Speechless(6)

                I turn my head and there he is, refilling his cup of beer at                     the table with Natalie Thomas glued to his side. Ugh, I can’t stand Natalie. She                     used to be Kristen’s best friend, before I came along; she’d never say it to my                     face, but I know she secretly resents me for that. She’s such a hanger-on, one                     with a notorious habit of flirting with all the guys within a five-mile                     radius—regardless of whether they have girlfriends or not.

                Tonight she’s donned this bright neon-green glittery dress that                     would cause irreversible retinal damage to look at directly, and it comes down                     only to the very tops of her thighs. So, so trashy. She makes me want to                     vom.

                Brendon Ryan is too good for her. Brendon Ryan is classy. He                     wears preppy polo shirts and button-downs with sweaters over them and styles his                     dark blond hair perfectly so it looks messy, but in a purposeful way. He’s                     student council president and always raises his hand in class before speaking,                     and instead of chewing gum he prefers mints, which he carries around in this                     tiny tin case. I’ve been in love with him ever since the first week of freshman                     year when he turned around in the seat in front of me in homeroom and offered me                     one, flashing that dazzling smile of his. Everything about Brendon oozes                     effortless cool. Unlike all the try-hard jocks Kristen and I tend to associate                     with.

                If Natalie thinks she has her sights set on Brendon, she has                     another think coming.

                I march right up there and position myself between the two of                     them. It’s a tight squeeze, but one I manage to pull off by pretending I am in                     dire need of more pretzels.

                “Hi!” I say to Brendon.

                “Hi,” he says, smiling. “How’d that phone call go?”

                “I managed to pull it off. Thanks to you.”

                Natalie leans over to me as I pop a handful of pretzels into my                     mouth. “You’re really pigging out there, aren’t you?” she comments. “Try and                     leave some for the rest of us.”

                “I see someone left the gates open,” I mutter under my breath.                     I study her botched blond dye job, as tacky as the rest of her look, and add,                     “Wow, Natalie, I didn’t know brassy roots were in this season. Is trailer-trash                     chic back in style?”