Chapter 1: The Curtain Opens

Maybe, for some unknown reason, the guy up above—it can be heaven, depends on your belief—decided that I won’t be able to find the guy of my dreams that easy. I think he decided that I should search hard and wait for a really long time, before my very own Prince Charming finally comes. Well, I have one thing to say. I’m freaking sick of waiting, and I’m tired of searching. All the teenage guys out there want nothing else from girls except S-E-X.

I embarked on The PC Search, since the day I was allowed to date. PC stands for Prince Charming. It’s my search for a decent and hopefully gorgeous boyfriend, but so far I haven’t succeeded. I don’t even have candidates.

It’s time for me to identify myself. I’m Gwen Knightley. More info? I’m fifteen years old, and I have dark brown hair that’s really straight and blue eyes. Some people say that my eyes are my best feature, like they’re supposed to be enchanting or something. I can’t say I’m ugly. Nobody thinks of himself/herself as ugly, but people—including my totally unbiased mother—have said that I can pass for good looking, but enough of that. I’m sharing this with all of you, because I have important information to transmit.

Jocks suck. And that, my friends, is an official statement from the Gwen Knightley Embassy. I just became convinced after my blind date from hell with Kevin Thomas. I’m not an official man hater, but I’ve started to hate a specific type of guy, namely the sleazy no good jerk type or jocks. Let me tell you everything that happened.

My cousin, Valerie, set me up with her boyfriend Kent’s cousin. She is so, so dead come Monday, when I get my hands on her and her pompoms at school. Yes, she’s a cheerleader and a blonde, but she isn’t evil. She just considers it her mission in life to set me up with every jock she knows. She kept on saying, “Don’t worry, Gwen. Kevin is way cool. Plus, Kent told me that he’s a perfect gentleman.”

I was foolish enough to believe that any of Kent’s relatives would be civilized. He’s the captain of the football team, and I doubt if he could manage to pronounce the word respect. Kevin and I met at Cherry’s, the local diner. It’s like the unofficial meeting place of the Romance Readers’ Club, which doesn’t exist. I just coined the term since all my friends and I ever do is read romance novels and talk about them.

So, I got there, and looked around for a guy wearing an orange shirt and denim pants, since Val told me he’d wear that so I’d recognize him. I didn’t see a guy who fit the description, so I decided to sit down and wait for a while, forming the conviction that if he didn’t show up in thirty minutes I was getting out of there. Him being late should’ve tipped me off right there what a big jerk he was. I ordered a milk shake and started sipping.

A guy with blue eyes and light brown hair showed up exactly twenty-nine minutes later, just as I was about to leave. He was wearing an orange shirt. Bingo. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I present to you Kevin Thomas. I have to admit, no matter how much I hate him at present, I thought he was cute.

He walked over, nay, strutted in my direction. He was looking at me, and upon reaching my table said, “Are you Gwen?”

“Yeah.” I looked up at him, expecting an explanation, but I received none.

“Let’s go,” he said, motioning for me to stand up and follow him. The jerk didn’t even open the door for me. When we were out the door, he turned back to me and said, “Hurry up. The movie’s starting.”

I froze. What movie was he talking about? Don’t tell me he chose the movie without even asking me? So, we went into the cinema. It turned out that the movie he had chosen was an action flick I never would’ve watched in a million years. It’s not that I have anything against action movies. I can sit through the Jackie Chan movies and have a good laugh whenever somebody cracks a joke, but he made me watch a freaking sequel. I don’t want to sound whiny, but everyone knows that sequels always suck. Does the movie Legally Blonde: Red, White, and Blonde ring a bell?

I had to sit through the stupid movie, which, as I predicted, was proof that the world was getting dumber. To make things worse, Kevin, The Idiot King, devoured all the popcorn, and in the middle of the movie he tried to kiss and feel me up. After acting like I was nothing but a dirty rag, he had the nerve to try to get to second base. I didn’t want him to, so I pushed him away, stood up, and said, “I’m sorry but I have to go.”

