"I, Aspen Henderson, am the reigning Queen Bee of New Hopewell High, and I hereby declare that there will be no more cliques, no more popular crowds, no more nerds, geeks, or outcasts. From here on out, there will be no more high school supremacy."...
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Hunter Elingsworth will be the death of me.
Economics was my favourite class by far, and not because I enjoyed discussing banking and capitalism, nor that it was my last period, but because Hunter Elingsworth had Art History and his class was next door from mine. Meaning, I could quietly drool and observe his glorious self from my class corridor. Which is what I, shamefully, had to resort to since we didn't have any classes together.
Even though Hunter knew of my existence - duh - he acted as if I was just one of the juniors. I attempted to talk to him before, but he totally blew me off and called me "Queen Bee." Which I technically was, but there was sarcasm and mockery in his voice, which hinted that he thought the whole thing was stupid.
I could have had any guy I wanted, but I was somehow stuck on Hunter Elingsworth. He was extremely popular, yet so laid-back and kind, which is probably what attracted me to him seeing that I was the polar opposite. I didn't have a chance with him, but it couldn't hurt to obsess over his honey-coloured eyes and high cheekbones. And to be fair, he did glance at me when he entered his class, although it was probably because the New Hopewell High rumour mill was on full swing and he got word of my supposed "butt situation" with Matt.
I was leaning against the corridor wall of my last period class, sipping on a large unsweetened iced tea, and admiring my hopeless crush when Penelope Wellington hung up a flier to my left. I was about to shoot her a death stare when my eyes met the poster. Vote Penelope Wellington for Prom Queen, it read in glittery font, a picture of her with a small golden crown under the writing.
"What is this?" I managed to ask without letting her know that her nomination infuriated me, but, however, my voice still dripped with irritation.
"My campaign posters," Penelope blinked her unusually long eyelashes at me with a kind grin and offered me a flier, "Vote Penelope Wellington for Prom Queen?"
Feeling as if my heart was going to combust with anger, I planted a fake smile that matched hers, snatched the poster right from her hands, and marched away. There was no way she didn't know I expected to be a write-in at Prom. She was trying to taunt me, get under my skin, but I had to keep my composure. I threw the poster into the bin and my iced tea on top of it.
"Humph," I watched as the tea sipped through the inked paper, my arms crossed in dissatisfaction.
"What's wrong, gorgeous?" a deep voice spoke in a flirty tone. Apprehensively, I looked up and it was none other than the deliciously handsome, Matt Sommers.
"Nothing, just tired," I responded with roughness, my tan arms still clenching my chest. From the side of my eye, I noticed that some cheerleaders were whispering so I spun around to face them. "May I help you?" I threw them a venomous glare that sent them scattering.
"What's with the stares?" Matt questioned, noticing that it wasn't just those girls that were gossiping intriguingly and who's eyes darted our way.
