Chasing Astrid Malone

1. PROMPOSALS

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

I hit the snooze button, hoping I could get back to the dream I was having. It wasn't a fairy tale; in fact, it was quite weird. I felt responsible for finishing my job at the pancake factory, or else I might get fired.

I couldn't get back to sleep, but the smell of pancakes wafting in the air made my mouth water and my stomach growl. No wonder I was dreaming of Breakfast foods.

Mom made pancakes! After a trip to the bathroom, I ran downstairs to the kitchen. Mom was flipping another batch of pancakes, and my brother was shoveling them in like it was his last meal.

"Good morning, Sweetheart, grab a plate before your brother eats us out of house and home," she said jokingly but still got a defensive response from Josh.

"I can't afford to eat at the dining hall, and before you say I should pick up more hours at the hardware store, I don't have the time!" Mom rolled her eyes while handing me a fork.

Josh is in his sophomore year at the College of Charleston, or as he calls it, the C-of-C. He acts like he's Mr. Responsible in front of our mom, but I know he's out partying more often than not. His fraternity is known for its parties.

As I sat down, Josh threw his crumpled-up napkin at my head and got up to leave. I picked up the napkin, compressing it into a tighter ball under the table, waiting for the right moment for revenge. He's always been very playful with me. He still sees me as the four-year-old girl he protected on the playground.

To be honest, I envy him. Josh has done well in school, but he also has natural popularity. My friends have always had a crush on him, and for my first two years of high school, I had popular girls talking to me left and right, trying to get close to him. I had hoped it would help my social life, but in the end, I was just the nerdy girl with the hot brother.

I thanked my mom for breakfast, chucked the napkin ball in Josh's direction, and went upstairs to get ready for school. I've never put much thought into my clothes or hair. I didn't think I had a style until some of the meaner girls in school complimented me on my outfit. They called it homeless-chic and walked off in a fit of laughter. I threw on some jeans and an oversized tee shirt and put my hair up in a bun.

My light brown hair is thick and curly, so I prefer to get it out of the way. I looked myself over in the bathroom mirror, and in what was becoming a sadistic routine, I criticized my looks.

HONK! HONK!

I looked at the time and realized I'd lost track of it. That was Brenda picking me up for school. Brenda has been driving me to and from school all year. Although I passed the written test with ease and got my learner's permit, I failed the driving test twice. Running down the stairs, I grabbed my backpack and ran out the door.

Brenda yelled out the window, "Hey, A hurry up! I can't be late today" A is what Brenda and Carly call me. We've been friends since freshman year, and Brenda nicknamed us the ABCs.

I got in, and Brenda sped off before I could put my buckle on. "Woah, calm down, B. My mom won't let me drive to school with you anymore. I'll have to take the bus." Brenda laughed. "Ms. Audrey loves me. You'll be fine."

Brenda filled me in on all the weekend gossip she could find on social media. She makes it her business to know the inner workings of the cool crowd. If it weren't for high school teenage shallowness, B would fit in nicely with them. Brenda is always dressed her best, drives a nice new car, her family has money, and she's a social butterfly at heart. But because her face and body are not what society deems beautiful, none of them ever accepted her into their group.

We pulled into our usual parking spot in the student lot, and Carly was there waiting for us. Carly is a beautiful, dedicated, overachieving Indian girl. Her parents are first-generation immigrants and moved here to give their children the American dream. Suffice it to say that Carly feels obligated to live up to their expectations and not let their sacrifice be in vain. I'm sure you can imagine why she ended up best friends with a couple of misfits when the rest of our peers are only concerned with drinking and hooking up.

We walked into school together, and I waved them off before I speed-walked to my locker to get my textbook. The bell rang just as I was walking into my first-period class. With prom right around the corner, most people already had prom dates, and the choices were getting fewer and fewer every day.

It was no surprise at this point when a senior named Eric Sinclair came rushing in, just as we were going over the homework, with a few band kids behind him playing music. He was holding a big homemade sign that said:

Jenna
will you
be my
prom date?

The whole class, including Mr. Smith, turned and looked at her. With the enthusiasm of a woman being proposed marriage to, she stood up and squealed "YES."

Eric ran over to her and lifted her into a hug while the whole class cheered like it was some great accomplishment.

I'm sure my skepticism comes from knowing there's no chance of that happening to me, but I was relieved when Mr. Smith cut in. "okay! Okay! Mr. Sinclair, don't you have somewhere to be? get back to class."

These promposals were becoming a constant reminder that I was going to prom with my two best friends.

At the end of calculus, Mrs. Jones asked me to talk to her. I've never been in trouble, and my grades are perfect, so I wasn't sure what she wanted from me. I slowly made my way to her desk as the classroom emptied. Mrs. Jones's curly grey hair was in a messy bun on her head, and her glasses were perched low on her nose as she watched me walk over with a smile.

"Astrid, I have a student who is struggling to pass my class. If he doesn't get a good grade on the final, it will cause him to fail and have to stay back." Her sad smile made me feel sorry for the student.

"Would you be interested in tutoring him for a couple of weeks?" Without even knowing who, I agreed to help after school every other day. "Great, so I'll let him know he's to meet you in the library tomorrow after school." Even if she told me it was my worst enemy, I would have agreed. My therapist calls it being a people pleaser.

My last period was a study hall. I made my way to the library to finish up a paper I knew was due the next day. As usual, the library was empty. Most of my peers here at Hanahan High didn't use this time to study.

While deep into research, I was startled by my phone vibrating in my bag. It was a text from Carly.

Carly: ABC dress shopping after school today

Carly: you are not allowed to bail

Carly, being on the prom committee, has been talking about prom nonstop for months. I knew if I didn't respond, she would keep texting, so I quickly replied.

Me: no worries, C. I'll meet you at B's car after school

The next forty-five minutes flew by. I put the finishing touches on my paper, looked it over, and when I was satisfied, I gathered up my things to leave.

Only as I turned to walk out of the library did I notice a boy sitting in the corner. I recognized Cameron Beck immediately, although I was surprised to see him here.

Cameron Beck is your typical football jock, the other football players call him Beck, and his friends call him Cam. Cameron was sitting there with his head in his hands, slumped over some books.

Even in his seemingly depressed state, he was flawless. His scruffy dark brown hair and perfectly sculpted face would be enough to melt any girl.

Seemingly aware of being stared at, Cameron looked up and locked eyes with me. Even though we had gone to the same school together for the last four years, this was the first time I had ever seen him look at me.

He smiled slightly, and his gaze shifted to the clock on the wall, then back to me. I felt my cheeks get hot, and I hurried out into the hall.

I couldn't tell if he smiled because he caught me gawking or if he was being polite. Social norms are not my strong suit. Calming myself, I quickly put it out of my mind and hurried to the parking lot to meet up with my best friends.