A/N: Welcome, readers!

I decided to take a break from my supernatural stories to try something new. This is my first foray into the whole cliched romance genre, so I hope I've pulled it off! Let me know what you think!

Note: January 12th, 2008
DMAS has been nominated for round five of the SKoW awards, in the best cliche category! Thanks to Aimee and Sarah for thinking of me!

Enjoy!

Assholes and Lip Gloss

“You can do this,” I muttered under my breath, tugging nervously at the hem of my tattered jean skirt. “You’re a strong, beautiful, intelligent woman. This will be a piece of cake.”

Except that it wouldn’t. Brookfield East High School rose up before me, a brick prison crammed between two larger cement parking structures. Taxis whizzed by behind me, as I stood staring up at the large yellow banner that welcomed all new and returning students, my stomach sinking. Someone was honking, and I turned to find that I was still standing in the middle of the street, and scampered up onto the sidewalk, waving an apology at the angry soccer mom who’d been trying to avoid running me over in her minivan.

Kids of every size, shape, and color hurried past me, forcing me closer and closer to the building looming before me. I had no desire to walk up the steps and join these foreign kids for a day of pure torture, but I couldn’t see any other option. Either I went to school, or returned home to face the consequences, neither of which sounded very appealing.

“Hey, get out of the way!” I heard someone yell, and jumped onto the front steps as a group of punks on skateboards rolled past where I’d just been standing. The chance that I’d be run over would be significantly reduced if I went inside, and, hearing the warning bell, decided it best to get this day over with. That couldn’t happen if I stayed outside all morning. With a resigned sigh, I slowly made my way up the front steps to the ominous glass-paneled front doors.

A guard stood at the entrance, and I smiled what I hoped to be my most convincing smile, completely unaware of the large metal detectors surrounding the door. A loud beeping erupted from the machine as I passed through it, and hundreds of heads turned to stare at me in annoyance.

“Hey kid,” he called, “come back here!”

Slowly I pivoted, flashed the cop my most charming smile, and tossed my bag into his hands. “Sorry, first day,” I apologized.

With an annoyed groan, he ran my things through the scanner, staring intently at the computer screen that monitored my backpack’s contents. When he was sure I wasn’t trying to smuggle in pipe bombs or cocaine, he handed me back my things, and I flounced off towards the principal’s office, with every intention of being late. If I could miss the awkward first day of homeroom, I’d feel much better. I wasn’t very skilled in the making-friends department, or talking to people I didn’t know, especially ones my own age. Kids could be vicious.

The halls were crowded with students racing to beat the bell, and I was sure I’d have a few bruises by the time I got home. One guy, who looked like he could have been captain of the wrestling team, accidentally knocked me into a locker, and another girl in stiletto pumps trampled over my flip-flop-clad feet. Muttering curse words under my breath, I hurried upstairs, keeping an eye out for the door labeled ‘Main Office.’ The bell had rung, so the hallways were empty, and I savored the few moments of silence. I hadn’t been able to properly study my new school earlier, so I stopped now, trying to take everything in.

The floors were covered in black laminate, a few squares coming up at the edges. The walls were tiled in some kind of puce green, decorated with colorful posters advertising numerous clubs and events; chess club, art club, soccer team, lacrosse, homecoming announcements. The lockers clashed horribly with the walls, alternating between salmon and forest green, all of them looking incredibly dingy. God, I hated public schools.

I finally spotted the door to the main office and slipped inside. The administration’s inner sanctum was a step up from the grimy halls, but not by much. Walls that I assumed had once been white were adorned with cheap imitations of famous paintings, and an ancient chalkboard listed the week’s goals for both staff and students. The office smelled of coffee and stale donuts, and I resisted the urge to gag. There was a row of plastic chairs along one wall, so I dropped onto one, tapping my foot nervously in time with the oldies coming from the radio on the receptionist’s abandoned desk.

The office was empty, and I spent a good fifteen minutes watching the hands on the tiny clock tick away the time. I could hear muted arguing behind the door labeled ‘Principal’, and eagerly listened in. I wasn’t one to gossip, but I knew next to nothing about Brookfield East, or the people in it – I needed some kind of reinforcement that the students here weren’t all vicious hooligans, drug addicts, or Nazis.

