Chapter One

I opened my eyes slowly and turned around in my cocoon of bed sheets, slamming my hand down on the speakerphone button of the phone.

"Kylie, waaakkeee up!" the high-pitched voice of my best friend, Chloe Kennedy rang through the room. Every morning, she wakes me up like this, at the cruelest hour of the day.

"I don't want to!" I protested, looking at my digital clock out of the corner of my eye. It was six forty five.

"It's seven," she replied. "We'll be there in a half hour, and Ryan says he's not waiting for you for more than two minutes."

"And if you don't get your ass out of the house, I'll leave without you," a different voice added. This more masculine one was obviously Chloe's brother, Ryan.

Every day, Chloe and Ryan drive me to school. I'm seventeen, and I've got my permit, but my mom won't let me buy a car. Not only that, but it's too expensive for me to buy one. Ever since my dad left we've been tight on money. The guy my mom remarried, Stepdad Harry as I like to call him, isn't exactly rich either, and his younger son Ben has to live with us too. The four of us in my tiny house is complicated enough. We've only got one car, and that has to suffice for everyone. Mom and Stepdad Harry use it to carpool to work together, so Ben and I have to get other people to drive us.

Since Ben goes to middle school, he gets carpool with the girl living next door.

I go with my best friend Chloe.

But Chloe hasn't gotten her permit yet, so her brother Ryan has to drive us both. I'm kind of grateful for that, although don't ever tell him. He'd love to rub it in my face.

Truthfully, if I didn't have Ryan, I'd be driving with Nerdy Greta from across the street.

Now, let me explain exactly why I don't want Ryan to know about my (rare) appreciation towards him. To explain that, I guess I'd also have to explain my friendship with Chloe.

Me and Chloe met the first day of first grade, which is originally when I moved here (from Michigan, right after me dad left me and Mom. Mom wanted to move because our house back in Michigan was huge, and since we were already losing money, selling it would be a smart thing. Houses in this area were cheap back then, so Mom decided on the one we were currently living in).

I was always small as a kid (even though I'm now 5'8") and I had crooked buckteeth and horrible brunette pigtails (insert puking noises here). All the other kids immediately judged me on this, and no one would sit with me. You can imagine the cruel teasing and name-calling that was directed towards me (let's just say Chipmunk came up more than once). I constantly suffered because of this.

No one would sit next to me at lunch, no one laid next to me at naptime, no one shared thier paint with me or invited me to play with them or even let me borrow their crayons.

You can imagine how it must have been horrible for me, a mere five year old, to feel unloved and unwanted.

Then I met Chloe. She moved to our school because her dad had transferred jobs (which he used to do as often as some people change thier socks). On our very first day, she did all the aforementioned things with me, and then some. Eventually, within the first week, she'd invited me to her house twice.

Chloe made me feel special, like I actually had some good qualities. She complimented me on my singing and dancing, assured me my teeth would shrink, and even lied to me, saying my pigtails (almost) looked cute. By second grade, we had become inseparable, and we've been like that ever since. It's nice to know I have one absolutely best friend who'll stand by me forever.

Of course, Ryan comes into the picture somewhere around here. Chloe had told me, the first day we met, that she had a brother who was a grade above us. I didn't think much of it - lots of people have brothers, it's no big deal.

But it was. It started when I went to Chloe's seventh birthday party. Ryan was there, and before promptly telling me my bathing suit made me look fat and my ponytail was stupid, he pushed me into the pool. I didn't drown or anything, but I swore I would hate him forever, and to some degree, I still do.

Of course, he no longer attempts to drown me at little girls' birthday parties. But apart from that, it's pretty much the same. He loves annoying me, and I love hating him.

You see, in the span of a month after that incident, he threw my sweater in the mud, put sand down the back of my favorite Sesame Street shirt, and pushed me off the slide so hard I got "slideburn" and had scraped skin all over my knees.

Maybe Ryan wouldn't be so bad if he wasn't such an asshole. His light, almond brown hair and clear blue eyes make him look okay. He has a nice body from hours of swimming and basketball, and he really cares about his sister. Unfortunately, he bugs me beyond belief.

I eventually decided to haul my ass out of bed, after spending a good, well-wasted fifteen minutes debating whether or not I had the energy (and willpower) to stand up. I figured I didn't want a repeat of last week, when I overslept a half hour, and Chloe and Ryan broke into my room, poured a cup of freezing water on my head, and then rolled me out of bed onto the cold wooden floor.

So I stood up grudgingly, quickly brushed my teeth, put on a pair of jeans and a tank top, and ran down the stairs to eat breakfast.

The kitchen was empty, as it always is in the morning. Ben was still sleeping, and Mom and Stepdad Harry already left for work (presumably half an hour ago). I grabbed myself a bowl of cereal and added some milk. Sitting down at the table, I took my first spoon.

