Anna Jones

“My name is Anna Jones, and I am the most popular girl in school.” I repeat the mantra in my “empty” head as I walk down the boring halls with my seamlessly amazing vacant smile on my face. My façade is perfect. Everyone, and I mean everyone, thinks that I’m the dumb blonde girl who’s failing at life. The irony is a sweet metallic taste on the tip of my tongue.

     I pass Gina Matthews, who narrows her eyes at me like she always does when she, ah, encounters me, which is quite a feat, really, considering the fact that she now walks around with a white cane and a chocolate labrador retriever. Last year her contact solution was mysteriously mixed with sulfuric acid. The chemistry teachers should really lock that stuff up better. She was my third.

     Next I see Kelsey Jacobs, who now wears black ripped jeans and enough liquid eyeliner she could probably peel it off, stretch it out, and strangle a fully-grown elephant with the amount on just one eye. She drastically changed after her then boyfriend posted some, um,  interesting pictures online. He defended himself honorably, or as honorably as he could with the circumstances, but he really didn’t stand a chance. Who knew technology classes would come in so handy? She was my seventh, the unlucky one, for her, not for me. I giggle to myself and Kelsey flips her five-foot-high head of badly bleached hair at me, which I “don’t notice”. There are a lot of things that I “don’t notice”.

     My sleek blonde hair reaches the perfect curve of my lower back. My short black lace skirt shows off my tanned, and skinny, legs. The bottom seam of my pink v-neck hugs the end of my rib cage accentuating my flat belly. I’m perfect, I’m beautiful, I’m popular, and I always win. I have, ahem, eliminated nearly all of my competition. I have one target left until I lock in my position for forevs. There’s really nothing anyone can do about it.

I am Anna Jones, and I am the most popular girl ever.