Unwanted, Imperfect, Nerd.

Was it something I said?
Am I just that awkward?
I'm not too ugly.
I'm quite the humorous one.
I'm nice to everyone.
I'm sick of trying so hard.
Someone make me feel wanted.

(please ignore my poor description skills. believe me, the rest of the book will be much better than described.)


1. Chapter One


"Charlotte-Wisteria Conelly, please report to the office immediately." The PA boomed in our classroom.

There were a couple “oohs” and a couple snickers. I got some shocked looks, and one absolutely stunned look by my friend Nina. The only straight face belonged to that kid, Todd, who was half-deaf and half-asleep. Half of it was because they called me Charlotte-Wisteria, rather than Charlotte, which most people call me, and I'd prefer that these evil teenagers didn't know I was some two-named weirdo.

“Charlotte, you’re excused.” Mr. Bradson looked a bit concerned himself. He motioned to the door.

“Why?” I sputtered. That triggered more laughter.

“I don’t know. You can go to the office and find out.” He said, patiently.

“Okay.” I lifted myself up out of my chair, shakily.

What could they possibly want from a goody-goody like me? And yes, I did just say that I was a goody-goody. I won’t deny what I am.

Walking through the long, empty hallway seemed like I was walking down a prison hall to my cell at the end of the way. Each step echoed around me, making the teachers on hall duty look up with wide, observant eyes, professionally trained to catch any criminal without a hall pass.

I reached the end, fully shaking and my thick glasses wobbling, vibrating my view to make it seem like I was on a boat in the river Styx during a hurricane. The door creaked open, and I entered into the sterile world of large leather chairs and computer keys clicking.

“Are you Charlotte-Wisteria?” A secretary asked, in her heavy New York accent.

“Yes.” I nodded, solemnly, shutting the door behind me.

She kept her sharp, blue eyes on me, picking up a green notepad, slipped off a crisp, new pass, and handed it to me. I took it, reading her almost illegible cursive carefully:


Charlotte-Wisteria Conelly

DESTINATION : Guidance Counselor


DURATION: Half the period

I sighed in relief.

“You have to go sixth period, for about half the period, because Mrs. Donahue is gonna discuss your social life, or whatever.” She informed me, typing away.

What a cliché.

“Okay.” I nodded, slightly offended.

“You can go back to class now.”

“Thank you.” I walked back, folding up my pass and shoving it in my pocket.

My shaking finally ceased when I walked back into the room, and rushed back to my seat, frantically taking out paper and a pen.

“What was that for?” Nina mouthed, alarmed.

“Gon’ make them good girls go bad.” The idiot, Ked, behind me sang. I whipped around and gave him a dirty look, and then turned back to Nina.

“Counselor.” I responded, filling her with relief.

She exhaled, and gave me a thumbs’ up. “Cool.”

Suddenly, the girl in front of me, Sophia, turned around, flashed me a glossed smile, and plopped a note down in front of me.

Sophia and I were great friends the year before, but then she made some new friends, started wearing makeup and straightening her hair flat, and changed. She and I were still okay friends; talked every now and then.

I wrote down what Mr. Bradson was saying about World War II, grabbed the note savagely and unfolded it in my desk.

lol. what did u do?

I drew an uneven line underneath it, and wrote : Had to get a guidance pass.

Since she was turned around, and I was not going to go “psst!” at her, I made it into a little paper airplane, leaned to the left, and angled it so it would land on her desk.

“Charlotte? Are you passing notes?” Mr. Bradson said, in a tone of amused disbelief. “What has become of you?” Many kids laughed. “Let’s see what it says…” He strolled over to us, picked up the airplane, and unfolded it, nodding at me in acknowledgement of my fine craftsmanship.

“LOL, what did letter ‘u’ do?” He read. “Had to get a guidance pass. Ah, so Sophia is butting into Charlotte’s personal life?”

I felt my face get hot. Sophia looked down, guilty. I sighed, knowing she’d be angry with me.

“Girls, no passing notes, got it?” Mr. Bradson said, quietly to us, after everyone continued to write notes.

We nodded, obediently.

“Good. And you can do two sheets for homework, just to enforce it.” He walked to his desk, fiddled with an accordion folder, and handed us a sheet with twenty very detailed questions.

I groaned, quietly, and stuffed it into my homework folder.

Couldn’t wait for the next eight periods. 

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