Finding Cinderella

ღ Finding Cinderella (3)

ღ Finding Cinderella- 3 ღ

-Kylie-

Valentine's Day. What a big, pink sugarcoated mess.

It was really weird how fleeting Earth time was when you spent most days staring into space. But how could whole days have passed me by and not Valentine's Day?

Well, it's not like I hated it; I was sure Hallmark really needed that extra boost. It was just that, it always reminded me of that experience back in ninth grade, which I couldn't forget no matter what I did. I also hated the way people mistook my bitterness as a by-product of being single or not having a date for Valentine's.

I could practically feel the love in the air. It made me nauseous. That insipid stench of conveniently applied colognes and perfumes wafting together with scents of breath spray and anti-dandruff shampoo truly made my stomach turn.

I was pretty sure Julianne and I were the only people who didn't get gifts from anybody that day, much to her disappointment. So we just exchanged chocolates with each other, and I pretended to be mildly interested in our "tragic" situation.

I couldn't complain. Sometimes, it was hilarious to have your best friend as your valentine.

If I hadn't met Tristan, I'd probably be living a little differently. I tried to imagine myself as infatuated as the people around me.

Even though I acted like a boy at times, what with my baggy clothes and brazen personality, deep down inside I'm still a girl. I just started being like this because my sister had been terrorized by her schoolmates in grade school, and I had stood as her protector. I had sworn to my dad that I would take care of her, and I stuck to that promise as if my life depended on it. But Tristan couldn't understand any of it. He was an idiot. He was the one who made up the "tomboy" nickname just to piss me the hell off, and the word spread like the plague throughout our campus.

Now people actually saw me like I was some kind of freak of nature, so most guys steered well clear of me, perhaps out of fear.

Bah! Whatever. Forget about boys. They're just a bunch of jerks, anyway.

"Wow. Two days have passed, and still your encounter with Tristan is the top post in our campus group page," Julianne remarked as her thumb swiped down on her phone screen. The Facebook page was exclusive for Broadway Heights students. No teacher was monitoring it, only some kids in the student council, so anyone could post pretty much anything on it—from social events and study guides to memes, gossips, and angry feminist rants. While it was great to get valuable information from that page—cough homework answers cough—it was a tragic landfill that I often refused to visit.

"Who gives a shit?" I said, munching on my burger.

"Apparently, 124 people who liked and commented do," she replied and put her phone away.