Freaks Like Us

Chapter 1

The rules for keeping up your popularity is a simple process:

Number one, the shorter the skirt, the better.

Number two, natural beauty is overrated.

Number three, high heels are an extension of your foot. To go without them would be like losing a toe.

Number four, boys are like dolls, and should never be utilized more than once or for an extended period of time.

And number five, never ever reveal you collect Super Smash Bros memorabilia, you know every line to the Secret Rings, and you actually know the birthdates of all the the Knights of the Round Table.

Yeah. I'm a total closeted nerd.

I'm not cool with pity glares in the hallways, painful jabs, and social scars. No thanks. It's much easier to keep my true identity hidden beneath layers of eyeliner, skimpy outfits, and even I must admit to myself, a rockin' body. Though the push up bras tend to do most of the work.

Welcome to high school. Where everyone tries to be someone else.

Well... excluding Sonic.

Here's the Top Secret information about my next-door neighbor. He's known as King Freak since he wears nerdy shirts and talks in geek code. His front pocket of the sweaters he wears always has at least three or four flash cards in it. And if it's not that then it's a graphing calculator he has to keep shoving down so it doesn't fall out. There's a Secret Rings keychain always clipped to the back of his jeans and he sometimes carries an Xbox controller in his back pocket.

And I'm head over heels for the boy.

It's not just the fact he was the one to introduce me to the awesomeness of the Japanese Language, the hidden mysteries of Secret Rings, and the magical world that lies beyond, but really, he pulls off sexy freak so damn well! His bright, like super bright, green eyes and his cobalt quills that sawy around when he's laughing too hard, combined with his nice height, swoon... he's like the Clark Kent of my high school.

I may be the only person who finds his freakiness so hecka irresistible. Everyone else treats him like some dead bug on the sidewalk. I know how it is, and I have no idea how he handles all the verbal abuse.

Middle school Amy—Freak Amy, I like to call her—was made fun of and tormented so much she spent most nights crying into her pillow. High school was the break I was totally looking for. A chance to freaking rewrite myself into someone who's socially acceptable. Summer before school started, I grabbed loads of magazines and watched all those teen movies that so aren't as awesome as Night of the Werehog, but they were for my status education. And apparently, I was doing this popularity thing all wrong. I gotta be like a major bitch to people, and I'll end up getting the hottest guy in the end.

Took some work, but I think I got it down. I should win an Oscar for how awesome I am at the fake personality.

But, it's been three years since I was de-freak-a-fied, and I still find myself trying to stifle the urge to buy Comic-Con tickets, and try not to act jealous when I see Sonic dressing up for the event.

Don't get me wrong, my life is pretty darn fantastic and a whole heap lot better than the alternative, which is getting my emotional butt kicked around. So the fake persona is definitely worth it. People think I'm awesome, so that makes me feel awesome.

There's a huge party tonight. Lots of booze and boys, but like every party night, I try to show off first to my neighbor, who can see straight into my open window.

I strip down to my underwear so Sonic can get a good look and turn up the music on my cell phone. If he sneaks a peek, I can give him my usual innocent face and be like, "Whoops! I'm changing with the window open again, aren't I? So sorry." Then make a nice, sexy show of closing the curtains. It looks perfect in my head, even though it's completely pathetic that I have to resort to this. I'm trying way too hard to get his attention, but I don't care. It's not like I can flirt with him at school. Social suicide bomb right there.