Nobody had come in since I’d taken a seat, so I ventured to a chair closer to the door, leaning in slightly. I still couldn’t make anything out, so I scooted closer. Just as I made out a few swears, the door flew open, and I toppled over, having been leaning a bit too far.

“Get out of my way,” someone snapped, and I glanced up to see a young man, probably about eighteen, glaring at me in a way that made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. Before I’d even tried to pull myself up and apologize, he’d stepped over me, muttering under his breath something that sounded like, “Stupid bitch.”

Taken aback, I stared after him, now sitting cross-legged on the disgusting orange shag carpet that covered the floor. Was everyone at this school that unpleasant?

“Lacey Radner?” a disgruntled voice called.

“Here,” I squeaked, gathering my things and pulling myself up. An older man, probably in his late fifties, was leaning against his desk, looking perturbed. He was tall, with fuzzy grey hair sticking out at odd angles, and a nose that took up half his face. His eyes looked kind, but were stormy at the moment, presumably from that miserable boy who’d just stormed out. I ignored the way his blazer pulled at his beer belly, and shyly accepted the hand he offered me.

“I’m Principal Webber. It’s nice to finally meet you. You come highly recommended.”

I didn’t want to make assumptions, but I had a feeling Brookfield East didn’t have a lot of students like me. Not many, I’m guessing, were applying to Berkeley, or had attended one of America’s finest boarding schools available to young women. It didn’t look as if many had studied overseas, or were capable of speaking another language other than slang, gangsta, or pig latin.

“Woodlands Academy of the Sacred Heart.” He shook his head in mild amusement. “I’m impressed. So what brings you to Brookfield East? Needed a better education?”

Hardly. I had a feeling I had probably already learned everything I was going to be taught this year. But I kept my thoughts to myself and smiled politely, taking the seat Principal Webber indicated.

“I have your schedule here somewhere,” he muttered, shuffling papers across his desk. When he finally extracted it from beneath a large book titled Administration 101: How to Communicate with Your Students on a More Personal Level, there was a large tear down the middle. “Oops. Well, nothing a little tape won’t fix.” He grinned sheepishly at me, and I decided that, while incredibly disorganized, I liked Mr. Webber immensely. “I see you’re taking nearly all AP classes. Good for you.”

“Thanks,” I said uncertainly, glancing down at the paper in my hands. I skimmed over the courses listed, when my eyes suddenly fell on one that didn’t belong. “Uh, Sir?” I pointed at the undesired class. “I never signed up for gym.”

Principal Webber chuckled, ignoring my horrified expression. “Everyone here has to take four years of gym, Miss Radner. You understand.”

But I didn’t. How had no one bothered to tell me about this? I could get A’s in everything else, but physical education would be my downfall. I had avoided sports at all costs at Sacred Heart, and suddenly I was being forced to do a little bit of everything? This had to be some kind of sick joke.

“Now, homeroom is almost over, so I suggest you just head to your first class…” He peered down at my schedule again. “AP English. Excellent. Mr. Jonas’s room is down the hall and to your left. You’ll know which room is his, trust me.”

Taking the hint, I rose from my cracked plastic chair and tried to smile convincingly. “Thanks for your help, Mr. Webber.”

“Not at all. If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to stop by. Have a great first day!”

I turned to leave, my face falling at the idea of gym, when the principal’s voice called me back.

“And Miss Radler? Welcome to East High.”

“Thanks,” I replied. I hurried out into the hall, which was slowly filling up with students as they tried to sneak out before the bell rang. Peering around the corner, I had a feeling I knew which room Mr. Jonas would be in. To my left was a door plastered in guitar picks and photos of the Beatles. There was a glittering sign that read ‘Jon-ASS Kicks Ass,’ a donkey scribbled beneath, and I smiled despite myself.

I waited for the previous class to exit before slipping inside, taking a seat in the back corner closest to the door; if I ended up going crazy, at least I’d be able to make a quick retreat. Within minutes, students began piling in, all chatting loudly about their summers, exchanging first-day gossip, and comparing brands of lip gloss. I felt completely out of place.

The room was packed, and I almost missed Mr. Jonas completely, who was now standing at the front of the room, grinning widely, eyes sparkling with anticipation.

