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Fighting Against Cliché
I’m the type of girl whom you would never root for. The one who captures all the attention of every boy in school; the one with the prefect blond hair, the perfect blue eyes, the perfect figure; the one who’s rumoured to have slept with so-and-so; the one who’s nicknamed the Head Barbie or something equally degrading as that (really, couldn’t people at least try to be a bit more creative and original?).
I’m also the type of girl who knows what she wants, how to get what she wants, and gets it, no matter what.
Until recently, I always got what I wanted. There is only one thing in this entire world that I haven’t got; no matter how badly I want him back.
Logan is your stereotypical Captain of the Football team. He pretends to be like all the others when in fact he is smart, witty, amazingly charming and probably has the most troubled family in the world.
Yes, he’s definitely your regular, deep, stereotypical jock.
And like all stereotypes, I, the Head Barbie, was his girlfriend as I was the only one who was deemed to be his equal, socially and physically. The Head Jock and the Head Cheerleader; it was a match made in heaven, at least I thought so until I lost him a sickeningly cliché way to partner girl.
I never did find out her name – I hadn’t even truly considered her as a threat; after all, if my conniving and backstabbing friends hadn’t been able to steal him from me it seemed laughable that this short anti-social brunette with thick glasses would enchant him with her wit, her innocence and her initial dislike of him.
But she somehow had managed to all the same.
At first, when she started to take interest in him I thought it was only a way to get back at me for taunting her gay (and only) best friend.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a homophobe - my elder sister is a lesbian and I love her dearly. I only taunted him because I could feel the expectation from me by the whole student body when he declared his sexual preference. Apparently, the Populars are meant to reserve a deep disgust for a ‘fag’ (I hate that term by the way, it sounds so horribly vulgar). Cliché is cliché and no matter who you are you sometimes just have to follow it, which I effortlessly did, never once thinking about the consequences of my action. I was naïve enough to believe that even if I shunned him, there’d be others who would willingly and openly accept him.
Sometimes even I underestimate my influence over the student population.
Enough sidetracking though – to make the exhaustingly long story short, threats (from my posse) and romance (between them) ensued and in the end everybody was happy.
Well, everybody except me.
But I’m determined to change that.
For once, I’m willing to fight against cliché.
Beside me Cassey, my best friend, was humming away to her MP3. She hadn’t even bothered to be pretending to pay attention during class, knowing that all she had to do was flutter her eyelashes and all the boys (and some girls) would readily hand her a copy of their notes.
If I wasn’t so concerned about getting straight A’s in all my subjects I would probably be doing the same thing.
It was odd that Cassey and I were best friends –real best friends, not smile-forcefuly-at-each-other-and-then-stab-each-other-at-the-back best friends- since I aspired to become a strong, independent businesswoman running my fathers company while all she aspired to be was a rich old mans wife who would inherit all his money once he died.
Yeah, I liked my plan better too.
If I were to be honest, Cassey wasn’t exactly one of the easiest people to get along with. She was a self-righteous, self-conceited, snob whose only apparent care in the world was whether she looked fine or not. However, I knew from experience that she was a fiercely loyal friend who would stick by your side through thick and thin. I suppose that’s why I was the only true friend she had – I was the only one who had been able to see through her façade of a dumb bimbo.
I myself never bothered to highlight the fact that I was smart, but I didn’t try to hide it either. It was just something the masses obviously didn’t want to hear about, they all preferred to believe that I was some dumb blonde who was only making it through high school by fluttering her eyelashes and hitching her skirt up a bit too high.
Whatever; I didn’t really care about what they thought about me. They were the ones who cared about what I thought about them.
“What do we have next?” Cassey suddenly asked as she momentarily pulled down her earphones and broke my train of thought.
Stopping next to my locker I mechanically twisted the dial of my combination and punched my locker open. I always hated my locker, it was the only thing in this entire school that seemed to successfully rebel against me – it never opened properly, I always had to use some form of physical violence to get it open.
I briefly glanced at the timetable and smiled.
“Art,” I informed her.
“Thank God!” She exclaimed, not caring about the delay in my response, “I was afraid it was going to be something horribly boring like Calculus or something equivalently mind-numbing.”
“Nope, it’s definitely Art,” I grinned as I placed my literature notes into my orange folder.
The only people who knew that I was obsessive compulsive were Cassey and my elder sister, Valerie. I had to have all my subjects colour coded (orange for Literature, green for Biology, blue for Physics, red for Chemistry and so on) or else I would have a freaky break down. Even my lists had to either end in a 0 or a 5, otherwise the whole day would be spent with me fidgeting around and not really paying attention to anything at all.
This was just one of the many flaws in me that I made sure no one else ever found out about. This was also exactly one of the things that differentiated a Popular from a Nobody. Even if you had strange quirks, if you were a Popular, you’d know how to hide them well.
I glanced at my watch, “We have ten more minutes left to get to class; do you want to stop on the way to get a chocolate bar from the vending machine?”
