Your Daily Catastrophes

Summary: Another story of a crazed girl enjoying life and of a poor boy who never knew what hit him.

AN: Okay, so this story is pretty much my baby. My baby which gets better as I improve. The first couple of chapters aren't stunning, but I swear it gets better. Just read on, my dahlings. Oh, and review. That would be very greatly appreciated.

---

I tugged a hand through my hair exasperatedly while holding my lunch tray and maneuvering through the packed cafeteria. This was quite a feat, even for me, who prided myself on being an expert on sidling through crowds.

This was officially my second day at college.

When, not "college" in the technical sense. I mean, I was at the college, and this was my second day, but classes hadn't started. I was still going through freshman seminars and 'Keeping it Safe' classes (or, as I like to paraphrase them, 'Stay Away From Any and All Boys Because They Will Rape You').

And college was not all it was cracked up to be.

I had envisioned crazy parties, getting completely trashed with my friends, and totally meeting hot boy after hot boy who were all unbelievably and undeniably attracted to me (I'm not conceited! I swear! Just let me have one fantasy!)

And yes, there were crazy parties, people getting trashed, and hot boys. I just managed to not be involved in any of the aforementioned activities. You have to actually meet new people to be involved in those activities.

And meeting new people is much more difficult than it sounds. Hell, I'm one of those extreme extroverts that meets and gets to know people mind blowingly fast, and I'm having a hard time here.

Of course, I probably wouldn't be having such a hard time if it wasn't for Miss Stick in the Mud over there. I glanced over at my roommate and best friend since kindergarten. She wasn't much for socializing, and I felt bad leaving her in the dorm alone. Damn conscience.

I eagerly snatched up the last plate of beef and mashed potatoes on the rack, throwing a triumphant look over my shoulder to the unfortunate souls still in line. Hah...I have my food. They don't. They have to keep waiting. Hah.

Okay, I might be enjoying their misery too much.

I stepped over to the silverware rack and leaned to grab a clean(?) fork and knife.

But just at that moment, someone else reached for it. Ordinarily, I'd just continue on my way, unless this fellow student in need of silverware just happened to be a hot Harry Potter!

Yes, standing before me and staring at me quizzically was what had to only be described as a hot Harry Potter. He had long messy raven black locks and emerald green eyes...and that was about it. No glasses or scar or anything, but it was still like the real thing! The real thing, only hotter and college-versioned with some facial scruff.

Have I mentioned how much I adore facial scruff?

I grinned at him stupidly. He sent me a questioning look before taking his silverware and heading on his way.

I sighed deeply. Wow. That was amazing. We totally just connected. We'd probably been lovers in an earlier life or something.

Or..ohmygod! What if I was a Russian princess in an earlier lifetime and he was my lover that I could never be with. Yeah...he was like my servant-no, stable boy! And our love was forbidden!

Oh my God...that's so sad...

Finally I blinked away the daydream and grabbed my silverware. I crossed the dining hall and sat across from my aforementioned Stick-in-the-Mud, I-Have-Known-Since-Kindergarten friend, Cinna Wickham.

"Wow," I breathed, smiling at her.

"What now?" she asked in a bored tone, her eyes focused on the orange she was currently demolishing with a butter knife.

"I just completely had a moment with a hot Harry Potter over the silverware rack."

"Astounding. D'you get his number?" she asked in the same monotone voice.

"Nooo..."

"Even more thrilling. Sounds like you really hit it off."

Ehh...bitch. Can't summon enough enthusiasm over hot Harry Potter because she's madly jealous I met him first. Well, it's too bad. I knew him in my earlier life. Well, she'd better back off. He's definitely mine.

"If I could see a devastatingly good looking boy like that every day, I'd be one happy girl," I added, throwing in a lovesick moan to piss her off.

It worked.

"If you could stop ranting about hot boys you don't even know, I'd be one happy girl," Cinna replied, eyes narrowed but still focused on the unlucky orange. Still trying to get a rise out of her, I continued.

"We both reached for silverware at the same moment, and our eyes met. It was like the world passed between us with that one glance...like we'd known each other forever. I suddenly knew everything I ever needed to know about him, and he understood me as well. Then he walked to the salad bar, and out of my life," I said, sniffing dramatically. My voice lowered, "I think he was just afraid of commitment."

"I think he was just afraid."

I glared at her.

"You're just madly jealous because I met hot Harry Potter and you didn't, because you were too busy playing with your stupid orange," I grunted, crossing my arms.

"Are you going to eat that?" she asked, pointing to my lumpy mashed potatoes.

"I can't. I'm suffering from a broken heart. I have a traitorous best friend and my newfound love is gone."

"Thanks," she replied, dragging my tray to her side of the table.

"I was just kidding!" I responded frantically, yanking my tray back with enough force to send it flying off the table and into the floor.

"Christ, River!" Cinna rolled her eyes. "I just wanted a bite!"

Can you blame me? Though cafeteria food is undoubtedly and completely vile, mashed potatoes are one item that can never be ruined. I mean, you just peel 'em, cook 'em, and mash 'em. And they're delicious.

So maybe I'm being a selfish pig and a terrible friend, but they are mashed potatoes. I will not share.

Though now I'm kind of wishing I had shared, because now I have to clean it up, then stand in line to get more. Damn.

Cinna watched me with amusement as I quickly scraped the beef off the floor with a napkin.

Bitch! It was mostly her fault that I spilled them! No, it was all her fault! If she hadn't stolen my...

