Miss Invisible, Meet Mr. Popular! (Completed and under revision)

Two

Brooke

    I swear, if I have to spend this whole year sucking up to moronic cheerleaders and jocks, I'm definitely going to shoot myself. "Brooke, darling, scowling causes pre-mature wrinkles." My best friend Anastasia, or Stacey, says, snapping her manicured fingers in front of my face. The sudden block in my vision causes me to look away from the table of disgustingly popular teens, whom I abhor so deeply and passionately, it might as well be a religion.

    "I don't care, Stacey. You know I don't." Said scowl fled the moment I stopped thinking of the 'chosen' ones and turned my focus onto my two best - and only - friends.

    "Well, you should." Stacey huffs, turning her attention to the fashion magazine in front of her.

    "I don't understand why you hate them so much." Aimee, my other best friend, throws in. "They're just a group of rowdy, hormonal teenagers," she shrugs, not tearing her eyes from her book. "What's so bad?"

    I stare incredulously between both of them, my wide brown eyes as large as saucers. "You're both joking, right?" Aimee and Stacey look up at me briefly before settling their gazes back on their book/magazine. "They're snot-nosed brats, that's why," I glare down at my salad and mumble, "Walking around like they own everything..."

    "You're scowling again, Brooke," Stacey says in a sing-song voice. I glare daggers at her and stuff a massive bite of salad into my mouth. As if on cue, a popular begins making his way to our near vacant lunch table.

    "Hello ladies," he chirps in a strangely deep voice. I glance up to see Tillian Green, the second most beautiful boy in Pacer, standing - more like towering - above us, directly in front of me. "Mind if I join you?" Stacey barely looks up, but Aimee stares wide-eyed at him as if he was some sort of alien.

    "No, feel free," I murmur, looking back down at my salad. "It's totally cool to pretend like we actually exist." Shooting up a side-eye, a sarcastic and bored look takes over my generally soft features. He looks appalled at my courageous outburst, but quickly covers it up with a sly smirk and sits down.

    "So," he turns his blue-eyed gaze to Stacey, who's barely even glanced at him. "You're Anastasia Attlay, right?"

    She lifts a blonde eyebrow and responds, "That would be me. What do you want?"

    His smirk deepens. "I want you to attend homecoming with me." Nearly choking on a crouton, I stare at Tillian, along with a still stunned Aimee and a passively bored looking Stacey. You see, Stacey was pretty well known at Pacer Academy, being the most athletic girl attending, and got asked out all the time. She generally said no because most guys who asked her were meat-head jocks.

    "I dunno, Tillian," She sighs, leaning back in her chair. "What's the catch?"

    He shrugs as if it's no big deal and says, "I make you the happiest girl in school." I scoff and immediately lose interest in his fruitless games.

    "Then I'm afraid the answer is no." She yawns in reply, going back to flipping pages in her magazine. That's the thing about Stacey that I admired; while still having guys chasing after her, she wanted nothing to do with any of them. She treated them like they were flies on the wall. Why would that be different for a popular?

    Tillian seems not to know how to react to her utter denial, until he just shrugs and stands up, leaving our table and heading for his own. "Boys." Stacey mumbles, standing just as the bell for fifth-period rings. "See you guys later, yeah?" Her mood immediately brightens at the thought of going to gym class.

    "Yeah, definitely!" Aimee beams, finally in an equally good mood to go to her AP government class.

    "My house, right?" I ask, shouldering my backpack. They both nod and we send each other off with friendly smiles.

~~~

Caelan

    I doubt anyone realizes how dearly I need coffee and cheesecake after a long day of school. I only say that because I go alone to a little cafe to obtain my fix of delish pastries. I pull open the front door, followed lightly by the chiming of a bell. Someone, a girl about my age, saunters over to the counter, preparing to take my order.

    "Hello. Welcome to Brooke's Cafe. What can I-" She stops abruptly when her eyes lift to meet mine. A frown turns the corners of her rosy down, creating a line between her brows. "What can I get for you?" She continues, losing the cheer in her voice.

    "Can I get a dark chocolate latte with whipped cream, and a New York-style cheesecake?"

    "Is that all?" She murmurs, punching the appropriate keys to fill my order.

    "Yeah," I mumble, drinking this girl in. She goes to Pacer, that's for sure. But who is she? "Do I know you?" I ask, squinting my grey-green eyes at her lovely face.

    Her delicate, blonde eyebrow shoot up as she replies sarcastically, "I'd be surprised if you did." Now it's my turn to raise an eyebrow. Feisty, and I must say, that's refreshing. A girl not gushing over my evident good looks, openly disregarding my attempt at flirting. I like it. And best of all, she's a complete nobody. Tillian, you are so going down.

    "Can I at least get a name to match that face?" I wink at her, only to get a long, exaggerated eye-roll.

    "Brooke." She replies flatly. "Your total is seven dollars and fifty cents." I doll out the exact change and wait for my food. Watching her prepare it, I notice that she's short - 5'4" at least - and made into a perfect hourglass. Her hair, which runs down her back to her tailbone, is a light, dirty blonde color and her skin is tanned to a beautiful, light caramel color.

    Why, you ask, am I checking out a nobody? To see if she's good enough to help me win - my gaze meets hers. Let me just tell you, the level of disgust and hatred gleaming in her warm, amber-chocolate eyes takes me by surprise. "Here." She practically shoves my coffee and cheesecake at me and turns away as quickly as possible.

    "Brooke," I call. She freezes in her tracks and turns on her heel.

    "Yes?" She sighs.

    "Can I ask a favor?" Again, her eyebrows shoot up in disbelief.

    "Don't get your hopes up."

    "Would you assist me in beating Tillian at something?"

    "Not in a million years, would I ever help you, Caelan Ferguson." She spat my name with such hate that it rocked me to my very core. Then, she spins and stalks into the backroom, disappearing instantly from my sight.

    I know right then, that I need this girl by my side if I'm going to win this bet. "This ought to be interesting."

~~~

Brooke

    The nerve of him! To waltz into my father's cafe and expect me to do him any sort of service at all was preposterous! How dare he?! I could only imagine what profound, inappropriate thoughts were plaguing his mind when his dark blue eyes roamed my body. What a jerk! My thoughts are interrupted as the timer rings, telling me that it's time to clock out.

    I do so, and as soon as I step outside, there he is, leaning against his fancy car. "Finally," he huffs, pushing off his car. "I thought you'd never come out."

    "I'm kind of regretting that decision right now," I mumble, starting towards my truck - a beat up '68 Chevy. "I'm half considering disappearing altogether."

    He places his hands over his heart, feigning hurt. "Ouch, Brooke. Harsh are we?" He falls in step beside me and begins to persist that I help him, giving me reason after reason as to why I should agree. Unfortunately for him, I'm not interested in helping him achieve his selfish goal.

    "For the last time, no!" I slam my door shut, shoving my keys into the ignition. "That's my final answer. Now get out of my way." I shoot him a murderous glare before pulling out of the parking lot and heading home.

    Mindless jerk.

~~~