Ding dong! Ding dong! Ding dong!

I sighed and stood up. Chloe always came at least fifteen minutes early, and truthfully, it was somewhat annoying.

Wrenching open the door, I saw her familiar face peering at me interestedly. Her golden blonde hair fluttered in the San Fransisco wind, and her green orbs were wide with excitement.

"Come on," she said in a hyper fashion. Chloe has this tendency to be...over-excited. "We have to get to school." I didn't see what was so exciting about going to school, but then again, everything's exciting to Chloe.

"Can't I finish my cereal?" I complained. "I'm hungry."

Ryan seemed to have heard me because he yelled out, "Come on Kylie, do the Locomotion and get your ass into this car."

Okay, this is where my name comes into play.

Back in the day, my mother was an extroverted hippie with a strange passion for 80's pop music. As life would have it, she decided to name me after Kylie Minogue. I sincerely regret ever telling anyone about that, especially Ryan. Now, on a daily basis, he makes at least one crack about it.

I mean, it doesn't really help you in life when your mom named you after an iconic late 80's sex symbol. Especially when certain rude people like to point out how you look nothing like that certain sex symbol (coughRyancough).

And they like to make cracks about it too (Locomotion, get it?).

I sighed and rolled my eyes. I normally would have hit a guy who teased me like Ryan did. Unfortunately, not only was he a good twenty metres away, but he was also extremely strong and muscular, which obviously wouldn't work to my advantage.

I groaned, and quickly walked back into the kitchen, emptying the cereal bowl into the garbage. Chloe jogged down the steps with me, to the car.

I threw myslef in angrily.

"Thanks," I said to Ryan, bitterly. "I didn't even get to finish my breakfast."

His eyes twinkled in the rearview mirror as she looked me up and down.

"That's no so bad," he commented. "Besides, it would do you good to lose some weight."

I rolled my eyes, then shot him a dark look in the mirror.

"Just drive," I commanded, and he obeyed for once.

The drive to school is relatively quick, only about five minutes or so. In freshman year (I'm a junior now), I had to walk to school, and it took about half an hour. Another reason why I'm happy I've got Ryan.

We breezed down the familiar road, and I smiled as the windy air blew into my face. I didn't particularly care it was probably getting (very) messed up. I have never and will never be one of those girls who is always worried whether or not her make-up is messed up, clothes are wrinkled, or if her shoes don't match with her shirt. I dress casually, only wear make-up on special occasions, and would take a burger over a wimpy salad anyday.

I mean, I'm not a slob or a pig, or anything like that. I still take showers, change clothes and socks frequently, wear nice things, and do care about whether my food choices are healthy or not, but I don't obsess over it. That's the thing that separates me from other girls in my school; they're skipping classes to spend hours in front of the girls bathroom mirror, obsessing over whether or not their (too short) skirts make their thighs look fat. (Insert eye roll here.)

Who cares about that stuff? In a year or two, we'll all be off to different colleges, and everyone's gonna forget who was most popular, who was hot and who was not, and even what all their fellow high-schoolers looked like. There's no point getting too caught up in these seemingly "precious" years.

Sure, I'll always remember Chloe and Madison (one of my other good friends) and the girls I was close with, and even Ryan, but I'm not going to really care whether or not the "golden boy" thought I was hot, or if the "popular girls" hated me, or if my crush didn't like me back...

Those things are for people like Ryan.

We arrived in school in about seven minutes, due to traffic. I sighed as I hopped out of the car, slamming the door in the process.

Today I had the horrible, unflattering Mr. Rovers for Biology. It's one of my least favorite subjects, mainly because I'm so bad. I mean, when am I really going to need to know how fungi looks, or how to dissect a frog? Is that really neccessary for students to learn? And should some of us even be trusted with these tools?

Especially since today, when I walked in, Rodney Flesher and Buddy Durtin were using the tongs and tweezers to painfully pull out the few almost non-existent nose hairs from resident geek, Avery Apeg's nose. Mr. Rovers walked up behind them slowly, and asked them what they were doing.

They replied "We're giving him a rare, once-in-a-lifetime, special spa experience, sir. He doesn't even have to pay." Then they snickered while I rolled my eyes. Dumbasses don't even know that you don't go to the spa to get rid of nosehairs - you do that at home with a pair of nose hair clippers.

Once the class had settled down, and Avery (who is unfortunately my bio partner) had returned to his seat beside me, Mr. Rovers started the lesson.

Okay, don't get me wrong, Avery's an okay partner. I mean, he's smart, simple, and doesn't even give long explanations in Geekspeak of things I don't understand. He doesn't wear wire-rimmed glasses or pick his nose, or speak with an easily noticeable lisp. He dresses presentably, and acts polite.

