Chapter 1
I wake up to the sound of birds chirping. It wasn’t late, so why were they awake? I sat up in bed and stretched, slipping my feet into my slippers and going downstairs. My little brother was already down there, wolfing his food down, and I recoiled when I saw cereal fly back into his bowl.
“That’s disgusting.” I take my seat, fixing my hair and getting a bowl of my own cereal. He shrugs, continuing to eat like a pig.
“Good morning, kids,” Our dad stepped into the kitchen, adjusting his tie. He was a lawyer, a good one, too. Mom always complained about how late he stayed at the office, but I didn’t mind. It gave us kids some leniency, because Dad was always yelling and complaining about stuff we did.
“Morning,” My brother, Steven, said into his bowl.
I didn’t say anything, I just swirled my cereal around.
“Well, good morning to you, too, Vanity.” Dad took his seat, opening the newspaper and flipping through it casually. No one read those anymore, they all used social media.
Personally, I prefer using Instagram. The drama, the news, fun facts, entertainment. It’s all there. There and on TikTok. Mom came downstairs, smiling as she finished the brewing coffee. She was always downstairs before Dad.
She gave Dad his coffee with a quick kiss on his cheek. “I’m off to the gym, then. I’ll see you guys after school!”
She practically bounced out the door, carrying her duffel bag. Steven watched me, and I sighed. “I’m going to get ready for school, the bus will be here any minute now.”
I hopped up and went to my room, doing my makeup and pulling on a cute outfit: a white skirt with a matching sweater, new Converse, and a cute little bag. I brush my hair, curling it quickly before grabbing my bag and running out the door.
Steven huffs after me, he was fat. Very fat. But that wasn’t my problem, it was his. I sighed when I saw dirty old bus 19 rumble up. I hate riding the bus, but when they pull out bus 19 I know it’s bad.
I let Steven get on first, giving me enough time to cover my nose. The bus always smells like peanut butter, urine, and old stale sweat. I sit in the front, so I can get some fresh air when the door opens at least.
Steven goes halfway back, where he normally sits as an eighth grader. People share the same reaction as me when they see the bus. Groans, complaints, nose-pinching.
When we get to the school, I’m the first one off- I have to be! I head into the cafeteria (which doesn’t smell much better, thanks to all the mixed scents) and find myself a table. It’s only the third week of school, and people have already begun to assign themselves with certain groups, tables, and chairs.
I know a few kids who even have a “bathroom”. They charge ten dollars to use it, so I avoid it. Other kids… not so much.
I get a smoothie for breakfast, mixing it around some more before returning to my table. I moved here at the end of last year, because my parents had thought it would be a good idea for a change of scenery. But it’s not. I don’t know anyone, and I’ve always been popular.
People pass my table, someone sits at it until their friend comes in. People leave, people stare, some whisper and gossip. I just drink my smoothie and scroll through Instagram.
I sent snaps to a few of my friends from my old school, but I wasn’t sure if I would continue to message them. They were miles away, after all, and neither of them drove.
I would be getting my license in the fall, and when I had friends I couldn’t wait to tell them about it. Mom says I need to put myself out there, and try to be a friend before I make one, but that’s not very fair.
Why should I put all the effort in?
A cute guy passes me, and he smirks and winks before heading over to his table and shoving his friend. I felt butterflies and hoped I wasn’t blushing. That would be embarrassing, he probably winks at all the girls!
I finish my smoothie and throw it away when the bell rings. In class, Mr. Wilcox smiles at us as he passes out a quiz. “This is to let me know how much you know.”
I stare at the math in horror. I didn’t know Math teachers did this? I thought it was a History teacher thing, maybe even English.
I pick up my pencil, focusing on the first question. Surprisingly, it was easy, and so was the next, and the next. I finished in under twenty minutes, setting my pencil down and sitting upright.
Kids around me had grimaces of concentration, some counted on their fingers or used Photomath to help them. I watched Mr. Wilcox, and he raised an eyebrow at me. “Done already, Miss Truke?”
“It’s ‘True-eck’, but yes, I’m finished.”
He beckons me forward, and I hand him my paper. I feel like some sort of knight or something, being recognized for slaying a dragon.
He takes my paper, his hands are wrinkled. He goes over it carefully, and I start to head back to my seat. “Not so fast, let’s see how you did.”
“Oh,” I pause, turning back around. “Um, okay?”
He continues comparing my paper to the answer key, and he finally looks up at me with a grin. “You may return to your seat.”
“How’d I do?”
“You’ll know tomorrow.”
He tucks my paper away, and some other kids start turning theirs in. I was going to be called a nerd forever, thanks, Mr. Wilcox. I return to my seat, slouching and closing my eyes.
After a few more minutes, everyone is down, and Mr. Wilcox instructs us to get out our notebooks. We were starting chapter one.
He writes the title on the board, and I copy it word for word. I always took good notes, and whenever kids were absent I was the go-to person because mine were always legible.
The boy beside me was scribbling, and I wondered how he would even be able to read it later. I use my notes to study for tests, because I always want to be prepared and do well. I’ve always been a straight-A student, going above and beyond the 4.0 GPA. I’ve earned rewards in Elementary school for being super smart, and I always hear how far it’ll take me from adults.
They say, “Gosh, you’re wise beyond your years. Your mama must be doing something right.”
All I have to say for that is, “Yeah, she really is.”
In all reality, my mom is teaching me how to be a lady. How to be feminine but still be powerful. I’m all for it, because I know one day I’ll reign over the male-dominated corporations.
I’ll have women in positions they’ve never heard of, positions only men work in. And from that point forward, society will be fixed. But, I won’t let them stray too far into the job. After all, women do need to appear feminine. The masculine girls? They chase guys away.