“Good morning, class!” he cried, waving his hands in an attempt to get everyone to settle down; I was surprised when everyone took their seats and silence fell over the room. “For those of you who don’t know me, I am Fred Jonas, but you can just call me Jonas. Or Mr. Jonas. Doctor Jonas works too, even though I don't have a PhD.” There were a few scattered laughs throughout the room, and I raised an eyebrow in question. So far I hadn’t learned anything, and Fred Jonas had certainly done nothing to impress me. He was short and squirrelly, very animated and jumpy, but that didn’t mean he was a good teacher.

“For those of you who are unaware, we have a new student with us,” he grinned, pointing at me. I wanted to shrink into my seat and disappear, but he was motioning for me to stand up. Resignedly, I turned to face the class, plastering a smile to my face. “Lacey Radner, everyone.”

A few girls waved, and I caught one boy checking out my boobs.Typical, I thought with disgust. I also realized, with some interest, that the boy who’d been arguing with Principal Webber was in my class, and had his head down on his desk, clearly uninterested. I was thankful at least one person wasn’t willing to witness my complete and utter humiliation.

“Why don’t you tell us a little about yourself, Lacey,” Mr. Jonas said invitingly.

I wanted to disappear, but instead cleared my throat and spoke clearly, as I’d learned to do at Sacred Heart, “Well, my name is Lacey Radner. I’m a senior this year, and just moved from Illinois. I used to go to a boarding school there-” there were a few snickers, which I chose to ignore, “-and really enjoyed it.” I shrugged. “Uh, I’m applying to Berkeley, and eventually want to become a doctor.” There. That was enough personal information, wasn’t it? “That’s about it.”

“Excellent. Well, we’re glad to have you here at Brookfield East. I hope you won’t be too bored,” he joked. He turned to address the rest of the class. “We’re going to jump right into Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream, alright? Everybody grab a copy off the shelf - you’ll be using it for the next two weeks.”

I got up and shuffled to the shelf, thankful that I’d already read this play, and would therefore be able to sound at least somewhat intelligent during discussion. The girl behind me in line tapped me on the shoulder, smiling widely.

“Hi,” she said, extending a hand. “I’m Candejah. But you can call me Candy. How’s it going?”

Finally! Normal people! I shook her hand, taking in her entire outfit, which was overwhelmingly cheerful. Dark brown skin glowed against a bright yellow sun dress with matching flats, and I couldn’t help but admire her fashion sense. I hadn’t been sure what girls in public school wore, since I’d been accustomed to uniforms, so I’d chosen a simple jean skirt and navy tank, hoping I wouldn’t stand out. Compared to Candy, I could have been completely invisible.

“Hi,” I replied, my voice tiny. Friendly or not, I was still shy. “It’s good. I think.” I glanced around at the rest of the class, which was full of girls dressed like Candy, or guys in pants either too wide, or too skinny. “I think I’m a bit underdressed.”

Candy laughed, linking her arm with mine and hauling me back towards our seats. “Girl, whatever. You can dress however you want here. I know they say your skirt has to be knee-length or longer, but nobody’s complained about Rebecca Eden’s vagina-exposing minis. Don’t even worry about it.”

I laughed, allowing myself to relax a little. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The girl smiled at me and winked as Mr. Jonas began discussing the first act of the play. Seeing as how I’d already read it, I zoned, carefully studying the students surrounding me. Candy was directly to my left, and a girl wearing similar colors was next to her. In front of me was a boy in jeans tight enough to be considered a second skin, vibrant purple hair gelled into a mohawk. The boy from the office was sitting in the corner of the front row, twirling a pencil between thumb and forefinger. He looked normal enough in ratty jeans and a Ramones t-shirt, dark hair falling across his forehead and most likely impairing his vision. A group of girls in matching miniskirts and revealing tank tops sat in one corner, their bleach blonde hair blinding in the morning sun. I had a feeling one of them was Rebecca Eden, and I decided I probably didn’t care which. They didn’t look like nice people, and who wanted to be friends with evil wenches?

Not that I was stereotyping, or anything.

I spent the hour making observations about my other AP classmates and exchanging silly grins with Candejah. When the bell rang, I made a beeline for the door. My new friend paraded after me, and walked with me to my next class - AP Calculus, unfortunately - offering advice on students to stay away from, which teachers to suck up to, and which bathrooms should be avoided.

“Come find me at lunch,” she called, hurrying away. “You have to sit with us!”