But he also has a huge crush on Janey Mannison. Janey is one of the biggest bit -er, I mean, witches- at our school. She dresses in slutty outfits, wears three tons of make-up every day, you get the drill. She hangs out with the "populars" - a group of airheads who don't even know what two plus two is. Sad, I know.

For a while back in freshman year, she led Avery on. They were chemistry lab partners and she knew he liked her. Not officially, of course. But the way he looked at her, any idiot could tell.

Then, one night, she invited him over to a party. He got drunk, and they somehow managed to get him to confess his feelings for her. Then they posted it as a sound clip online - horrible, right?

It doesn't stop there. Apparently, at the party, they played the infamous "Seven Minutes in Heaven". On one round, Janey got stuck with Avery. She later spread a rumor that he was so inexperienced that he tried to unhook her bra before taking her shirt off, which to her, is a sin. Puh-leez. As if Avery would even have the guts to go within ten centimetres of her chest.

Since that incident, I've hated Janey and I've hated all the "populars" in general. Which is hard to do, because so many of them were involved in that incident (apparently, Ryan was at that party, too).

Now, here's why I don't like working with him. He's annoying. Fuh-reaking pissy. He still mopes about it, wants another chance. After all she did to him. Just proves how hopeless some people can be.

"Hey Kylie," he said sulkily. I gave him a smile - a rather pitying one, but still a smile - and waved lightly.

"Hey Avery. What's up?"

His eyes looked excited. "I think I have another chance with Janey," he said informatively.

"Really," I drawled. "And how do you know?"

"People have been talking," he shrugged it off. "I'm thinking of making a move on her at the party at the Deegan's."

Oh, yes, the Deegan's party. The one they held every year, the only one where the entire school was invited (although the nerds never came anyways). It was the epitome of "crazy college frat party", with the exception that it was for high-schoolers. You couldn't walk anywhere at that party without seeing a half-naked couple making out, a group of rowdy boys taking shots of beer, or a group of populars sitting around, laughing, basking in thier (fake) awesomeness.

The worst part is that it's run by Emily Deegan. Know how I said Janey's a bitch? Well, Emily is ten times worse. Being the best friend and all, they have the same power, but Emily abuses it more. From name-calling, to backstabbing, you name it and she's done it.

I sighed.

I slid my textbook open, and tried to concentrate. For most of the period, I got by with minimal effort on my part. A few occasional looks at the teacher, some grunts and he didn't suspect that my mind was off in La La Land. I smiled as he dismissed us to go to our next classes.

The day flew by quickly.

Finally, it was time for squad practice.

Now, don’t misunderstand me here. Yes, I am on the cheerleading squad. But no, I am not a prep, or a bitch, or whatever other stereotypes there are for those people. In fact, I’m a tomboy if anything. I hate make up, girly clothes, people who wear make up and girl clothes, people who sell make up and girly—

Okay, I should probably get back on topic.

The reason I’m on the squad. Um, yeah.

Basically, it’s this simple. When I was seven, I wanted to play soccer. Badly. Really really badly. Unfortunately, I sucked at it. Really really badly.

I realized that I was wasting pointless money and time on doing it. I mean, nothing could help the fact that I’d been born weak and couldn’t kick far or score a goal, or the fact that all the other girls – my opponents – played rep hockey on the side, and were therefore considerably huge and monster strong.

So I decided to switch to dance. It happened accidentally. Mom had gone to the community centre to sign up for yoga classes, and I saw this group of girls doing gymnastics on the mats. I was fascinated, and by the next week, I’d persuaded Mom to sign me up.

It turned out to be for the best. In my freshman year, I became the youngest person (and only freshman) to be accepted onto our schools’ cheerleading squad (which they like to call our dance squad, to make it seem more “pretentious”).

I arrived in the gym just on time, as the other girls were about to begin their stretches. I quickly set my bag down and joined them.

Coach Marie is usually late for practices, because she teaches Gym to some (unlucky) freshmen, and her class always seems to go beyond schedule. We take it as a blessing; we get some extra time to chat before the angry, crazy old lady is breathing down our necks.

I spotted my friend Madison on the other side of the mats. She was down in the splits position, stretching her thighs as she reached to grab her foot.

“Hey Maddie.” I sat down next to her, and quickly moved join her in stretching. She grunted in response. Once she finally decided she’d had enough, Maddie leaned back and put her hands over her head, as though reaching for the sky.

Her caramel colored hair was sweaty, her hazel eyes frustrated. What looked like water (although was obviously sweat) trickled down her walnut-colored skin (something I’d always secretly been jealous of).

“What’s wrong?” I asked. She shrugged.

“I quit dance classes.”

