S.A.U.

She has moves like Jagger—no doubt about it. She walked like a runway model: her head held high, her chin elevated, her hips swinging, and a slight bounce in her steps that made her long, coppery red hair swirl around her narrow, delicate shoulders. Even I couldn’t help but notice how Claire Romano made her entrances. Who wouldn’t when the most popular girl in school shows up in a bright green halter top to match her vibrant green eyes, and expensive skinny jeans that probably cost more than the average American college tuition, and a gold designer handbag from some famous, big-name French fashion empire? You’re either blind or dead not to notice someone like Nobel High’s finest. With the exaggerated grace of a Disney Princess, the Queen Bee slid her slender frame into a chair next to our school’s Prince Charming, Bryan Warwick. She jumped into her usual nonsense conversations with her followers, covering topics ranging from her recent visit to Greece to her upcoming games as volleyball team captain, her hands flying around in animated circles.

Almost immediately, the rest of the cafeteria came to life, turning to resume their pointless conversations. Everyone but me, of course. No, I’m not bothered by being the loner, so long as everyone else keeps their distance from me. I mean, what kind of person with a functioning brain chooses to participate in a petty high school caste like the one at this Podunk school? Just hear me out.We have the Emos sitting in dark corners, cutting their wrists open and talking about depression to fit their online aesthetic, and the Skaters loitering in the parking lot because they think rebelling against authority figures gets them somewhere in life.

The Preppies think they are better than everybody because of their high test scores, so they hibernate in the library most of the time, and the Popular kids believe they can claim everything they want because the brain-dead masses adore them for shallow, superficial reasons. Most people seem to worship the spoiled brats of awful parents who have everything handed to them.

I shake my head like a disappointed parent. Sometimes, when you find yourself sitting alone at your favorite lunch table with a Harry Potter book, a Dr. Pepper, and a small bag of half-eaten carrot sticks in your lap, watching your pathetic generation socialize amongst themselves over pointless babble, you start wondering what the purpose of high school is.

Why do people always get caught up in the pointless drama that plagues these halls like an incurable disease when there is so much more to life than what we are doing now? Don’t get me wrong; high school serves several purposes—on the surface. Getting a meaningless diploma that you won’t even remember having after graduating from this brainwashing facility or acquiring a bunch of ‘practical skills’ you should ideally have the common sense to apply by the time you can count to ten without using your fingers.

So, why, why do these people still allow themselves to be swept up in this nonsense?

The Entitled Ones believe they are God’s gift to the world because they are either hated and envied by the lesser population or adored and idolized by those who secretly—and openly—aspire to be them and live what they perceive to be perfect lives. But will all that hype follow them into college or twenty years later when married too young, struggling to pay the mortgage with a third accidental baby on the way? Nope.

Will they still flaunt their ten-inch waists and Washboard six-packs after their third reunion? Chances are... slim to none. But what about the losers? Do they honestly believe that life ends after high school? Why let these brats make you feel inferior, like some worthless worm, and turn your life into a living hell when you can be better than them?

Like the underdog turned CEO of your own multimillion-dollar company that signs their paychecks? Or the ugly duckling turned VS model with beauty that puts Cleopatra to shame? Why are teenagers so stupid sometimes? Am I the only one who uses her noggin around here? God help me.

“Hey loser!” he shouted, pulling me away from my thoughts, and pointed a lightly freckled finger in my direction.

You see what I mean? I didn’t need to look up to feel the heads of the masses swivel around in unison to fix their blank, zombie-like stares on me: another day, another moment of unwanted attention for the loser-loner who likes Harry Potter and carrot sticks.

I guess that’s the price I pay for being the only one in this school who doesn’t worship the likes of Bryan Warwick—Mr.-I ’m-So-Cool-Because-I-Can-Label-People-Anything-I-Want-And-Get-Away-With-It. But alas, since he’s attractive—for those without working eyeballs—athletic, and spoiled rotten, these morons let him get away with everything.

Everyone but me, of course. Let’s save the applause for later, alright?

I watched from the corner of my eye as he slowly rose from his chair, like a lifeguard emerging from the ocean in slow motion, and began weaving through the chuckling onlookers toward me. I groaned and dropped my head back into my book. No, I’m not afraid of Warwick and his childish nonsense, but the mere fact that he’s always picking on me pisses me off.

Yeah, I may not be the Southern Belle of the Ball for most folks: no miniskirts so short they could pass for belts or glossy, Vogue-inspired curls to wrap around a manicured nail when I flirt with a guy—not that any guys here are even my type or anything. You will never see me in a tanning bed with a barely-there bikini or wandering in a sea of babbling mall shoppers with an armful of pricey Abercrombie & Fitch after maxing out my cards.

That’s not me. Nina Von Sternberg does not do that kind of thing.

