Love Fools

You’re probably wondering.

Do I look like the girls in Hollywood movies? Is my high school life a whirlwind of excitement and drama? Am I the most popular girl in school? Or maybe, just maybe, I’m the cheer captain with a perfectly arched brow and an air of superiority?

Ha. I wish.

If I had to describe myself—and trust me, I’ve had practice—it goes like this: for every breathtaking beauty, there’s always a girl with wild red curls, an awkward grin, and a face full of misplaced optimism. That’s me. The textbook definition of a wallflower. Your average, unremarkable high school nobody.

When people come over to visit, their eyes always land on the group photo by my bed. To my right in the picture is my cousin, Elisa. She’s the kind of person you’d expect to walk off a fashion runway and into your life. Every summer, she’d stay with us, dazzling everyone with her effortless charm. Now, she’s off at college in California, living her best life. Back in the day, she was the "It Girl" of Seayers High—every guy’s dream, every girl’s role model, and the Regina George of our small-town universe. Honestly, I wouldn’t be shocked if she ends up gracing the cover of Vogue someday.

On the far right of the photo is my sister, Raven. She’s got freckles and a slightly round face that she insists makes her look “quirky” in the worst way possible. She despises how she looked back then, pre-makeup mastery. These days, she wouldn’t be caught dead without her winged eyeliner and carefully curated style.

About a month ago, she and Aunt Gigi packed up and moved to Seattle. Raven’s obsessed with the city’s nightlife—or more specifically, the glamorous parties she gets to crash. Now, we barely talk. It’s like we’ve gone from sisters to distant acquaintances.

Not that I’m complaining. If I never hear another one of her endless DJ mixes again, it’ll still be too soon. And at least she took her questionable taste in reggae music with her.

Which brings me to Seayers High, my personal purgatory. Raven once described it in one word: classic. And by that, she meant vintage buildings, rusty lockers, outdated facilities, and a sea of loud, overly friendly country kids. But honestly? It’s just like any other high school in America. If you’re into the whole small-town charm thing, it’s got its appeal—the parties, the cliques, the ridiculously good-looking athletes. It’s basically a teen movie come to life.

Every school has its reigning cheerleader queen. You know the type: perfect hair, perfect smile, a loyal entourage of fake friends, and a football star boyfriend to complete the picture. Naturally, she also has an arch-nemesis—usually the new girl or some artsy outsider.

And me? My best friend happens to be Seayers High’s very own cheer captain: Brooklyn Davis.

Brooklyn is stunning, the kind of beautiful that turns heads wherever she goes. Sure, her blonde hair comes from a bottle, but no one cares. She’s like our town’s version of Marilyn Monroe. We’ve been best friends since forever—next-door neighbors who practically grew up in each other’s houses. Even when she got crowned cheerleader queen sophomore year, and her life turned into a teenage dream, we stayed tight.

Skyler Thompson, the star quarterback and every girl’s secret crush, started chasing her like she was the prize at the end of a championship game. Girls envied her. Guys worshipped her. Brooklyn was untouchable.

And me? I was the invisible sidekick. The girl who faded into the background. Half the school doesn’t even know my name, and some still think I transferred here last year. In tenth grade, I skipped gym class seven times in a row, hiding under the stairs with a book, and Mrs. Dingle didn’t even notice—or maybe she just didn’t care.

Pathetic, right? Every August, I make the same wish: that this year will be different. That I won’t just survive high school, but actually, maybe, enjoy it.

This year? Who knows. Maybe something will finally change.