"Oh my God, Kendra, Brandon totally likes you!"
I turn around to be greeted by Bree, her black hair curled and resting on her shoulders. Her makeup is perfect; smoky eyeshadow, perfectly winged eyeliner, and dark red matte lipstick. She's wearing a tight black shirt and a short skirt. A very short skirt.
I shut my locker. "How do you know?"
"Well, Rach told me that Shea told her that her brother Vinny asked Brandon and he said yes!" She squeals. I suppress a sigh. She's so basic. I don't even want to know how much of this she's learned from Mean Girls.
I'm basic too, though, so I'm not one to talk. But the thing is, she likes being basic, and I don't. I only stay in the popular group, clad in crop tops and short shorts, because I know I would be made fun of for leaving, maybe even bullied once I'm off the A-squad ( the most popular popular group) and I don't want that to happen. Plus, I feel like Bree needs me, strange enough, so I act like I'm enjoying being me.
"I can't believe he likes me! Should I talk to him?" I say, hiding my exasperation. She considers this, scrunching her eyebrows together. It makes her look even prettier, which baffles me. The last time I did that, someone came up to me and asked if I was okay.
"No, make him beg if he really likes you." I try not to throw up at this. I just reenter my combo and put on my seventh layer on lipgloss. I'm not wearing much makeup today, just the basics, nothing extra. I pull my shirt down a little and flatten my shorts. I try not to dress like Bree or the A-squad, but sometimes I have no choice. Today I'm wearing a dark green shirt and black shorts with converse. I thought I looked okay, or at least a little hot, but the A-squad iced me out today, everyone except for Bree. I guess it's back to skirts and tank tops tomorrow.
"Let's get to Spanish. We're totally gonna be late." Bree says, pulling me with her.
"Whatever."
When the bell rings, the tip of my shoe is in the room. That counts, I think. I mentally fist-pump when I see there's a sub, rushing into my seat to pretend like I've been there all along.
The only problem is the sub radiates an "I eat children in my soup" kind of vibe. Fun.
"Right. Let's take attendance. You, pull your shorts down. I don't want to see all that." She points to Kit, who sits next to me, unfortunately. She rolls her eyes and pulls them down until they just brush the bottom of her butt.
Kit is the most popular girl in school. I may be like the eighth or ninth, but I'm still pretty high up there. Probably just because I can be pretty when I try. But compared to Kit, I stand no chance.
Kit, unlike me, is tall and dark skinned. Her hair is black and straight, where it falls down all the way to her lower back. She always wears the right clothes. Always has the right makeup. Always gets the best guy. (Can't relate.)
Today she's wearing an off-shoulder top and small black shorts. How does she manage to look so good in casual clothes? I have no idea. I look like a wreck right now. I stare down at my shirt, having a small identity crisis. Wouldn't be the first time.
"Why are you wearing that?" Kit asks, snapping me out of my crisis and gesturing to me with a disgusted glare. Anger boils inside me.
"It's called 'hot mess'. Latest trend," I sneer. I'm not sure how that helps me, but it felt good to say something back.
"With who? The people of the dumpsters?"
"Oh, shut up," I groan, propping up my head on my palm and pretending attendance is fascinating.
"So, Kendra..." she uses my name like I should be ashamed of it. "I heard Brandon likes you."
"Wow, I didn't know your attention span was long enough to listen to a sentence," I mutter.
"Huh?" She cocks her head. She probably didn't hear me, but still, perfect timing. I stifle a laugh and hide my grin behind my hands. She glares at me.
"Ms. Ross, please stop flirting with Ms. Andersons. Thank you," the sub says, pushing her glasses to the bridge of her long nose and glaring at me.
I hide my head in my hands and turn to the front. Giggles and snickers echo around me. Kit is laughing too. No one would ever laugh at Kit. They'd probably be impaled with her Stilettos.
I feel my face heating up, glancing at Bree for some form of comfort. She shoots me a sympathetic look from across the class.
"Alright. Since Mr. Garcia isn't here today, we'll be watching a video about Spanish culture. Do not move seats, talk or eat."
"What if I move and simultaneously eat someone's seat?" Austin Lee questions sarcastically from the back of the class. The sub rolls her eyes and presses the space bar on the keyboard, while I'm still wondering how eating someone's seat is even possible. The video starts with a Spanish guy holding a plate of chorizo and talking about its background.
This is going to be great I think, sliding down on my chair.
__________
When the bell rings, I snatch my bag and jump out of my seat. Bree calls after me.
"Kendra, I'm so sorry! That must have been so embarrassing!" She says, gripping her handbag.
"It's fine. I'm over it." I open my locker and shove my binder inside. I take out my mascara and put on another coat, just to have something to do.
"Kendra?" Bree stands by my shoulder.
"Mhm?"
"Do you even like Brandon?"
"No. I was thinking about that before. What should I do?"
"I don't know." I sigh at her answer and throw the mascara back into my locker.
"I have to go. Gonna be late for English," I say over my shoulder as I walk away.
Bree smiles warmly. "See ya!"
English is definitely my favorite class. All we do is read and learn about reading. I smile at Ms. Blance as she walks into class, just as the bell rings. She smiles back, her white teeth shining.
Sometimes I wonder how Ms. Blance is still a "Ms." rather than a "Mrs." She's beautiful, especially for a teacher. Her hair is brown and always braided. Her eyes are a light green, and she just radiates an aura of... I don't even know. Grace, beauty? I can't explain.
She walks across the room, sets her bag down at her desk, and walks to the front of the class.
"Hello class! Let's get started with today's lesson. Copy down your homework, and then we'll discuss today's focus." I glance at the board and open my agenda, scrawling down the homework (read a passage and annotate).
I fold my arms and put my head down, waiting.
When everyone puts their pens and pencils down, Ms. Blance gets up and walks to the board. She starts talking about today's focus, which is morals in stories. I listen, but only half heartedly, because I know the book resting in my bag wants to be read. If Kit or anyone else from the A-squad knew I read more than I texted or shopped, they would probably call me a nerd and ditch me. It seems like there's always something wrong with me.
I'm so tired of being on the A-squad. I feel like I'm not me. I heavily regret jumping on the slide in fourth grade and telling everyone I was popular. I wanted to be popular so, so badly when I was younger. I had glasses, pigtails, and light-up Sketchers at the time. All the girls would look at me and laugh, saying things like "She still wears Sketchers? What a baby!"
One day I got my mom to buy me Converse, and I put my hair up in a ponytail. I ditched my glasses and dealt with my near-sightedness, something I still do. I was the first girl in fourth grade with a "crush" (though I never really liked him, I just wanted the attention) and the first one who was allowed to wear lipgloss and mascara (I put it on after I got to school, and took it off at the end of the day). So when I screamed it at the end of the year, it was no surprise.
Now I wish it had been. I feel like Kit is waiting for me to show one more hint of who I am, and then she'll kick me off the A-squad and I'll become a loser. I would rather be unpopular, though, then I could be myself. But I also have the desire to fit in, like everyone else. So here I am. Still popular, hating it. I just wish-
"Kendra, what is the moral of this story? There can be multiple answers."
I look up at Ms. Blance, absolutely mortified. She didn't call on me because she knew I was zoning out. She just wanted to make sure I was listening. But still, awful timing. I squint at the board. It's a paragraph long story about the rabbit and the turtle. The rabbit loses. The turtle wins. I exhale. I know this. Everyone does, as long as they had a childhood.
"Uh, the moral is...slow and steady wins the race...?" I say, glancing at the board agin to make sure that I read it right. She nods, smiles, and continues talking about whatever she was talking about before. I, however, go back to thinking.
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