Cassey shook her head and placed her earphones back in her ears. I frowned, feeling my lips tighten. I knew for a fact that Cassey hadn’t had anything to eat since her diminutive energy bar for breakfast. I also knew whose fault it was.
My eyes narrowed as I watched Jacob Kelley laugh at something a rather scary looking punk kid was saying. Last year Cassey had gone out with him for about a month. During that short span of time he had offhandedly commented on how she was a bit chubbier than most of the girls he normally dated. This small, offhand comment had made the normally food loving Cassey turn into a desperate girl, trying very hard to shed off any access ‘fat’ in her body (I kept telling her that there was none but she wouldn’t listen).
Even her mother had noticed that she was hardly eating, and Cassey’s mum hardly ever noticed anything.
“Are you coming?” Cassey asked, glaring at me pointedly. She knew that I blamed Jacob for her obsession of becoming a stick, no matter how many times she had tried to persuade me that it had nothing to do with him.
I nodded in response and walked behind her, allowing her to lead the way to the Art class. I was desperately searching through my Gucci coach bag for my own Discman when she stopped short and I collided into her back.
“What the hell?” I nearly screamed, “Why’d you stop with no warning whatsoever?”
“Maybe we should take a stop at the Vending machine. I feel an urgent need for some chocolaty goodness,” she turned around and tried to pull me along with her in the opposite direction.
Her attempt was futile and I roughly pushed her away.
In front of her were Logan and partner girl, hands entwined and both laughing at what could only be assumed to be an inside joke. I felt my back stiffen, but other then that I forcefully kept my face calm.
“Hey Logan,” I waved as I walked towards them, “How’ve you been? I haven’t seen you for a while.”
Logan’s face mirrored my own, but his eyes revealed his feeling of awkwardness. I managed a glimpse at partner girl and relished at her look of insecurity and the flash of annoyance in her eyes. I innocently laid a hand on Logan’s shoulder, feeling it tense immediately.
“We should really get together sometime,” I smiled sweetly at him, purposely ignoring partner girl, “how about in the evening? We can go over to my house for the Black and White Fest, just like old times.”
“Actually,” Logan stated, “Liz and I have plans tonight; maybe some other time.”
“Oh, that’s okay. I don’t want to get in Liz and your way,” I said in my most sickeningly saccharine voice.
I turned my attention to partner girl and grinned at her, “I don’t believe we’ve met before. I’m Trish, Logan’s ex. You must be his latest girlfriend.” Pretending to envelope her in a hug I whispered in her ear, “Don’t worry dear, it seems like he’ll hold on to you a bit longer than he did to the others before he comes back to me again.”
Pushing myself back, I held her at an arms length and scrutinised her.
“You’re very pretty,” I lied. She had a straight yet slightly tangled brown hair and eyes the colour of mud. Her face was of an oval shape but her nose was too large for her face. I felt like pursing my lips, Logan left me for her? She was just an average Jane; there was nothing spectacularly beautiful about her. The only good feature she had were her long thick eyelashes – but nowadays fake eyelashes could be bought so easily; who knew if they were real?
“Thank you,” came her iced reply as she pulled herself closer to Logan, “We’d love to stay and talk to you for a bit longer but we have a Chemistry class to attend, if you’d excuse us.”
She and Logan walked pass me, neither bothering to properly say goodbye.
I felt my cheeks slightly flame as I let out a breath of air I hadn’t realised I was holding in.
“Well…that went fairly okay,” Cassey said from behind me, “At least you didn’t strangle her on sight.”
“I have more class than that,” I let bitterness creep into my voice.
I glanced at my watch and this time I really did purse my lips, “Come on, we only have two more minutes till the bell rings.”
“And we all know that little miss perfect can’t stand to be tardy,” Cassey snickered, trying to lighten the mood.
I didn’t say anything.
I assumed that all of us had received the same short and curt message during class. I opened the neatly folded paper in my hand wondering for the umpteenth time whether I had read it correctly.
Miss. Cameron,
Please be in the conference room at sixth period. There is an important issue at hand.
Do not worry; your teacher knows that you’ll be missing her class. I assure you that you shall receive your notes at the end of the day.
Mr. Oakley
I looked around to survey the people around me, some of whom seemed just as confused as I was feeling.
Catherine was seated next to me. Her curly red tresses managed to cover her face as she hunched, searching for something in her sling bag – presumably another novel. A very small victorious cry escaped from her lips as she managed to find what it was she that she wanted. I had been right, it was a novel. She straightened and pushed up her glasses (which sadly hid her turquoise eyes) as she smiled obliviously at her book.
Beside her Jacob gave her a look of disgust. Being the typical Mr. Rebel, he had no idea as to why anyone would want to actually read a decent book in their spare time since he didn’t have half a brain to be able to enjoy such activities himself – thinking of what to graffiti on the school walls was enough of a brain boggler for him. At least, that’s what I liked to think. Yes, I was biased towards him but my great dislike of him was truly justified. Plus, I didn’t like the way he looked: cold grey eyes, spiked black hair and the fact that all his clothes were always black with a hint of grey. Though the look might have appealed to some girls (read: Cassey), it just gave me an overwhelming urge to roll my eyes and gag.
