Just Another Cliche

Chapter 1

                                                                      ***

ʜᴇʏ ɢᴜʏs! ᴛʜᴀɴᴋs sᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ғᴏʀ ᴄʜᴇᴄᴋɪɴɢ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴍʏ ʙᴏᴏᴋ, ɪᴛ ᴛʀᴜʟʏ ᴍᴇᴀɴs ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ. ғᴇᴇʟ ғʀᴇᴇ ᴛᴏ ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴄʀɪᴛɪᴄɪsᴍ, ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛs, ᴏʀ sᴜɢɢᴇsᴛɪᴏɴs, ɪ ɢᴇɴᴜɪɴᴇʟʏ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛᴇ ᴀʟʟ ʏᴏᴜʀ ғᴇᴇᴅʙᴀᴄᴋ. ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴍʏ ᴠᴇʀʏ ғɪʀsᴛ ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ!

Necessary Definitions:

"Bangaram"  - Telugu word for gold

                                                                     ***

        The harsh ringing of an age-old Hello Kitty alarm clock jolted me awake, forced from syrupy sweet dreams into the bitter trenches of reality. 

         I sighed, rubbing the thick crust from my eyes and shaking off the rose-patterned covers. From below, I heard chattering of the TV, playing cricket highlights in a loop while my father's snoring drifted up from the couch. Stumbling into the bathroom, I contemplated what lay ahead of me while I wrestled my matted hair. 

        Somehow, the summer had whooshed by in a haze of internships, STEM camps, and SAT prep, each made a thousand times more difficult by my inability to complete anything without an overbearing dose of procrastination. And now, it was over, and I had a bigger obstacle to battle.

         Junior year. The year where academics became infinitely more determined to suck your will to live, and yet you were still expected to sport a blooming social life. It made me sick. I swallowed my school-induced nausea and shimmied into a stylish crop top and my trustworthy high-waisted jeans. 

        Picking apart my face in the mirror, I pinched the slight ethnic bump on my nose and tugged at my too small lips. Finally, after applying thick coats of mascara, highlighter, and lip gloss, I trudged downstairs. 

         "There's my beautiful Janvi, all grown up and ready for junior year. Would you like avocado toast or waffles, bangaram?" my mother gushed over me, an excited smile playing on her radiant face. "Waffles please! But quick, I'm taking the bus and I can't be late." After scarfing down the buttery dough and posing for a regulatory first day picture, I rushed out of the house. 

            As I stepped into Coral Creek High, a herd of terrified freshmen streaked past, leaving me to choke in a cloud of fresh teenage hormones. 

         "Janvi!" I turned around, instantly comforted by the sight of my closest friends in the world, Mehra and Iris. "Thank god. I was just about to fucking drown in freshies." I pulled the two in for a hug, laughing as Iris heaved a good-natured slap to my minimal ass. 

           We walked down the high-school's winding corridors, Iris and I feigning shock to a story that Mehra has probably told about 500 times. "And it was PURPLE! This fake white bitch handed me a PURPLE carrot and- " 

Mehra's rant cut short as she took in the sight in front of her. 

There lay Caden Thomas, football quarterback,  in all his Wattpad Badboy glory. 

         His hooded green eyes stared coldly into the halls, wavy brown hair mussed like he had just had very passionate sex. His rippling shoulders pressed against the wall, jaw-clenching as he struggled with the lock to his locker.

          Caden Thomas' locker, which happened to be right next to mine. I loudly gulped,  causing his sharp green gaze to meet my eyes. His mouth curved into that famous smirk. Here he was, just another cliche. And I was headed right towards it. Fuck.