Aww, now she's helping me clean them up. What a great friend! A true friend will get on their hands and knees in the middle of the cafeteria floor to help clean up mashed potatoes you spilled. Even after you called her a bitch.

"Sorry I called you a bitch," I apologized as we finished wiping the floor.

"You didn't."

"Oh..." I mumbled, thinking over the conversation. "Sorry for thinking you were a bitch."

"No problem. Just get me some mashed potatoes."

"Yes ma'am."

Dear, dear Cinnamon Wickham.

And yeah, and I know what you're thinking. Hell, I was in kindergarten and I thought the same thing. What deranged people name a kid Cinnamon? Well, Cinna was born to drug dealers. Actually, to be more correct, a drug dealer and his ... love interest. Said love interest was of a weak constitution and a hemophiliac and died almost immediately after Cinna's birth. Dear old Dad was so high on cocaine when she was born, she should actually be grateful that her name's not a lot worse than just Cinnamon.

But no, she's not from a traumatic past of people who didn't love her and she didn't grow up in a drug ring. Her father was caught, convicted, and now in some penitentiary in Wyoming right now. She's never met him, and has no desire to. She was adopted before she was two, and all of her memories are of a loving family. They were smart enough to allow her to grow up with the knowledge that she was not their biological child, therefore there was no frantic pre-teen rage of "What? I'm adopted?!" that she had to go through.

Really, she's quite normal. Actually, better than normal. She's one of the most talented people I know. Brilliant in her studies, athletic, and pretty... she's one of those people that you want to hate but can't. And it's scary, because I can totally tell she'd be an amazing drug dealer if she wanted to be. Freaky, huh?

But really, having 'Cinnamon' as a nickname isn't so bad when 'Wickham' is your last. I adore Pride and Prejudice. What girl with half a brain doesn't? And while Wickham may be the cad in the story, who really cares? Your last name is from Pride and Prejudice!

I returned to the line with a new tray, while not-so-discreetly looking for hot Harry Potter.

I swear, the only reason I didn't say something to him was because I was caught off guard by the hotness. This time I'd totally have something brilliantly witty to say, and he'd fall head over heels in love with me for my charming ways.

Shit, I am so delusional it isn't even funny. But what else can you do? Life sucks, and fantasy world is such a more entertaining place to live.

Damn, hot Harry Potter is nowhere in sight. Damn, damn, damn.

And they're out of mashed potatoes! Oh God...oh God...oh God...

My day sucks! I hate reality!

---

After a thoroughly disappointing grilled cheese sandwich, Cinna and I were on our hike to our dorm a mile away. No, I'm not shitting. It really is a mile away. And the only way to get there without adding ten minutes to the trip is to travel down and back up this huge hill, affectionately named by the students as "the Cliffside". Not so affectionately named by me as the "God-damn-shithole".

And we were currently walking down that path with its hellish-never-ending-staircase-of-doom, when two terribly indiscreet boys sitting on the railing made a big mistake.

They were rating girls that walked by. None of the girls so far had noticed, but I happened to be observant enough to notice them whispering back and forth, and then hand signal the rating in their laps. Fascinated, I tried to not let on that I knew what they were doing.

"Redhead?" one muttered to the other as we walked by. By redhead they clearly meant Cinna, though she wasn't a redhead. She was a brunette, with natural red lowlights. Stupid boys.

The other whistled softly under his breath before signaling back a nine. I nodded. If they had graded her poorly I would have shoved them down the Cliffside. Cinna was a gorgeous girl. She was 5'9'', very slender, with dark wavy hair and light brown eyes. Not to mention the tan that I would kill for.

"Blonde?" The second boy-the one who signaled the nine-muttered.

What? I am not blonde! This is dirty blond, thankyouverymuch.

The first boy signaled back a seven.

Jackass! It's probably because they think I'm fat or something.

And I'm not fat! I mean, I eat way too many cookies, and I am a little curvy, but I'm totally not fat! And I'm not a seven!

Those bastards...

I contemplated the earlier idea of shoving them down said Cliffside, but decided against it. Someone really should say something to them though.

You know what, I should.

"Excuse me?" Both boys turned to me, still oblivious. "I think I deserve at least an eight."

Their jaws dropped. Swear to God, they really did.

"But really, one has got to wonder, how productive is rating girls? Have you gotten any dates or any phone numbers yet?" They were still in too much shock to answer. "Didn't think so. But hey, have a great life, and I hope you don't die alone!"

Haha...awesome.

Cinna and I marched off, Cinna in a bit of shock herself. Me? I was prancing like I owned the world. I completely told them off! I'm so amazing! They're probably feeling such guilt, while still feeling utmost awe for that NOT A SEVEN girl who shamed them. Yes. I rock.

But then again, didn't Winston Churchill say "Pride goeth before a fall"? Or was that Robert E. Lee?

Either way, I tripped on the stairs and completely fell on my face.

Embarrassing? No, not really.

Humiliating? Getting close.

Mortifying? Yeah, around there.

Not to mention the fact that my favorite skirt (it's adorable! It's a green and patterned with beige trim and it goes just long enough to disguise my hideous knees!) was now around my hips. Yes, the two jackasses could now stare at my big flabby ass and my Beauty and the Beast underwear.

I hate this stupid skirt! This is now the least lucky skirt of all time!

God dammit!

"You're right, you are an eight," the guy shouted down to us as he stared at my ass.

My face is purple.