Which is why I refuse to be friends with those kinds of girls. I’d rather have fake friends than a girl with large muscles, or a girl who competes with guys in arm wrestling competitions. Not happening.
I need a friend who enjoys shopping, going out to the mall and enjoying life. Listen to good music- feminine music- like Taylor Swift and Dove Cameron. Music that empowers women, and I need a friend who will just be a girl with me. Beach vacations, sleepovers, spa days, gossip sessions. Why can’t girls like the same things as me?
I glance up at the board, seeing it’s covered in equations and solutions. I try to scribble it down, hating how it’s going to turn out before Mr. Wilcox turns around.
“Does anyone still need this?”
The class collectively shakes their heads, and I raise my hand. “May I take a picture real quick? I don’t want to waste your precious class time.”
Mr. Wilcox smiles. “I suppose. Make it quick.” I pull out my phone, snap a quick picture, and tuck it away while nodding for Mr. Wilcox to continue.
He does, and I stay tuned in this time. The boy next to me glances at me, and I ignore him. I don’t get why people stare so much, like have they never seen a pretty girl? I glanced at him a little while later.
It’s the guy who winked at me earlier. His handwriting was terrible, but he wasn’t. Maybe when it came time to study I could invite him over to my place to use my notes. Maybe other things, too…
The bell rings as Mr. Wilcox is finishing a problem. “Alright, guys, you can take a picture of this, I’ll put it back up tomorrow so I can go over any questions. You guys have a great day!”
Phones come out, cameras take pictures, and some flashes go off. The guy next to me just shoves his notebook in his bag, not even finishing the problem.
“I can send you the notes later,” I smile, batting my eyelashes. “I finished them.”
He smiles. “I would say yes, but I have a girlfriend and she gets jealous when I talk to other people.”
“I’m not ‘people’. I’m your classmate, and how else will you get the notes?”
He pauses, looking away. He had a strong jawline, and then he looked back at me. He reminded me a lot of a Ken I used to own. I thought he was the most handsome out of my Kens so I would make him the boyfriend every time.
Dark curly hair, caramel brown eyes, the jawline, the perfect eyebrows, the lips… There was a small scar above his lip, a tiny crescent shape.
“Hey?” He says, and I blink. I hope he hadn’t been talking the whole time. “Did you hear me?” He was.
I shake my head, “Sorry, sometimes I zone out. Especially when I’m talking to gorgeous people.”
“Oh,” He chuckles. “Um, thanks. Hey, I was just saying you could send them to my buddy Jack Warner, he’ll send them to me. Thanks for the offer. Maybe we can hang out sometime.”
Key word maybe. His girlfriend was a freak. I left the classroom behind him, and there was an ugly creature waiting for him. No way he was with her for real.
She had pimples, short hair that was probably cut by herself in the bathroom mirror, glasses, braces, and she looked like her breath stunk. Those people exist, you know.
I stared in horror as he took her arm and walked down the hallway with her. I would be jealous if I looked like that, too. Like, how can she not know she’s ugly? Anything with eyelashes would look better than her, and that’s saying something.
I head to my locker and shove things inside. I didn’t want to be here anymore, I’d rather be with my friends back at my old school. At least there I had a girl squad and people to talk to.
Well, here you have a crush, so you can’t have your cake and eat it too.
I head to my History class. Mrs. Warren sat at her desk, she was almost always in the room when kids came in, and it was only week three. I wonder if she planned to keep that behavior up, or if it was temporary.
I take my seat and pull out my textbook with last night’s homework. It was guided reading questions, and I feel like those are too easy for a bunch of high schoolers. Like, we read the chapter, we should do reflection on it or something not guided reading. We’re not six. We’re sixteen. Almost seventeen.
Mrs. Warren waited for the bell to ring, signaling the beginning of class, before getting up and shutting the door. She locked the door and turned to us. “Good morning. Get out your worksheets from yesterday.”
Kids shifted in their seats, and I got out a pen for corrections. We went over the answers, and, needless to say, I got every single one right. I turned my paper in, and Mrs. Warren smiled. “Good job.” She turned the paper around and collected other student’s.
We were assigned the next chapter along with another guided reading. “I want you to work together on this one, and get what you can done.”
I look around the room, watching as kids already shuffle into groups. They know each other, and they’re comfortable with each other. I don’t know anyone.
I look down at my book. I can’t work alone, she might yell at me. I scan the room, looking for someone else who doesn’t have a partner. I found a kid, a boy who was fat with round glasses. At least they matched.
I sat next to him, and he smiled awkwardly. “You can work with your friends. Mrs. Warren knows I work alone, since no one works with me.”
“No, I’m going to work with you today, if that’s okay.”
The look of shock on his face wasn’t very surprising. He had a food stain on his shirt and he hadn’t even been to lunch. I smile at him. “So, who’s reading first?”
He shrugs, then smiles widely. “I’ll go.” He opens his textbook and begins to read aloud, I read ahead of him, stopping every once in a while to make sure I haven’t missed my cue.
“You wanna finish?” He asks, looking up at me.
“Sure,” I finished the last page, and we got our worksheets together. I’m done quickly, he has to ask to copy a few times. I let him, because why not?
When we finish, Mrs. Warren stops by. “All done?”
We nod. She smiles and takes our papers, heading back to her desk as she scans them. “I’m Aaron, by the way.” The fat kid says, extending his hand.
I’d never pictured “Aaron” to be a fat boy’s name, but then again I’d never pictured myself to be sitting next to a fat boy. I smile, taking it awkwardly.
“I’m Vanity, and it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