Next to Jacob was Connor. Connor was a black guy with a never say die attitude. His father had once nearly gotten beaten to death by a bunch of idiotic skin heads that were still living in the centaury when everyone was foolish enough to believe that White people were the supreme race. Ever since then Connor had taken up every type of self-defence sport known to mankind (karate, judo, taekwondo…you name it) as well as boxing, track, basketball, cricket and soccer. He didn’t do football though; he once told me that he didn’t enjoy the game…that it had stopped being fun when all the coach and the team could think about was winning. I guess it was because he didn’t play football that he didn’t fit in the popular crowd, not that I actually thought he wanted to be a part of us, but that didn’t stop me from talking to him. He was one of the few people that I truly got along with.
After that was Kara. Although she was chubby and tall and didn’t have any spectacular physical appearance, everyone loved her, she simply oozed charisma. The thing about her was that she was one of those rare people who were confident with whom and what they were and didn’t give a rat’s ass about what others thought of them. Simply put, she had the confidence and the security that girls twice as beautiful as her struggled to achieve. She was another person I enjoyed talking with. Her opinions were always genuine and refreshing. She never once tried to compliment me just to get on my good side, if she was annoyed with anything I said she told it to me straight to my face – even Cassey didn’t do that.
Mr. Oakley finally arrived, looking rather hassled and anxious. He set a bunch of papers in front of the only empty seat. He wiped his brow with his signature mauve handkerchief and sat down.
“Sorry,” he grinned apologetically, “got caught up waiting in the queue for the photocopier.”
“I thought you had your own,” Kara tilted her head in confusion.
“I do, and a very lousy one at that one. It broke down for the umpteenth time this month. So while Martha was busy trying to get in touch with the school repair man I had to go to get it photocopied myself,” Mr. Oakley explained.
“Since you’re the principal shouldn’t you have been given the first right to use the photocopier?” Jacob arched his left eyebrow.
“Not everyone is as considerate as you Mr. Kelley,” Mr. Oakley nearly laughed, “Plus I was sure that Ms. Bourbon would have become absolutely hysteric if I had cut the line. Apparently she was waiting for half an hour just to photocopy some notes for your Literature class tomorrow.”
All five of us unwittingly groaned in unison.
“Then you really should have cut in front of her Mr. O,” Kara grumbled, “At least to save your poor students from a traumatic experience that could possibly scar us for the rest of our pitiful lives.”
“I’m certain that Literature is in no way traumatising the student body Miss. Johnson,” Mr. Oakley replied with a hint of a smile, “wouldn’t you agree Miss. Sanborn?”
Catherine, who had put her book away the minute Mr. Oakley had entered, seemed startled at the call of her name.
“I don’t know, Literature with Ms. Bourbon is pretty distressing, I think you’re underestimating the traumatising abilities of your teaching staff Mr. Oakley,” she said, shocking the rest of us and making Mr. Oakley laugh.
“I see that none of you are willing to allow me to convince you otherwise, not even the highly esteemed Miss. Sanborn,” Mr. Oakley shook his head in mock-defeat, “Now that I know that I’m fighting a losing battle here, I’ll admit my loss and talk about why I really called all of you here.”
Mr. Oakley’s perpetual smile noticeably faded.
“I’m pretty sure that all of you read about the high school massacre that took place in Missouri just last month. The two students who had committed the horrendous and bloody massacre shot themselves just minutes before the police arrived. 20 students and 8 teachers were injured with 7 students and the janitor killed,” he continued seriously, his weary voice slightly shaking, “I don’t know if any of you know this but one of the students killed in the incident was my nephew, Jonathan Oakley.”
Immediately words of consolation and apologies spurted out from our mouths but Mr. Oakley raised his hand to silence us.
“What’s been done is done,” he straightened up and then leaned forward, crossing his elbows on the table, “the question is whether we can do stop anything like that from happening here.”
A hiss of surprise emitted from Jacob as the rest of us were once again propelled into confusion.
As most of you can probably tell by now, I’m in no way based in America. I’m based in Asia, so I have only a very slight idea as to how the schooling system works over there (teen flicks, novels and biased friends don’t really give an accurate view of the schools there). If someone could help me, it would be great. I just need to clarify this: If you’re 17 then you should be in Grade 11, correct? Oh, and how many subjects are you allowed to take (both maximum and minimum)?
I did read up on it but I was a bit confused with what I had found. Plus, would you mind greatly if I didn’t specify what state this was in? I’ve read up on a few places (Colorado, San Francisco, New York, LA, and Florida) but none of them have appealed to me so far. Most stories usually don’t state which state it’s taking place in so I’m hoping you won’t mind the lack of ‘place’ in my story. I have a setting...just not a specific place.
Other than that, did you enjoy it? Were there bits that annoyed you? How do you like Trish so far? What comments/ criticisms do you have about the whole thing?
