The Guy Every Girl….


Summary: There are certain qualities that a GUY needs to have in order to be worthy enough to have a GIRL by his side. But I never thought that the new kid I'm supposed to date n' dump as a prank all new kids go through had all those qualities--or that I would fall in LOVE with him.

"Wait for the guy who tells you that you're beautiful instead of 'hot' and holds your hand in front of his friends when he knows that they don't like you…. yet. Look for a guy who smiles more than he frowns and calls you back after you hang up on him. Find the guy who would take you out to a fancy dinner in your sweats because he insists that you always look beautiful in anything-- the guy who would show you off to the world, smile from ear to ear, and say, "I'm the luckiest guy in the world." Wait for the guy who couldn't care less that you stink up a bathroom worse than he does and defends you when the world seems to be against you. Wait for the guy who watches you sleep then wakes up early enough to be the first person you see when you wake up. The guy who doesn't believe in Fate, but adds that if there was such a thing then it was wonderfully kind to him by making you his soul mate-- wait for that guy."


Versace. Gucci. Dolce & Gabbana. Louis Vuitton. Burberry. Old Navy.

Old Navy?!

I stopped walking and stared at the scrawny boy with surfer hair and Old Navy surfer clothes to match. His beige Jansport messenger baghad holes that were noticeable to people fifteen feet away-- like me.

Okay, maybe scraggly surfer hair and clothes from Old Navy isn't unusual or a bad thing to people who don't live in Hawthorne County, but this is Hawthorne County. Hawthorne, California is a city where everyone wears designer clothes-- not just Tommy Hilfiger and Ralph Lauren, but more expensive brands like Versace and Gucci as well. Even the punks and Goths wore top-of-the-line Converse and Vans shoes, Marc Jacobs combat boots, and only the best clothes from Hot Topic.

I continued to stare at the surfer boy for a while longer before he saw me, grinned, and approached me. Crap.

He was tall compared to my 5'5 figure, probably around six feet. His stringy beach blonde hair slightly covered his eyes, which I noticed, as he came closer, were a deep blue like the sea-- perfectly complementing his surfer look. A few freckles were sprinkled across his slightly tanned nose and he wore a brown and white seashell necklace.

"Hey," he grinned.

I looked around nervously, hoping that no one saw me talking to this guy.

"I was just wondering if you knew where room 457 is located," he continued, squinting at a crinkled schedule in his right hand.

I cleared my throat. Should I give him directions or should I just walk away like anyone else at Hawthorne High would have done if a new kid in Old Navy clothes, nonetheless, asked for directions? Of course I should give him directions. I wasn't as terrible as Plum, my closest friend and the richest girl at Hawthorne High School.

"Sure," I smiled warmly. "Just follow me, I'm headed that way."

"Thanks," he said as we walked towards the main campus.

"Are you new?" I asked as I looked at the ground hoping that no one recognized me.

Oh, who was I kidding? Of course they would recognize me walking with the only guy wearing a gray tee and black and orange Old Navy surfer shorts. The fact that I had decided to wear the latest from the runways in New York City on the first day of school for the sole purpose of turning heads wasn't exactly an advantageous factor either.

"Yeah," he said.

His voice was different; he had more of a Seth Cohen accent rather than the deep and urbane tone every other Versace clothed guy at Hawthorne had. It was new and, dare I admit, refreshing.

"I've made it kind of obvious, don't you think?" he laughed. "If only I'd known models came here, I would've told my mom to shop for my clothes at the nearest Nee-man Marcus store."

I couldn't help laughing at his lame attempt to pronounce Neiman Marcus and that he'd just told me his mother still bought his clothes for him when he was definitely 17-years-old if not older.

"So where are you from?" I asked as we entered the elevators and pressed the fourth floor button.

He looked around in awe as if he'd never seen an elevator before in his life prior to answering, "I'm from San Diego. Wait, this school has elevators?!"

"I'm assuming they only had stairs in San Diego?" I smiled as the elevator smoothly went up.

He nodded and looked at me again. "So does everyone here wear clothes like that?"

I looked at the turquoise Juicy Couture turtleneck and white Bergdorf skirt from Bergdorf Goodman that I was wearing. Then I noticed just how très chic my new Manolo Blahnik heels looked beside surfer boy's raggedy brown sandals.

"Yes," I smiled as I pried my eyes away from the ghastly sight of his shoes, "everyone does wear clothes like this."

By this time, the elevator stopped and the golden doors opened to reveal the fourth floor. To my terrible luck, my ex-boyfriend and his new flame were standing right in front of us. He still looked gorgeous no matter how hard I tried to convince myself that he wasn't as big of a loss as I'd thought after he left me for my ex best friend, Chanel Watkins.

"Karmin?" Chanel sneered. "Oh…. my…."