I was almost out the cinema when he caught up with me. He turned me around and said, “I thought we were having a good time. What’s wrong?”

“I just need to be somewhere else right now,” I said, thinking up an excuse in an instant.

I was about to walk away when he said, “Fine.” He sneered, and looked at me up and down. “I didn’t want a frigid date in the first place.”

“Excuse me,” I said. I turned to him, and looked at him straight in the eye. “I am not frigid. But I’m not desperate either!” I felt better the moment the words were out of my mouth, but I wished I caused I physical harm. With that I stomped away and left him gaping after me.

When I got home, I grabbed the phone, and started yelling at Val. After that, I started feeling better. I chatted with my best friend Cassidy online. She has dark brown hair and dark brown eyes, and she is way creative.

She had some interesting insights to share, and she even quoted Shakespeare. Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind, which implies that I shouldn’t regret ditching Kevin even if he was gorgeous and all, because of the way he treated me.

eyerie15:I know you’re jst tryin 2 cheer me up but I still feel hopeless… when am I going to get myself a decent boyfriend?

despotchic:I dunno… try asking me when I have one myself… that was a joke.

eyerie15:haha. Gotta go contemplate my misery…

despotchic:gud luck contemplating… don’t worry…. you’ll find the guy for you someday…

eyerie15:somehow I don’t think that’s possible

After saying goodbye to Cass, I shut down my computer, and decided to go to sleep. I sat cross-legged on my bed and looked around my room. It is painted lavender, and my fashion magazines are stacked in a corner for easy retrieval. I have a wooden shelf on a corner of my room, full of DVDs of romantic movies like Never Been Kissed, Sixteen Candles, Clueless, A Walk to Remember, The Notebook, Wuthering Heights, and, of course, the timeless classic Gone With the Wind. It’s also full of romance novels by Johanna Lindsey, Judith McNaught, Jude Deveraux, Barbara Cartland, and Jane Austen.

I mentioned before that all my friends and I ever do is read romance novels and talk about them. Don’t get me wrong. We do other things like shopping and boy hunting, but romance novels are like… our life. Have you heard of that phrase that says people have secrets under their beds? Or was it skeletons in their closets? Anyway, my secrets are under my bed. Literally. I have books under there. No, not more romance novels, but “serious” books written by Ernest Hemingway, William Faulkner, and John Steinbeck. Even Balzac and Victor Hugo. Those guys.

It’s not that I’m ashamed of them or anything. I started reading the classics in junior high and I just couldn’t stop. My friends would freak, if they find out that I like to read the books we’re assigned to read in class. You know, literature, not love stories. So, I thought, if they’re gonna freak out, I might as well not tell them.

I was woken out of my thoughts, when someone knocked on my door. “Come in. Door’s open.”

It was my mother with a newspaper in tow. I have no idea why she has one this late at night. Fred Paulsen’s picture was on the front page, which wasn’t a surprise. He was a best-selling writer who has all sorts of achievements. He was also one of the richest men in town.

She went into my room, and sat down on my computer chair. She held up a copy of The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas, and said, “Got you another one.”

“Thanks, Mom,” I said. I stood up and took it from her. My mom is like my unofficial accomplice in my quest to read all the classics. She buys me my “literary” books, because she thinks they’re good for me, but she won’t buy me romance novels, since she thinks I’d do better without them.

“Don’t stay up too late reading, okay?” she said, giving me a kiss on the forehead. I settled down on my bed, tucked beneath the covers, and entered the world of The Count of Monte Cristo.

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“He can’t be that bad,” Rachel said.

We were on our way to school, and I was telling her about Kevin Thomas, Blind Date from Hell. Rachel has blonde hair and brown eyes. Cassidy, Rachel, and I have been best friends for a really long time. Cassidy and I have known each other since preschool, and Rachel moved into the neighborhood in the fifth grade.

“Believe me,” I said, shaking my head. “He was that bad.”

“He tried to get to second base after ignoring you like that?” Rachel said. She shook her head and turned to me. “I still can’t believe you went out with a jock.”

