My Near Invisible Life

"You're crazy," I mutter to Jess, slumping down on a cushion next to her bed.

"Naa, just wait for him," she laughs, rolling off of her bed, onto the floor next to me.

"But all of his friends will be there," I sigh, running my hands through my long, dark, wavy hair. "They'll laugh at me, and call me desperate!"

"Let them," she yawns, leaning against the wall. "You'll know why you're there, and so will he. That's all that matters."

"Okay then," I say reluctantly, pulling myself up, "but it's your fault if I die of embarrassment!"

I have never kissed a guy, and I have never had any other experiences for that matter. I'm invited to parties, but so's everyone else. So it's not my fault that when someone actually notices me, I don't know what to do. And I can't ask Jess for help and advice, because we're just as bad as each other!


2. Still Day One - Friday - Period 5 - Nearly Home Time

Five minutes till I can go home. Five minutes too long if you ask me. I've just finished doing my nails, and now I'm deciding whether to start applying another coat of lip gloss, just in case any of the Braddock boys happen to be chilling outside school. They do it to check out all the girls, and make bets with their mates, and choose who they're going to flirt with at all the parties. Then you get the nerds, the geeks with the glasses, the ones that hang about outside the school gates, trying to act cool, but you can see the beads of sweat, forming on their foreheads, as the SNM Girls march out of school, flicking their hair with every step.

I'm looking at the clock and I've never known one minute to go so slow. It feels like hours, and I really need all the time I can get, to perfect my hair, and apply the perfect coating of makeup. Just enough to cover up the change in skin tone on my left cheek, but not enough to look like a right tart. If there's one thing I'm never, ever going to do, it's making myself look like a tart, even if I am going to be in the same room as the fittest boys I've ever seen.

Talking of fit boys, I can see some out of the window. They've undone the top three buttons of there shirts, and shoved their ties into their pockets. They're sitting on the wall, leaning against the gate, like they couldn't give a care in the world, and they're smiling at me. AT ME!!!!! And I know it's me they're smiling at, because I'm the only one who's looking out of the window at them. They're probably laughing at me, joking, making fun out of an off colour tooth, a slightly enlarged nostril, but as sad as this may seem, I checked all these things this morning in my bedroom mirror, and although I'm not perfect, I have none of those problems.

The bell rings, and I'm nearly crushed by a frenzy of girls, running faster than Usain Bolt. It doesn't help that the Braddock boys are watching, and they're laughing like it's the funniest thing they've ever seen. When I walk out of the gates, they start imitating me, pretending to fall off of the wall, but one just sits there, biting his lip, looking at me inquisitively, like he actually wants to know me. Too bad that his mates are idiots, and he'll probably be dancing and flirting with some other girl at the party, because that's what boys do, chop and change according to their mood and what girls come their way. Isn't it?

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