"Shut it, whitey," I hissed as I stormed out of the elevator. Shut it, whitey?! That was the best thing I could come up with? I'm such a nerd!

"Was it just me or was her hair as white as my grandmother's?" the surfer boy asked from behind me.

I turned around and laughed. Then I pointed to a hallway on my left. "That's where room 457 is located," I said.

"Thanks," he said before leaving.

"Who was that?" a girly yet very refined voice spoke from behind me.

I whirled around to face Plum, my best friend and the meanest, wealthiest girl on campus. She had glossy black hair that reached to her extremely thin waist and slanted, dark brown eyes that squinted disapprovingly in surfer boy's direction. Today, she showed off her wealth with the beige Burberry plaid miniskirt and a tight, sleeveless white Gucci shirt that she wore. Her feet boasted the newest pair of matching Burberry pumps that wasn't even shown in the future spring catalogue. Suddenly, the latest from the New York City runways that I wore didn't seem so très chic anymore.

"Hey, Plum!" I greeted her cheerfully. "That was a new kid-- he asked for directions so I…. well, as you can see, he was in need of some guidance so--"

Plum held up her hand to stop my ramble and smiled warmly. I was the only person she was nice too, mostly because we were cousins and she was an only child who thought of me as the closest thing to a sister as she had.

"You are too nice to people," she laughed. "Anyway, what do you think of this outfit?"

She twirled around and I clapped.

"I'm jealous," I sighed.

Plum beamed in satisfaction and took my arm as we walked to first period. "You know, that kid isn't really that bad. He'd totally pass for a Vogue model."

"Really?" I asked thoughtfully running the idea through my mind.

"So you're considering him then?" she asked.

I stopped walking and stared at her. "What do you mean?"

Plum sighed. "You spoke to him first, sweetie. As much as I hate the traditions at this school, we have to keep them going."

"You mean--"

"Unfortunately, yes, I do mean that."

"So you think it's unfortunate?"

"Well, yes…." she looked at my faint countenance and added, " and no."

I almost started hyperventilating.

"He's not bad looking," Plum insisted. "It'll be okay, Karmin. All you have to do is date him, lead him on for a month, then dump him in front of some people."

"More like the entire Hawthorne student body!" I told her. "I can't do this, Plum. He's so…. So not my type."

"You know what will happen if you refuse to continue the tradition," she warned me.

Unfortunately, I knew the consequences of refusing to carry on the school tradition all too well. If I, having talked to a new kid first, didn't date him for a week, pretend I loved him, the dump him in an exaggerated manner that would embarrass him in front of the entire student body, I would be shunned by everyone for the entire year since I was a senior. I guess the bright side was that I wasn't a freshman anymore, but it was still a horrible task to be forced to date surfer boy.

"You have two days to get him to ask you out," Plum reminded me as we entered our Calculus BC classroom. "Just get it over with, Karmin. It'll only be for a month."

Ha! As if a month was a short period of time to date and pretend to be attracted to someone with raggedy brown shoes and blue and orange shorts.


"There he is," Plum told me as we entered the cafeteria. "Just get it over with."

I took a deep breath and walked towards the empty table surfer boy was sitting at. He looked up from the burger he was eating and smiled at me.

"Hey again," he greeted as I sat down beside him.

"Hey," I said, plastering a cheery smile on my face. "How's your first day at Hawthorne been so far?"

He shrugged. "I haven't met anyone cool except for you."

That was it. If I was going to be seen in public with this guy, I might as well try and help him out so that he didn't completely stick out.

"Are you loaded?" I asked bluntly.

He started to cough violently before he was able to answer. "You mean, am I rich?"

I nodded.

"We're getting there," he laughed. "That's why we moved here in the first place. My mom and dad were hired to work for some millionaire's computer company."

I sighed in relief. "That's wonderful! You know, it would be easier for you to make some friends if you changed your style a bit."

"You mean my clothes?" he grinned. "No thanks. I'm comfortable in this tee and shorts."

I frowned. "Well, I guess that's what counts."

He looked at me and said, "You know, if you'd like maybe you can show me around your city-- help me better understand how things are around here."

I shrugged. If I said yes, that would technically count as a date meaning I'd be able to dump him sooner. "Okay, meet me in the west wing parking lot," I smiled. "I'll take you around Hawthorne, surfer boy."

He laughed and bit his burger again. I sighed and looked him over again before I realized that I didn't even now his name.

"My name is Karmin, by the way," I said.

Surfer boy smiled and said with a mouthful of chewed up beef and bread along with other things I didn't care to specify, "I'm Dustin, nice to meet you, Karmin."

I smiled shortly and looked away. Gross. Why did our names have to rhyme?

Author's Note: I know there were a lot of designer names that most of you probably don't recognize or even care to know about. I promise that they were just mentioned in this chapter to emphasize what kind of school Hawthorne High is and how wealthy the students are compared to Dustin. Please tell me what you think!