“I didn’t know he was a jock when I agreed on the date,” I said, as if I’d ever go out with a brainless chauvinist.

The only jock I’d ever consider going out with is Chad Michael Murray’s character, Austin Ames, in A Cinderella Story. He was secretly a poet and was just forced to play football by his dad so that doesn’t even count. Plus, he’s a fictional character, and I doubt if there’s a real guy like that out there.

“Duh?” Rachel said, sticking her chin out at me. She adjusted her glasses on the bridge of her nose. “It’s not like Valerie would ever set you up with, like, some nerd out there.”

We were on the school grounds by then. Rachel set off for her locker, which was on the other side of the corridor, and I turned to mine. I was entering my lock combination, when someone tapped me on the back. I turned around and saw Valerie standing in front of me, looking poised and coiffured as always. Guys who passed by had their eyes glued to her. Val was the epitome of school spirit, so much like freaking Marsha Brady. She smiled—a really big one—and said, “Good morning, Gwen. It’s nice to see you like you’re in a better mood.”

“Don’t try the nicey-nice act on me, okay?” I said, turning back to my locker.

“I’m sorry for setting you up with a…” she started. She wrinkled her nose, as if thinking of something that wouldn’t insult Kevin.

“Total bozo?” I suggested, without turning to look at her.

“Not exactly what I was aiming for but close,” she said. I knew she was smiling at me again, even if my back was turned. “Kent told me that Kevin’s a football player at his school, so I thought that maybe the two of you would hit it off—“

“Val,” I said, turning to her, “I know that you were just trying to help, but please, the next time you set me up, choose someone who knows how to treat a girl right, okay?”

“Fine,” she said, and a melancholy look took over her face. “Cuz, I just want to see you with a nice guy before I go off to college.” She pouted, and said, “What kind of guy are you looking for? Tell me, so I could stop setting you up with the wrong ones.”

“Try finding a poet for me,” I said, thinking of Austin Ames from A Cinderella Story.

“A poet?” Val said, sounding appalled. “Why do you want a poet? So the two of you could talk about da Vinci?”

“Val,” I said, “da Vinci was a painter, not a poet.”

“I know that.” She was about to say more, but the bell rang, signaling the start of classes. Val looked around for her pompom pals and said, “Gotta go, Gwen.”

I stared at her back, as she walked away. I had no idea how she managed to find a date for her non-popular sophomore cousin, between cheerleading practice, studying (she’s in Advanced Math), spending time with her boyfriend and her parents, and looking like she just stepped out the pages of Cosmopolitan.

“See you at lunch,” Rachel said, as she walked by me. I said goodbye, and looked around for Cassidy, but I didn’t see her. I shouldn’t have bothered anyway, since she was always late.

I hurried to class, since I didn’t want to be late. I had English for first period, which compensated for the fact that I had to sit through the entire class with Logan Parker—whenever he decides to show up, that is.

Just as I sat down, a boy I didn’t recognize entered the classroom. He was tall with brown hair and hazel eyes. I looked at him up and down. Yummy. He was an interesting prospect, possibly even boyfriend material. He didn’t look like a jock, more like a… poet.

Upon hearing the door swing open, Mr. Clarence looked up and stared at him. The new boy looked back. He fidgeted a little, and I saw him clench his fists. After a few seconds, he cleared his throat, and said, “Hi. I’m a new student here.”

“Name?” Mr. Clarence said, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose, as if to get a better look at the new guy.

“Bryan Daniels,” Bryan said. It was a nice name, and I was becoming more and more interested every second. I wasn’t the only one. The rest of the girls in class had snapped out of their sleepiness and were eyeing him like prey. They were preparing to pounce. What did I expect? They weren’t blind, and teenage girls have this built-in sense to smell a gorgeous male a mile away.

I guess deep down we were all searching for the right guy. It’s not like there’s an overflowing supply of Prince Charmings at our school. Finding someone who fits your dream boy is like—forgive the cliché—looking for a needle in a haystack.