He stopped in front of me and dropped into the nearest seat, acting like a king on his throne. I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms tightly to avoid punching him in the face. I wouldn’t even be mad if the school gave me a month of detention for it. I peeked through my mascara-coated lashes at the ugly sucker sitting across from me and scowled.

What exactly do these bimbos see in him anyway? He isn’t even cute: average height with a pug nose, unruly curly blond hair, broad shoulders, and a sprinkle of golden freckles dusted over his cheeks. His lopsided grin was thin-lipped and reminded me of an evil leprechaun.

“So…” he began, shooting a quick look at his visibly fuming girlfriend. He reached over and gently brushed a lock of my hair out of my face. I rolled my eyes and waited for him to spit out whatever stupid joke he had rolling on his tongue.

The lunchroom was now silent, the clatter of cutlery and the hum of conversation replaced by awkward stillness: no laughter, babble, nothing. Instead, everyone seemed to be leaning forward in their seats, their eyes fixed on us, anxiously waiting for whatever spectacle they expected to unfold.

Stupid morons.

“What do you want, Warwick?” I forced an uninterested tone and casually flipped a page in my novel as if I were reading it.

He leaned closer and slowly dragged the tip of his fingernail along the line of my jaw. I froze in my chair. This is new. Bryan Warwick… touching and flirting with me instead of recoiling like I’m some diseased vermin? What in the Truman Show is going on here?

I cleared my throat loudly and kept my eyes focused on my book. I turned to another page, but couldn’t ignore the heat from Claire’s death glare. Ugh. What is wrong with these people? Are you all sick or something?

“How was your weekend?” he asked offhandedly. “And can you look up so I can see those pretty gray eyes?”

“Better question.” I snapped my book shut. “Why do you even care? My business is none of your concern.”

Honestly, if he’s planning on humiliating me in front of the whole school like he always does, then can he get it over with? Lunch is almost over, and I haven’t even finished my stupid carrots. Yes, people. Unlike my peers, I have better things to do than entertain Warwick and his weapons-grade stupidity.

“Oh, come on,” he pleaded, tightly grabbing one of my hands. “I just wanna get to know you. What’s so wrong about it?”

He began to rub circles into my wrist with the pad of his thumb. I shivered and tugged my hand back, but he only tightened his grip.

A collective gasp echoed through the stillness before the hushed whispers of disbelief. I looked sideways at Claire, who looked like she was ready to shoot Superman laser beams into my forehead and turn my brain into mush. Yikes. I turned my attention back to Bryan, who was still giving me that creepy leprechaun smile. What, no joke this time? Is this jerk seriously hitting on me with this girlfriend watching a few feet away? No freaking way. I won’t be a pawn in this stupid game.

“What do you want, Bryan?” I said slowly through clenched teeth.

I quickly grabbed my backpack and shot up, and Bryan climbed clumsily to his feet. I pulled at my hand again, but this jerk wouldn’t let me go. Instead, he tugged me closer to him and gazed into my eyes.

The silence was deafening. Ridiculous. Why do people pay so much attention to this clown? I would rather sit in a pot of boiling water than be caught in public with this knuckle-dragging neanderthal. But that is who he is now—an attention addict feeding off the energy these looky-loos give him and thus giving him more ammo to continue his weirdo ways. But I won’t be another notch on a bedpost or a name to his list of conquests. He wishes he could bag a girl like me.

So, let me wrap this up and get on my way—Sayonara idiot.

“Lemme go, buttmunch!” I snapped and struggled against his grip on me. Unbothered by my efforts, Bryan snorted and wrapped his arm around my waist before dragging me closer to him.

“I like it when chicks play hard to get,” he said. “Why do you give me a kiss before you go?”

It was like watching myself in a movie through an invisible wall. Is this what they mean when you have an out-of-body experience? He leaned in slowly as I leaned away, his breath smelling like a wet flipflop. His lips puckered at me and he laced our fingers together before pinning my body to his.

Wait. Is this guy for real?

I felt the blood drain from my face and my heart hammer inside my chest as the cafeteria broke into laughter, cheers, and outrage around me. I was sweating like a sinner in church, and my eyes widened in disbelief. This pig is seriously trying to kiss me! The cheering continued as Claire stood still with a horrified expression on her chalk-white face. My stomach churned with nausea as I quickly screamed and slapped him with all the force I could summon from my awkward position.

Bryan shouted and let me go, awkwardly staggering back, eyes wide and mouth open like a thirsty fish. Without another second, I swung again and connected another slap to his bright red cheek.

“How dare you?” I raged and quickly gathered my things. “I’m no bimbo, Warwick! You better find another skank to make your moves on, dimwit!”