Who ‘us’ was, I had no idea, but it sure beat sitting alone.

I found out who Candejah was referring to an hour later, when I trooped into the cafeteria, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. Maybe I was just imagining things, but it felt as if every pair of eyes was suddenly focused on me. Blushing, I scanned the room for my friend.

“Hey girl!” she cried, waving at me from a table in the middle of the crowded room. I carried my tray of mystery meat and potatoes over, and plopped down beside her, smiling tentatively at the four other girls sitting there. “Lacey, this is Sarah, Morgan, Lilah, and Vern. Ladies, this is Lacey. She’s new.”

“Hi,” I said, trying to remember each of their names.

“’Sup?” Morgan asked, a huge grin on her face revealing a mouthful of braces. That I could remember.

“S’goin’ on?” another asked. I was pretty sure it was Lilah. Lilah equaled Latina. Also something I could remember.

Sarah and Vern were both blonde and extremely tiny. The only difference was Vern had large streaks of fuchsia in her bangs, and I admired her for her audacity; I’d never even dared to get highlights.

“Hey,” the said in unison, their voices unusually high.

“So, where are you from again?” Candy asked, shoveling a forkful of mystery meat into her mouth.

“Lake Forest, Illinois,” I replied, carefully cutting off a piece of my own meat and putting it to my lips. “I went to a boarding school there for my first three years of high school.”

“So why’d you move here?” Morgan asked, unabashedly picking broccoli out of her braces.

“Parent's divorced. Mom couldn’t afford Sacred Heart anymore, so we’re living with my grandparents until we can afford our own apartment.”

“Cool. What’s boarding school like? Is it kind of like prison?” Lilah asked, and my eyes widened in surprise at her question. I was too shy to ask if she’d ever actually been in prison. She didn’t look like the type of girl who’d commit crimes, but then, what did I know? I'd almost been run over by punks on skateboards a few hours ago.

“I loved it,” I said honestly. “I wish I could go back.”

“Well, Milwaukee’s not a bad town,” Sarah promised, tossing her Snicker’s wrapper on the floor. “You’ll like it here.”

I hoped she was right.

We spent the next twenty minutes discussing favorite movies and trivial girl things when the bell rang, signaling the beginning of the second half of the day. I made it to AP Bio and AP Art History without incident. When two o’clock rolled around, I trudged downstairs to the girl’s locker room, dropping my book bag in my assigned locker. Everyone had been supplied a gym uniform, and I tugged on the oversized gold t-shirt and navy shorts, feeling the years of grime stick to me before I’d even made it into the gym.

I noted, with some dismay, that the boy from the office was in my class, too, lounging against the bleachers and glaring at everyone. I spotted Sarah off to the left, and hurried over to her, eager to talk to someone I already knew.

“Hey,” she grinned, giving me a high-five.

“Hey!”

Coach Nelson blew his whistle, motioning us all to take a seat on the court. I had hoped that maybe we’d just be going over basic rules and regulations the first day, but my teacher had other things in mind. Our first unit would be basketball; my stomach sank. I was terrible at sports, and my coordination was abysmal. Basketball would be a nightmare.

We were each handed a jersey, and told to get in groups of six. My team consisted of me, Sarah, a girl named Ashley, one of the leggy blondes from my english class, and two guys who introduced themselves as Michael and Zach. I noticed that the blonde was eyeing Michael, a seductive smile in place, and resisted the urge to puke. Sure, he was good looking, with his curly blonde hair, muscular arms, and hundred-watt smile, but he wasn’t someone I saw and immediately wanted to jump.

Our group was paired with another, and assigned to the first of two courts. Having told my team I was terrible at this particular game (they'd find out how bad I was at everything else in due course), they’d assigned me to follow one of the smaller girls on the other team, Lindsey, and let them do all the work, for which I was grateful.

The whistle blew, and I hurried to guard Lindsey, who was grinning at me, also not really wanting to play. We were following the others around the court when I saw the ball come flying towards me.

Crap.

I reached out to grab it, but toppled over as my shoe slid off, knocking someone else off their feet, too. I was surprised to find Office Boy glowering at me, ball clutched in his hands.

