Just My Type

Chapter 1- Hot Or Not, I Do Not Need A Stalker!

Chapter 1- Hot Or Not, I Do Not Need A Stalker!

The lines of the text book laid out on the table before me were nothing, but blurred lines on a piece of paper. I could no longer differentiate between the sentences as they all seemed to run in together. Who cares about the difference between all purpose and self raising flour? It’s all the same to me.

I’d much rather be actually cooking than having to learn the basics from a text book first. Though, I guess they sort of go hand in hand. Maybe I wouldn’t be so irritated about it if I had gotten more than four hours of sleep last night.

I blame it on that stupid English paper that kept me up all night. I hope I never have to write another book report again. I know that’s high hopes coming from a high school student with more than half a year left to go.

“Olivia?”

Crap. Someone is talking to me.

I snapped my head in the direction of my name and saw Mrs. Hughes standing in front of the dry erase board with a marker in her hand. She, along with all the other students in the class, -to the exception of the blond headed guy who was staring out the window in a daze- was staring at me. I blushed.

“I’m sorry. Could you repeat the question?”

She gave a heavy sigh with a disappointed look and turned around to write something on the board.

“You guys will never learn this if you don’t pay attention,” she stressed. “I know you want to engage in some hands on learning, but you have to know this stuff first.”

At least I wasn’t the only one being lectured.

At the classes end the bell rang and I was more than happy to gather my things and make it to last period. Before anyone was out the door Mrs. Hughes called out to us that tomorrow we would make the simplest of things, spaghetti. That would determine if everyone was ready to begin learning more challenging recipes. Thank God for elective classes. It severed as a much needed break from things like science and the anatomy of the human body.

In P.E we had to run laps until our legs fell off. Okay, so maybe I’m being melodramatic. My legs didn’t actually fall off, but they felt like they could. I think I burned off most of the calories from those two Chocolate Chip cookies I ate for lunch today.

Curse Farrah for giving me those stupid, delicious things. Now all I wanted to do was sneak back into the cafeteria and buy two more. I’m supposed to be dieting. I guess that’s out the window now.

“What are you gonna do this weekend?” Grace asked me in last period.

“I don’t know,” I shrugged, resting my chin in the palm of my hand. “Probably the same thing I do every weekend. Get caught up on homework and waste away in front of the television.”

“Sounds better than my weekend,” she sighed. “Can I come?”

“If you don’t mind hearing my parents bicker, than sure.”

She looked at me sympathetically. “Are they still at it?”

“Yep,” I answered in boredom.

It was getting pretty old actually. Every night and every day they were constantly arguing. If it wasn’t about the finances, it was about the late night hours dad spent at work or the new boat he most recently splurged on. That definitely was not in the finances.

I’m pretty sure he’s going through a mid life crisis. Mom needs to face the music.

“I can live with it,” she answered. “It beats spending another weekend at my grandma’s watching westerns and Jeopardy. I’ve seen ‘The Good, the Bad and the Ugly’ so many times I have half the lines memorized. It’s unbearable.”