Handsome & the Geek

Chapter 1

   Click. Click.

   The sound of my heels hitting the floor echoes down the hallway. My hips sway from side to side as I stride down its centre, the student body parting like the Red Sea at my appearance. A tiny smirk appears on my face as I feel their eyes on me. A few of the jocks whistle as they check me out. They can look all they want, but they won't be getting any of this anytime soon.

   I can still feel everyone's stares as I turn the corner and reach my locker. Even the seniors stare and, though some more grudgingly than others, respect me. I am the top of the school. I'm practically their queen. A junior queen at that. Then again, being the daughter of a supermodel has that effect.

   My locker swings open right after I punch the combo in, revealing a neatly organized row of textbooks. Truth be told, I haven't touched them since the beginning of the year when I put them here, which may be why they are still so tidy.

   The door of my locker, however, is anything but neat. In fact, it's a disorderly array of pictures of me, myself, and I. And, of course, there's a mirror for my own personal use.

   Removing my gigantic sunglasses I check my make-up. Believe me, I'm not a cake face, but I do use quite a lot of foundation to cover up the hundreds of freckles on my face. Sometimes, I wonder why God even invented freckles. The only purpose they serve is to piss people off.

   After checking the thin line of eyeliner around my sky blue eyes and making sure that my perfectly curled mane of red hair is still perfectly curled, I close my locker and make my way to the students lounge.

   Here I find my so-called friends. The only reason why I put up with the bunch of airheads is because I don't want to seem like a loner. Not that it would matter because I'd have people begging me to hang out with them anyways.

   "And then he, like, totally asked me out!" says Airhead Number One as I perch on the arm of a purple couch. My short skirt rises up and exposes more of my spray-tanned legs than is probably necessary. It does earn me the attention of every guy in the room though, so I leave it.

   "No way!" squeals Airhead Number Two in awe, "What's his name?!" Airhead Number One hesitates, trying to remember her date's name. In the end she just shrugs and smiles. The other one turns to me, opening her mouth to ask me one stupid question or another but is cut off by the bell.

   Saved by the bell, I make my way back to my locker and grab my leather bag before getting to my first class, which just so happens to be French. The only reason why I'm even taking the subject is because my mother insisted; my father was of French descent and, after divorcing him, my mother decided that it would be good for me to 'get in touch with him'. Not over the phone or anything, but by speaking his language. I haven't seen him since I was seven, so I don't know what I would say to him if I met him anyways, in French or any other language for that matter.

   So, here I am, at the back of the French class, slouching (but not at the same time because slouching will ruin my perfect posture) in my seat. I silently slip an earphone into my ear, drowning out the monotonous voice of the teacher. Though I never listen in class, I still get relatively high marks. All it takes is grabbing some notes from a couple of nerds, reading over them (although that may be an exaggeration - it's more like skimming over them), and taking the test. An average of seventy-one percent isn't bad, right?

   The rest of the day passes uneventfully. I continue my ritual of ignoring the teacher in each class and spend my lunch hour listening to Airhead Number One tell Airhead Number Two more about her new date who she forgot the name of.

   Finally, last block arrives. The only reason why English is bearable is because there are actually people worth talking to. Namely, Kyle Morren. I think the whole school agrees that we would make the greatest couple ever, a definite Prom King and Queen. I can almost imagine it - me in a light blue dress, fiery hair a cloud around my pale face and him beside me, black hair tousled and brown eyes alight. Not for the first time, I wonder why we aren't together yet.

   The picture still in my head, I stalk over to his desk, taking a seat beside him. I fix my skirt as I wait for him to notice me. His gaze is on me within seconds and I smile warmly at him. The last five minutes of class won't go to waste.

   "Hi," I say sweetly, batting my eyelashes, "Me and a few friends are going to the Pizza Place after school. We were wondering if you would like to come?" I pause, biting my lip.

   Kyle opens his mouth to reply but is rudely interrupted by a nasally voice from behind: "Actually, 'me and a few friends' is grammatically incorrect. The proper way to say it is, 'a few friends and I'."

   No one corrects Rosalie Sylvaine. And when I say no one, I mean no one. I turn to the girl sitting behind me, raising one arched eyebrow. Her face pales behind her oversize glasses and her chapped lips (when was the last time they saw lip gloss?) close over the train tracks on her teeth. I get up and place my hands palm down on her desk, towering over her now that I'm standing.

   "What did you just say?" I ask her as politely as I can.

   When she doesn't reply, cowering in her seat instead, I snap, "Do you know who I am?"

   She nods shakily, keeping her fear-filled bespectacled eyes on me like I'm a goddess that will destroy her. Oh, wait. I am.

   "Good. And, um, who might you be?" I lean in closer, waiting for the geek to answer. She sputters, trying to form words, but seems to have trouble doing so.

   "That would be my girlfriend." says a different voice from behind her. I look up to find myself face to face with the only geek I actually bothered learning the name of - Alistair Vadim. Why I know his name is a mystery to me and, frankly, I don't really care why. I just know that out of all of the lower life forms at this high school, he is the only one who would dream of standing up to me. If you can call his five feet to my five foot eight plus six inch heels standing up to me, that is.

   The little guy is most definitely a nerd, as is evident from the Periodic Table of Elements on his ratty t-shirt, though he doesn't necessarily look the part. No nerdy glasses, no braces, just jeans two sizes too large that look like they have been handed down for years and t-shirts with holes in them. His overly long brown hair falls in his face as I study him. He brushes it out of his stormy grey eyes impatiently, undoubtedly waiting for my answer.

   "What are you going to do, Alistair?" I smirk, "Go nerd on me?"

   He just stands in front of me, fists clenched at his sides.

   "Poor, poor nerd with no way to defend his equally geeky girlfriend." I give him a mockingly apologetic smile and turn to leave.

   "Poor, poor rich girl." I stop at the sound of his voice. For some irrational reason fear rises within me. I'm not scared, of course, but the tone of his voice sends shivers down my spine. Slowly, I turn back to him, flipping my red hair in the process.

   "One day, someone will put you in your place," he says, staring me down, "And when they do, you will know what being a loser feels like." Without another word, Alistair walks out the door, disappearing just as the bell rings.

   The whole way to my locker I can't shake that feeling of foreboding off. At some point on my way out of school, I swear that I can feel someone watching me, but when I turn there is no one there.

   Deciding my mind is playing tricks on me and that being confronted by Alistair has nothing to do with this, I rev the engine of my silver BMW and pull out of the school parking lot.

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   First chapter! Tell me what you think = )