Speechless(49)

                I’m also crazy worried about my car. I almost didn’t drive to                     school today, but I was afraid my parents might notice and ask questions. Mom                     would totally flip out and ship me off to a boarding school or something; Dad                     would probably inflict bodily harm on the perpetrators, less so in honor of my                     dignity and more for the sacrilege of damaging a vehicle. Especially one he paid                     for.

                Even if I told my parents about the locker vandalism and the                     car defacement, and they told the school, it wouldn’t help anything. They                     wouldn’t catch whoever did it, and it would only add fuel to the fire. I’ve                     accepted the fact that I’m going to have to suck it up for however long it takes                     people to get over this, even if that means spending the next three years                     watching my back. I can only hope I don’t develop a crippling ulcer or die of a                     heart attack from all the stress in the meantime.

                The sad thing is I thought this was going to be my year.                     Getting my license, having a car of my own, partying it up with Kristen and                     Warren and Derek, hanging out every weekend and going to dances and prom and                     living the high life, as it were. Maybe landing a boyfriend of my own for once                     instead of being Kristen and Warren’s third wheel.

                I’m reminded of this as I walk out of my last class and see the                     big blue banner advertising the upcoming Winter Formal stretched across the                     wall. And Brendon standing underneath it, bent over the drinking fountain. I                     stop dead in my tracks, disrupting the chaotic flow of traffic and causing some                     upperclassman with the body of a cinderblock to bump into my back.

                “Watch it,” he mutters, pushing past.

                Whatever. The guy has this weird faux-hawk/mullet thing going                     on, so I just can’t take him seriously.

                You know who has perfect hair? Brendon.

                I really need to get over this swoony phase. I need to move on                     and accept that it is never going to happen. I blew it. He hates me. We are                     never going to date. He is never going to walk down the hall holding my hand, or                     ask me to the prom, or kiss my neck, or anything. He won’t even look at me! And,                     not to brag, but I am something to look at, dammit. I’m not gorgeous like                     Kristen, but I’ve been known to turn a head or two in my time.