“Get off me,” he snarled, and I scrambled to my feet, surprised by how angry he sounded. My shoe, it seemed, had found the only piece of gum still fresh on the floor, and had decided it liked Strawberry Splash better than my foot. I couldn’t say I blamed it.

“Sorry,” I exclaimed, trying to find Lindsey in the mass of people surrounding me, shoving my foot back into my sneaker.

“Yeah, well, you should be,” the boy huffed, and took off towards the other end of the court. I ignored the cheers from his team as he scored, and tried in vain to keep up for the rest of the period.

I was relieved when Coach blew his whistle, signaling the end of class. I trudged off to the locker rooms with Lindsey, Sarah, and a few others, chatting idly about our dislike of gym and all things athletic. Lindsey, it turned out, had already been accepted at RISD, the Rhode Island School of Design, and was much more skilled with a paintbrush than with a basketball. I liked her immediately.

Someone behind us was mumbling obscenities, and I glanced over my shoulder, finding myself eye to eye with Office Boy. As I suspected, he was staring at me with open dislike, and I turned back to the girls, trying my best to ignore the feeling of his eyes on my back. What the hell was his problem? All I’d done was trip him by accident. It’s not like I went around trying to cause collisions on a regular basis.

“Who’s the guy that I knocked over?” I asked, when we were in the privacy of the locker room.

Sarah rolled her eyes. “That’s Ryan Bradley. He’s an ass.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” I said, thankful to be rid of the foul gym uniforms. “Does he just hate everyone, or did I do something to piss him off?”

“Ryan’s mean to everyone. Don’t even worry about it,” Lindsey said, patting my shoulder as she hurried out to her car – thankfully, my first day at Brookfield East was over.

I waved goodbye to Sarah once I’d reached the parking structure, and headed for the top level, where I’d been forced to park. My dodge neon gleamed in the afternoon sun, and I hurried towards it like a moth to a flame. I was cut off, however, by a man on a rather ostentatious motorcycle that froze me in my tracks, making a large circle around where I stood. I wasn’t surprised to see Ryan Bradley perched on top of it.

“This your car?” he asked, pointing at the neon. I nodded. “Find somewhere else to park. This is my spot.”

“Really?” I asked, unsure of where the harsh tone in my voice had come from. “I don’t see your name on it. I thought this was a public parking structure.”

“Everyone knows this is my spot. So tomorrow, find somewhere else to park your precious car.”

He zoomed off in a cloud of exhaust, and I choked a bit as I tugged open the door to my car, the welcoming scent of cherries meeting me as I took a seat. My first day had been exhausting, and all I really wanted to do was collapse on my bed and take a nap.

The drive home was short, and I sighed in relief when my grandparent’s apartment came into view as I turned onto 5th Street. I took the elevator to the eighth floor, and dug around in my purse for my keys Apartment #82 smelled of chocolate chip cookies and cheap perfume. I shut the door behind me and planted a kiss on my grandmother’s weathered cheek.

“Hey Gram. I smell cookies.”

The old woman gave me a toothless grin and handed me a glass of milk. “How was your first day, dear? Did you make any new friends?”

I proudly repeated the names of the girls I’d sat with at lunch, and entertained my grandmother with tales of my gym class failures and the kids in my numerous AP classes. She seemed pleased that I’d done so well on my first day, and in retrospect, I guess I had.

“Where’s Mom?” I asked, staring out the kitchen window at Lake Michigan.

“Looking for a job. She has an interview at the grade school tomorrow.”

“That’s great!” I cried, a grin spreading across my face. “Mom loves little kids.”

Gram smiled and nodded, turning back to the crossword laid out on the table. And God knew not to bother my grandmother when she was doing the crossword.

I slipped into my bedroom and flopped down on the bed, reaching for the controller to my CD player. Strains of Imogen Heap filled the room, and I hummed along as I reached for my math book.

All things considered, I had done a pretty good job of trying to fit in at Brookfield East. I’d made a few friends (even if Candejah had been the instigator in that situation), and had managed not to sit alone at lunch. My teachers all seemed to like me, and for the most part, my classes weren't that bad.

The only thing that was bothering me was Ryan Bradley. What had I done to make him so angry? And why on earth was he so anal about his parking space? If that was the only spot left tomorrow, I was going to park there again; no way was I going to park all the way down the street in the metered garage.

Seriously, that kid had a problem, and for some reason, part of it was me.