my eye. "There will be no more notes or insults thrown at Arielle, is that understood?" Murmurs come from every person in the room, but sure enough, the notes stop. Mr. Young gives me another sympathetic look before dismissing us to do our independent work. I scribble down the answers, knowing each one by heart. I stand and walk up to Mr. Young's desk, stumbling over none other than Mason's desk. Insults like "clumsy", "teacher's pet", and "nerd" are thrown at me in hushed whispers. I ignore them and hand in my paper. Mr. Young smiles at me and immediately begins to grade my paper, handing it back to me with my usual 100% on it. I grin anyhow and make my way back to my seat, this time being careful around the desks. I step over a leg that had tried to trip me and plop down in my seat with a sigh.