Dark Rider

1

Western Heights, Texas

God I'm so obsessed with him, I sat in the cafeteria thinking as I watched him approach Jamie Goodman. Jamie Goodman the walking highschool cliché of Western Heights. Cheerleader? Check! Platinum blonde hair with glacial blue eyes? Check! Toned, long gazelle legs with perky large breasts which may or may not be real? Check! Dating the most popular, smexy ass boy in school? Check! Check! Motherfreaking check!

I of course, do not have long legs. I'm only 5'4. I'm also not white. My complexion is the color of a paper sack and I have a bush of black curly, natural hair that hangs to the middle of my back and longer when I'm not being lazy and decide to straighten it. Hazel eyes, a straight nose with a slightly pointed tip complete my features. Jaime's curves seem to go on forever where as mine only flare out in the right jeans. And my small C cups cant compete with Jaime's "allegedly" surgically enhanced full Cs to small D cup breasts.

I inwardly roll my eyes. Why does she get to be with him? He is Alan Thompson. I've practically been in love with him since freshman year. Every since I walked passed him at high school orientation. Alan Thompson, a name fit for one of God's most cherished. Okay, so I'm exaggerating a little but his face certainly seems like God was showing major favoritism during his creation.

Lips: full, perfect, pouty and as red as the flesh inside of a plum. I'm willing to bet they are just as sweet. I can barely contain my drool at the thought of his lips on mine. Face: square jaw line that flows into a heart shaped chin. Eyes: a blue even my favorite author couldn't justly describe. Hair: a rich brown with dirty blonde streaks here and there with a trendy cut like an indie rock artist.

Alan Thompson. The name I chant in my head like the holy sacrament. Yea, I'm probably going to hell for that last comment. Alan Thompson, who is not the typical popular boy because he isn't the dumb jock cliché that belongs with Jaime. He is actually debate team captain and apart of the honor society. Also, he is overall a very nice guy. He doesn't do immature shit like pick on the freshman. He also, surprisingly, is not a male whore like his buddies despite the fact nearly all of the schools female population would happily give him their poom poom.

His popularity stems from being rich as fuck, the fact he is finer than any of the jocks in our school, and because the jocks respect anyone who has the potential to get more ass than them. Again, why does he belong to Jaime Goodman? (Her name is emphasized because it's a curse word.) I fight the petulant child inside of me who wants to stomp her foot in protest. Grow up Jenn, being jealous of someone solely because they have what you want is childish. I outwardly roll my eyes at my chastising conscience.

"Close your mouth, people are starting to stare." My best friend, Lindey said pulling me out of my inner musings. "Daydreaming about Alan again are we?" She smirks with a knowing look on her face.

"I was not. I-I- was thinking about the chemistry test I have in the next period. Thank you very much," I lie. Lindey rolls her eyes and gives me her "seriously?" look. She puts her tray down and takes the seat in front of me.

"Lies. You forget I know you much too well. You only get that goofy ass far off look when you are thinking about Alan and his Abercrombie appeal. Were you daydreaming about sucking his-"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence." I can feel the blush on my cheeks. Lindey knows how uncomfortable I am with any sort of dirty talk. She only says shit like that to fuck with me. Once again, I don't disappoint as I am now so flustered at the visual picture in my head my hand shakes when I pick up the fork to eat my spaghetti.

"Alright, alright. Calm down Mother Theresa. I didn't say it," Lindey responds as she takes a few sips from her bottled water. Lindey is on another one of her diets. Her lunch consists of a salad without a speck of meat or cheese, a container of hummus, the bottle of water she is currently drinking and a side of nothing. Beyonce's Homecoming documentary totally triggered her.