With an added ‘Humph!’ I bumped my shoulder against his and bolted through the door, ignoring the laughter, accusatory jabs, and disbelieving stares behind me. I wish I could change schools.But fate is cruel yet again and punishes me with three more years of this stupid abuse. I yelled, frustrated, and marched down the hall, tossing my lunch into the nearby garbage can.

I was shaking, and tears of anger threatened to fall from my eyes.

How could he…he had the nerve to…who does he think…what kind of girl does he take me for? I swallowed the lump in my throat. He can’t be serious. Not that I ever would have said yes, but to treat me like a slut in front of the whole school? Bryan Warwick is the devil. What happened to the usual stuff like ‘accidentally’ dumping his food on my stuff or putting salt in my water bottle like the last time. The kick to the face I gave him last time should have put him in his place.

I quickly dried my eyes and took deep breaths. I can’t let them see me like this. They’ll have a hoot and a half if they know they got under my skin. I shrugged my backpack off and ducked into the bathroom to check my eye makeup. Good. I stopped before I could smudge anything. I quickly dropped my bag in the sink and fished out my eyeliner.

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the oh-so-fabulous life of Nina Von Sternberg.

Yeah. My life sucks. I was born and raised in La Luz, Texas, a cute hidden gem of a small town east of Dallas to my controlling, overbearing mother, an amazing father, and a trio of rotten-to-the-core spoiled brats I call my little sisters, who make it their mission to screw me over constantly. I have no friends or boyfriend and am always alone for the most part.

No surprise, though. Ma always said I would end up lonelier than an isolated pickle on a picnic plate.

“Nina!” A squeaky, high-pitched voice called out to me. I didn’t need to look to know who that chipmunk voice belonged to.

“What do you want, Meghan?” I said through clenched teeth while finishing my eye makeup in slow, careful strokes.

If you haven’t already served your time in high school, you should know one thing: every school has a Gossip Train. You know that one kid that never knows how to mind their own business, so they insert themselves into other people’s lives to compensate for not having one of their own—or anyone caring to know what goes on in it. At Nobel High, Meghan Kennedy is that Gossip Train.

“Is it true that you’re now Bryan Warwick’s new side chick?”

I froze halfway through my mascara application. Excuse me? My nose wrinkled in disgust at the mention of his name. I clamped my mouth shut and stayed quiet to avoid further conversation.

This is one more thing you will learn about Meghan Kennedy: she always asks something in a way that makes you think rumors are circulating about you when most of the time—unless you’re the freak of your generation like me—they are not. It’s her way of extracting information from you and spreading it like wildfire around the school. And today is the day Bryan has to do something to send her running to me.

“Well?” she said impatiently in that shrill voice of hers. I sometimes wish I could punch her in the throat.

“I plead the fifth,” I said, dropping my makeup back into my backpack with a scowl. I quickly swept my wavy, deep brown hair into a high ponytail and applied some ChapStick to my lips. The lips that Bryan nearly kissed—I cut the thought off before I could finish it, my stomach churning again with nausea.

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. That stupid jerk almost landed one on me, and Meghan thinks I want to sleep with someone who doesn’t even respect me. I can’t make this stuff up even if I tried.

Meghan rolled her eyes. “No shame in admitting it. We all saw the show you put on in the cafeteria.”

I spun around and glared at her. “I didn’t do anything!” I snapped, watching Meghan scurry away from me when I took a step forward. The perks of being five-foot-eight, I guess.

“Are you dating Bryan behind Claire’s back or not? You know, I knew you were scum, but I never expected you to go low like that. What were you thinking?”

I inhaled and clenched my fists tightly. Breathe and count to ten. The last thing I need is for this chick to provoke me into hitting her and ending up in the principal’s office again. I can’t afford another show at school.

The shriek of the bell prevented me from cursing this girl out. “Stay out of my face, Meghan.” I elbowed her aside and stomped toward my sixth-period class.

💋💋💋💋

“Good afternoon, class.” He kicked the doorstopper aside and pulled the door closed.

I had no doubt that Mr. Calico must have been in the military at some point—his no-nonsense way of speaking, rigid body language, and emphasis on instilling discipline and respect in us all pointed to that. He was a complete one-eighty from my veteran dad, who is usually goofy, optimistic, and laid-back until provoked.

Mr. Calico stopped to adjust the sleeves of his dull gray sweater and swept the classroom with another steely gaze.

I’m not surprised to see that the classroom has gone silent immediately. Everyone knows Mr. Calico is a serious man. If you utter a single word without raising your hand, you get detention. If you show up late for class, you get kicked out and marked absent during roll call. When he says something to you, you do it whether you like it or not.

Because no one wants to be on Mr. Calico’s bad side. Thank God this is my last semester with him.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Calico,” we replied in perfect unison and immediately opened our textbooks to the page indicated on the board, pencils—no pens—ready in our hands. Mr. Calico gave a curt nod and set his briefcase on his desk before picking up his attendance clipboard. He handed it to the first student in the front row to sign and pass around. The silence hung tense and heavy, and I’m sure I’m not the only one who noticed it.