I swear, just as Mr. Clarence was about to point to the empty desk next to mine, Logan swung through the door. Technically, the desk next to mine was Logan’s, but he showed up to class, like, twice a week that I stared thinking of it as vacant. He sat down on his desk, turned to me and grinned.

“Morning, Gwen!” Logan screamed right into my ear. “Did ya miss me?”

Logan Parker and I have known each other our whole lives. I didn’t hate him or anything, but I didn’t like him very much either. Bickering was just something we did since the first grade, when he made me eat a mud pie.

He’s the embodiment of the word scruffy. His black hair always looks like a bird’s nest—he has perfected the I-Just-Got-Out-of-Bed look. His wardrobe consisted of dark vintage shirts with cool logos, dark jeans sometimes with tears on the knees, and black sneakers. Original, huh? Not. His green eyes have this roguish look in them, like he has something up his sleeve.

I’ve seen in tons of movies that girls always go for the bad-boys, A Walk to Remember for example. Shane West played bad boy Landon Carter to perfection. Mandy Moore as Jamie Sullivan was really believable when she tried to reform him. He even went to medical school.

Sure, it seems cool in TV and the prospect of “reforming” a bad-boy is always exhilarating. But in real life? Bad-boys aren’t that charming and are irreformable, unless they really want to change and really love you, which, like, never happens. Bad-boys hardly ever fall in love. If they don’t want to change, forget it.

Logan’s a brilliant example of how unreliable and nauseating bad boys can be or really are. I mean, come on, there are tons of nice guys out there. Why go out with someone so full of emotional baggage? I blame the media for it all. They just romanticize bad-boys.

“Not in this lifetime, Logan,” I said, trying to keep calm. On other days, I would’ve responded with an equally lame comeback in a much louder voice, but I didn’t want to look standoffish to Bryan. I was trying my best to make a good impression.

“It appears that seat is taken,” Mr. Clarence said, withdrawing his hand. He looked around, and spotted the only other vacant desk in the classroom, the one next to Paula Mason, Val’s sophomore counterpart. In other words, the future prom queen, homecoming queen, and, of course, head cheerleader. Bryan walked over to the desk, while I turned my head as nonchalantly as possible. I almost cringed when he smiled at Paula after taking his seat.

Great. Out of all the days Logan decides to show up to class, he had to choose this day, the very day Bryan Daniels, a potential boyfriend, shows up. Give me a break.

“I had no idea you were stalker material, Gwen,” Logan said, turning to look in the direction I was looking at.

“Shut up, Logan,” I said, turning to look at the blackboard again. I tried to concentrate on the lecture, but thoughts of Bryan Daniels and taunting Logan were swirling in my head.

Logan wasn’t planning on doing me any favors either, since he said, “I didn’t know gay guys were your type,” He turned to look at Bryan again. “Look at him. He’s a shoo-in as a host for Queer Eye for the Straight Guy.” He shook his head. “The weird facts about you just keep on coming.”

“Well,” I said, turning to him, “Is it just me, or you haven’t taken a shower in a month?”

“Not in a good mood today, huh, Gwen?” I heard him say, but it was like my control snapped, when he said, “What is up with you this morning? You having ‘nother bout of PMS or you just didn’t get laid?”

It was a below the belt hit, since everyone in school knew I was still a virgin. I didn’t manage to stop myself, before I shrieked, “Screw you, Logan!”

My reaction, of course, triggered an effect from Mr. Clarence who said, “Detention. The two of you.” He looked at us, his eyes sending one message. I’m watching you.

It wasn’t happening. Did I, Gwen Knightley, just get detention? Whoa. Stop. Rewind. I had never been into detention my whole life. Sure, I had been in my fair share of trouble, but detention?

There was also a bonus point. I was going to be stuck in detention with Logan. I also failed to make a good impression on the new guy. I had zero chances with Bryan, none whatsoever. Nil. Zilch. One big fat zero.

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Author's Note: I don't really know how readers would react to this story. I admit that the plot is cliched, but I thought of giving it my own twist. I hope you like it, and I'd really appreciate reviews.