The Chronicles of a Socially-Awkward Nobody

HEYO MY WONDERFUL AMAZING READERS! I HOPE YOU LOVE MY NEW BOOK!

1

I stare into space, absently tangling my wavy blonde hair in my fingers. All I can think about is the cliffhanger that my book, (Prodigy, second book to Mari Lu's Legend) has left me wondering what will become of Day and June. I had to put it down, class was about to start and I didn't want to draw attention to myself. My eyes travel down to the book, catching in it's every detail, like it's black spine and blue cover. It's so tempting to just reach down and start reading again.

No, Becca! A voice in my mind urges. Use some self control! Willpower! Whatever it takes, just don't reach down and touch so much as the spine on that book. My voice holds truth, but I still stoop down in my desk, hand reaching out to the blue hardcover. My fingers brush the rough material and I lean down farther, until my whole hand is wrapped around the front of the book. Weakling. My voice hisses.

(Before I go on with my tragic, yet mildly entertaining story, I need to tell you that I frequently talk to a voice in my head. If you think this is weird, stop reading this immediately because if you continue, you're in for a lot more 'freak show' than what you just experienced.)

I shrug off the tiny little whisper. I've never had much willpower anyway. I grunt as I push myself up from the awkward position that I was in. Unfortunately, I misjudged where my desk was compared to my head and instead of coming up gracefully and as flawless as I could, (which isn't very graceful or flawless,)I bump my head on the corner of the desk. Hard.

"Ah crap!" I yell as my body bangs down towards the ground and the book falls from my hand. Groaning and whimpering, I rub my head with one hand, and with the other, I reach out for the book that lays a few inches away. Just as I'm about to grasp the book, a hand snatches it away from me. I lurch forward to grab it, but the book is too far away and I instead tumble from my chair. I hear laughter all around me and I feel my face grow hot and my heart thump against my chest, it's beating so hard and fast, that I can hear it pounding. Thump thump thump thump. I slowly, but surely climb my way onto my feet, my head the last to raise, meeting the cold eyes of my tormentor. To my dismay, it was who I feared it was. It was infact Belladonna Mercer. The most rude, dramatic, and annoying girl in the 11th grade. She was also the prettiest and the most popular, and to my luck, in my GT english class.

Oh joy.

She flips her shiny brown hair over one shoulder, and stands with one hand on her hip.

"Can I have my book back?" I mumble, asking even though I know what the answer will be. I timidly reach my hand out, waiting for her to give it back, even though I know she won't.

"Ha! No!" She scoffs, and then with a manicured hand, she opens to a random page in the back. "Just, too many things." She reads from it. I don't remember reading that part yet, so I cover my ears, blocking out her voice. "What's wrong? Am I not a good reader?" She asks, mock hurt placed in her words.

"No, not as much a bad person." I whisper, her head snaps up and her mascaraed eyes narrow. I slap a hand over my mouth, surprised at myself.

"What did you just say?" Belladonna hisses, snapping the book shut. I hunch my shoulders, looking down. I hadn't meant for those words to come out.

"Nothing..." I mutter. "Look, just give me back my book."

"No." She says firmly, putting on a pout. "I thought I heard you say that I was a bad person, why would you ever think that?"

I roll my eyes, scoffing at her internally. I don't know, maybe it's because you've tormented me since the third grade. I think. She opens her mouth to say some snappy comment, but the bell rings and she is forced into silence. Before our teacher, Mr. Hall, comes in, she slams my book onto my desk, causing me to jump, and gives me this look that has me wondering if I will make it to tomorrow. I slide slowly into my own desk, taking in a shaky breath.

When she takes her seat in the front of the class, I deem it safe, and I reach out to scoot my book to safety. I realize my hand is shaking, but I ignore it, I always get all trembly if I talk to someone.... I'm just awkward in that sense.

My dear reader, I thought you would like some information on Belladonna, or Bella-Boo, as her equally evil lackeys call her. And yes, my reader, I did call her friends lackeys. (If you don't know what it means, look it up! I use the term lackey very often throughout my story). Belladonna Mercer has many names. Bella, Belladonna, Donna, and her favorite- Bella-Boo. I prefer my name for her, which I came up with in the third grade- and, my reader, please don't scorn it, after all I was in the third grade. My name for Belladonna Mercer was..... The Demonic-poopsack. Stop snickering! It's not very funny! I will have to stop side-barring if you keep on making fun of my names! Now, anyway, back to the story. (P.S. I might refer to Bella as TDPS, it's just an acronym for the name I gave her).

Mr. Hall is walking to the front of my class, folding his reading glasses in his hand, Bella-Boo is chatting with her friends, paying no heed to our teacher. Mr. Hall raps his knuckles loudly on the whiteboard, it was obvious that he was signalling for everybody to shut up, so I look up at the board and wait for everyone to quiet down. Except they didn't. That's the problem with most of my GT classes, (except science). Everybody chats and takes up time complaining about work and stuff. We hardly get anything done. I mean, in GT, you get extra work and projects. Hence the name- Gifted and Talented- so in my opinion, if you hate all the 'extra' work, then drop down to preAP, or even regular. It irks me down to the depths of Tartarus! (Sorry, I'll reference books too, and that was from Percy Jackson, the second 'series').

I sit with my hands folded neatly in front of me, waiting for everyone to shut up, and which of course in my class, they don't.

"Thank you, Becca," I hear Mr. Hall say. I raise my head up and see him smiling at me.

My teachers call me Becca, everyone does.

"For setting the example of what the class should be doing." He continues, emphasising the 'should'. This gets everyone to shut their pie-holes and turn their attention to the front of the class. Miss. TDPS and her group send me scrutinizing glares before they return to facing the front of the class. I chew the inside of my cheek nervously, fiddling with my fingers.

Boy was I gonna get it.