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Am I popular?
I don’t think of myself that way. Lindsey, Daria, and Elaine are popular. I’m just along for the ride. I’m grateful to them, and I adore them for giving me some of the experiences that I missed by never having close friends, but I’m not one of them.
I’m still jealous when they reminisce over all the things they’ve done together, from eighth grade dances to cheer camp to ski trips; the boys they went out with in middle school and junior high, some of whom don’t go to Faulkner, so I don’t even know who they’re talking about; the movies they went to and teachers they endured together.
I feel like a loser when I can’t tell them about my friends or boyfriends back home because I didn’t have any. I feel like a freak when everyone stares at me just because I’m a virgin, or when I try to talk to a boy or even about a boy and I start blushing.
I certainly don’t feel popular.
I’m an outsider, just barely hanging on at the outskirts of the group, a spectator pressed up against the glass of their fishbowl, yearning to slip through and become a beautiful fish like them.
I’ve lost my appetite. As I’m walking up to throw my sandwich away, Chase comes up behind me and starts crooning “Give it up to me,” from “Possum Kingdom.”
I turn and give him a dirty look.
He holds up both hands and looks at me like he’s barely able to keep from bursting into laughter. “Hey, that’s our song, baby.” He tosses his lunch trash in the can and the wiggles his brows at me. “Besides, if you just do it, people will stop talking about it.”
I try to hate him, but I’m so ridiculously attracted to him that I can barely speak. Why does he have to be so damn gorgeous, and why do I have to be so damn affected by it? I can’t even think of a snappy comeback before he gives me a cocky grin, like he knows I’m struck dumb by his mere presence, and walks away. Before he’s gone, though, he turns back and calls over his shoulder.
“Just think about it.”
And now, it’s all I can think about.
To be continued…
