NOBODY

1

Dear Readers,

Hi. I’m Nobody.

Okay, it’s not my real name, but most people call me Nobody. I’m the person who could disappear in a room and no one would notice. Not that I’m complaining—I’m not some introvert who gets exhausted from too much attention. Actually, I get plenty of it. But, believe me, it’s way easier being Nobody than trying to be somebody.

You know, my parents are famous—real famous. Like, out-of-this-world famous. (I love exaggerating, it makes life more fun.) My mom’s a politician, and my dad? A celebrity. Yeah, I’m talking about the type of celebrity that makes you cringe at family reunions. But here’s the kicker: I don’t even know what they actually do. Sure, I’ve heard the words “politician” and “celebrity,” but to me, it’s all just white noise. Half the time, I don’t even know if I’m accidentally stumbling onto a private moment of Dad’s on the internet. He could be in some ridiculous commercial or, heaven forbid, one of those adult websites. Who knows?

We live in a mansion. A big one. It’s so big that when I lose something, I’d rather just buy a new one than try to look for it. Once, I played hide-and-seek with a cousin of mine, and I hid for so long that she cried after hours of searching for me. After that, we never played again. My parents, for all their wealth, couldn’t seem to find it in themselves to give me a sibling. So, here I am, an only child with an absurdly large house and an absurdly small family.

Every morning, I wake up at some ridiculous hour to have breakfast with them. It’s their idea of “quality family time,” though honestly, it’s a little too scheduled for my taste. If you’re wondering, no—I don’t wake up early for them. I’d rather eat with the butler, who’s way more pleasant company. Let’s just say, it’s not my responsibility to be their emotional support, especially when it was their decision to make a kid.

I have a routine, created by our butler (who’s really more like a second parent to me, anyway). It’s a way for me not to forget things, but, honestly, even if I forget, he’ll remind me a thousand times. It’s like he thinks my memory’s a black hole.

Now, onto school: I go to this super luxe, private school in the city. I mean, where else would I go when my parents are swimming in cash? Sometimes my dad grumbles about how I’m draining their bank accounts, but, hey, they chose to have me. Not my fault. I didn’t ask to be born. But that’s their problem, right?

At home, I’m basically the princess of a castle. At school? I’m still Nobody. I have a couple of friends, but I also have a long list of enemies. And let’s just say, the biggest one is Finn Montgomery. I’ve hated him since we were kids, and nothing’s changed. We still bicker like cats and dogs. But we’ll get to him in a second. Let’s talk about my friends first.

Stella and Ruby. They’re twins. Daughters of one of Dad’s celeb buddies. Both of them are gorgeous—Stella’s the smart one and Ruby’s, well... the sexy one. When we’re together, people usually forget I exist. It’s okay, though. I don’t mind. I’ve always been good at blending into the background. It’s nice not having all eyes on me for once. I guess it’s a gift from the universe to let me just be myself—complicated, angry, and more than a little messed up. That’s how most people would describe me. Especially Finn.

Now, let’s talk about Finn. Oh, Finn Montgomery. The perfect guy. Handsome, smart, sporty, charming—he’s basically the “dream guy” for everyone else. I get it. He’s got the looks, the brains, and the whole “I’m the son of the president” thing going for him. People love him. They think he’s flawless. He’s practically worshiped by everyone. Honestly? Barf.

Here’s the thing: Finn and I met at one of those glitzy events where our parents rubbed elbows and pretended to like each other. Finn was standing there all smiley and adorable, as his dad gave a speech. While I sat there, glaring at him with all the contempt I could muster, I noticed him staring at me like he could see straight through my “I don’t care” act. As if I was some fragile little thing that needed fixing.

But the real reason I can’t stand him? I’ll tell you. At that event, I watched him bully a waiter in the kitchen. He shoved the guy after the waiter accidentally spilled juice on his fancy suit, and then said something disgusting like, “You’ll never be able to pay for that suit even if you work your whole life.” I was this close to stepping in, but my dad called me away before I could. Ever since then, I’ve loathed Finn. I’m never falling for that charming smile. I see him for who he really is.

Now, I’ve got a bodyguard named Raul. He’s awesome. He’s bald and his forehead’s full of wrinkles, but he’s loyal, and that’s all I really need. He’s the best. He’s got my back. Unlike my parents, Raul actually listens to me and keeps secrets—especially when it involves my questionable decisions. If I want to sneak out somewhere, Raul’s the one I go to. He’s friends with Finn’s bodyguard, Dylan. Dylan’s alright. He’s the opposite of Finn—cool, laid back, and far less pretentious. Too bad he always sides with Finn.

Oh, and one last little tidbit before I wrap this up. Finn Montgomery has never, ever, dated anyone. Not a single girl. You’d think with how all the girls throw themselves at his feet, he’d be dating like crazy, right? Nope. Not Finn. He actively avoids them. Why? Well, I’ve been watching him closely. Studying him, like the stalker I probably was in a past life. And here’s what I think: Finn Montgomery is hiding something. I think he’s gay.

But don’t tell anyone. It’s just a hunch.

Sincerely,

Quin