I looked at her, horrified. Maddie studied at the Victorian Ballet Academy, which, despite its name, taught much more than ballet. She had classes in hip hop, jazz, and break dancing (her forte) every week. It was practically in her blood. Her father (who she’d never met) was a street dancer who eventually made it big somewhere in Europe, but in the meantime, he impregnated her mother, an avid ballerina. Both their careers came crashing down, and her father deserted her mother because of this. Despite all their personal problems, they were still good.

“Why?” I asked her. I couldn’t imagine doing that, quitting something I loved. Especially not dancing – or in my case, gymnastics. Even though my family was low on money, my mom completely supported me with my decision to keep dancing.

“It’s not fun,” she responded quickly, just before Coach stormed into the gym.

“Alright girls, let’s get this show on the road!” she began. Just then, she stopped in her tracks.

“Miss Deegan, what in Lord’s name are you wearing?”

I looked over, only to find Emily (who was unfortunately on the squad as well, even though she couldn’t really dance, but rather scampered around trying – and failing – to look sexy) dressed in nothing but a tube top and a pair of shorts that barely even existed.

“It’s my dance outfit, Coach,” she replied in a sickly sweet voice, doing her signature suck-up smile.

“Just go change,” Coach ordered, sighing.

Ten minutes later, we’d finally begun.

It started with some jogging, a few sit-ups and push-ups to tone our abs and arms, and then some leg kicks and quick stretches.

Then we started going over the routine. Our area championship was in January, four months away. We really needed to work our butts off if we wanted to make it to state in May. It was something our school had never done before. Last year, we’d made it so close. Unfortunately one of the girls on the squad fell and broke her foot during our routine. She was our “jumper”, and we were only a week away from the meet. We had no time to edit and perfect the routine, so we had to face defeat.

Coach still uses that incident of the perfect example of what we don’t want to happen.

“Come on ladies, get your head in the game! I don’t want a repeat of what happened last year, or every last one of you will have to suffer for it!”

Coach can be real scary at times, even though she’s so petite you feel like if you poke her, you’ll break her. She’s strong as a horse, and stubborn as a mule.

Seventy minutes later, we were all sitting down, sweating and panting for breath.

“Alright, girls. Go change,” she said finally. “See you tomorrow. And you better have nailed the first half of the routine, or you’ll all be sorry.”

“She scares me,” said Penelope, a sophomore, as we were exiting the gym.

“Me too,” Madison agreed. “She could make a pro wrestler cry.”

We had a laugh at that one, then finished washing up, and exited the locker room.

Penelope left to get her bike and go home, and me and Madison kept walking and was supposed to drive me home, just as he drove me to school. Unfortunately, Chloe wouldn’t be there to break the awkward silence this time.

Just as we exited the school, my eyes fell upon a horrible sight. Emily Deegan was stationed at the window of Ryan’s car. She was wearing a similar outfit to the one Coach had told her to change out of, although the shorts did seem to grow a few inches.

I pushed my way up to the car, trying to be as cold as possible. It was no secret Emily hated me – at least, considering the stuff written on the walls of the girls toilets – and I disliked her just as much.

“Hey Ryan,” I said, interrupting their conversation.

Emily shot me a “what-are-you-doing-here” look.

“Ready to go?” I asked.

He looked taken aback at my friendly manner. So amazed, in fact, that he didn’t even make any rude jokes.

“Uh, sure,” he said. “I’ll see you later, Em.”

Em? Eew. Since when where they on nickname terms?

“Bye Ry.” Emily smiled, and leaned over a bit more, to give him a shot of what lay underneath the barely-there shirt. Ryan looked away politely, and I cheered silently in my head. So he hadn’t been completely fooled by uberbitch.

As soon as we’d pulled out of the parking lot, I cornered him (figuratively, of course).

“Em? I didn’t even know you guys were on first name basis,” I said.

“Kylie, just mind your own business for once.”

I fell back, silent.

“So,” I said casually, a few minutes later, “how was basketball practice?”

He pretended not to hear me.

“How about that weather we’re having, eh?” I said, trying again.

He ignored me.

“Would you just say something!?” I said, irritated. “It’s not like I killed your sister.”

“I didn’t know you had such an urge to talk to me.” He smirked. “I wouldn’t blame you, though. I am devilishly handsome. Girls fall all over me.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Oh, by the way Ms. Locomotion,” he said casually, “you have grass in your hair.”

I picked it out, frustrated. Wouldn’t he ever leave me alone?

“And you forgot to tie your seatbelt.”

I groaned and did so, finally leaning back in my seat. Five minutes seemed like forever. This was going to be a long ride.

AN: Just an idea for a cliche story I got. Wanted to see whether or not you guys would like it. Please review and tell me if you do; more will hopefully come in the future. Thanks!! As well, I'll be putting most of my other stories on hiatus because I seriously need to focus on finishing one!! I'll decide which one later.. (you guys can tell me which one you want me to finsih first as well). Anyways, please review if you have the time.