There’s just something about Mr. Calico that makes me wish I were invisible. Maybe it’s the way his face carries no emotion or how his voice is either painfully flat and uninterested or sharp enough to slice through the air when he speaks in that unforgiving tone.

I grabbed the clipboard behind me and quickly scribbled my name before handing it to the person in front of me.

“Please pass yesterday’s English assignment to the front of the class. As you already know, I want it done neatly.”

Another thing about Mr. Calico? He wears the same thing every time I see him: dark slacks, dress shoes, a black tie, a white button-up under a colorless vest, or that dull sweater he’s wearing now.

“Miss Von Sternberg!” Mr. Calico snapped. I nearly jumped out of my chair. With my heart pounding in my ears, I slowly turned to face my teacher. Great. Now he’s glaring at me.

“Do you plan on sitting there daydreaming in my classroom, or would you rather comply with my request and pass the rest of the assignments to the front as I asked?”

He narrowed his eyes at me.

“S-sorry,” I stammered, handing the pages to the waiting hand before me. I took a shaky breath and busied myself sketching stars on my arm with a black Sharpie, ignoring the judgmental stares boring into me.

Mr. Calico sighed and moved to the front of the class. “Class, who can tell me what we—”

“Sorry, we’re late, sir!” Bryan cried as he staggered into the classroom with a puffy-eyed Claire, textbooks and backpacks in their arms.

The tension returned, and the stares were now burning holes in my being. I rolled my eyes. Why are they acting like Bryan and I made out in the cafeteria? How is this my fault? I bet Meghan went and ran her mouth. And it’s all Bryan’s fault. I won’t be surprised if this is yet another scheme he planned for attention, and once again, I get dragged into it. Claire can have him. Common sense is less common these days.

“We had to go get our stuff, and then we got called to—”

“Out.” Mr. Calico turned sharply and stacked our homework assignments neatly on his desk.

“But sir—”

“Out I said. You two, along with every one of my students, should know my policies better than the backs of your own hands. If you decide to show up late to my lectures and disrupt my teaching, then you can sit outside in the hall for the remainder of the class. Get out.”

“That’s not fair!” Claire argued, throwing her best mean girl glare.Rules are rules, Ms. Romano. I looked over at Mr. Calico, who stood aloof and unbothered as always, clearly unaffected by Claire’s attitude. “It wasn’t our fault we were late!”

“My rules remain the same, Ms. Romano,” was Mr. Calico’s firm response.

“Well, Ms. Reynolds would have let us!” Bryan shot back with a murderous glare. “She was always a better teacher than you are, anyway!”

A wave of terrified gasps rippled through the room. Mr. Calico’s eyes seemed to harden as he sized Bryan up.

“What Ms. Reynolds did or did not do with her students is none of my concern. She ran her classroom and applied her policies the way she saw fit. The same principles apply to me within my classroom. If you no longer wish to comply with my regulations, I invite you to visit your grade counselor and have them remove you from my class. Until then, I can and will ask you to leave so I can proceed with my lesson plan—”

“Argh! Screw you and your stupid class!” Bryan roared as he stormed out.

We all gaped at him. Claire sighed and turned to Mr. Calico, tears pooling in her eyes as she pleaded with him. “We know your rules, Mr. Calico, but can you make an exception this once? Please? It’s been a rough day and—”

“I won’t repeat myself. You can leave, Ms. Romano.” Mr. Calico didn’t even look at her.

Shrugging her shoulders helplessly, Claire dried her tears and turned to leave the classroom. But…not before throwing a jab at me on her way out. “Fine. I’ll leave. Nothing can be worse than watching the school slut try and take your boyfriend.”

My mouth dropped open in surprise, and the words were out before I could help myself. “You’re why this country has to put directions on shampoo. Idiot.”

“Watch your step, skank. You don’t wanna mess with me.” Her green eyes narrowed into slits. “You’ll regret the day you crossed me.”

I rolled my eyes and gave her the finger, earning startled chuckles and glares from my classmates. As if I care. “There are some remarkably dumb people in this world. Thanks for helping me understand that.”

“Enough!” Mr. Calico shouted as his eyes shot daggers between Claire and me.

The class fell back into a fearful silence. Claire glared at me once more before storming out the door and slamming it shut behind her. Good riddance. I can’t believe she had the nerve to call me out. Has she looked in a mirror lately? She’s no Megan Fox. My eyes darted to Mr. Calico, who was skimming through his planner as if nothing had happened. Yeah…Mr. Calico is a sociopath.

“Class,” he said, and clapped his hands loudly. We all jumped to attention in our chairs. “Who can tell me what we read about last time in The Secret Life of Bees?