Love Fools

What comes to mind first when you think of high school life? The gorgeous cheerleaders, the arrogant jocks, the class-skipping idols, the Shakespeare aficionados, the vegans? Or is it the incessant buzzing of the alarm clock, the uncomfortable desks and chairs, the dreadful cafeteria lunches, the looming finals and exams, the lost mechanical pencils, the unrequited crushes and heartbreaks, the constantly energetic group projects?"Hey, watch where you're going!" a girl, whose outfit screamed Regina George from Mean Girls, snapped at me, her voice dripping with disdain. "This is limited edition.""You can't expect everyone to have eyes, right?" her minions added, their voices laced with mockery.Bitch. The word echoed in my mind, though my lips remained sealed. If you were to ask me about high school, I'd offer you two pieces of advice:Rule Number One: Never attempt to reason with sorority members. Rule Number Two: If you're not among the popular crowd, brace yourself—high school wi

In the shadowed corner beside the dingy sink wall, a couple of figures crouched, shrouded in a haze of white powder. Their frantic movements became more pronounced as Brooklyn and I approached, their hands shoving clear Ziploc bags filled with the same white substance into their backpacks with desperate haste. "Move!" Brooklyn's command sliced through the thick air, echoing off the tiled walls. "Crazy bitches," one of the addicts muttered under their breath as they scrambled to their feet, blocking our path. The stench of marijuana was overpowering, sending my head into a dizzying spin. As one of them, her face adorned with silver studs and a glowing silver tongue stud in the center, stuck her tongue out mockingly at us, she bumped against my shoulder, leaving a trail of the intoxicating powder on my clothes. Involuntarily, I coughed as some of the powder made its way into my nostrils. Frantically, I shook off the remnants clinging to my fabric, a bitter taste of humiliation filli

The classroom buzzed with the usual cacophony, punctuated by the occasional airborne book. Whizz—a book flies past！ "Oh, my goodness!" I exclaimed, narrowly avoiding a collision that could have sent me straight to the infirmary. The book would have surely left a mark on my face. "Sorry, Scarlett." Blake's apology came from over his shoulder, his hands resting nonchalantly on his friends' shoulders. Their laughter knotted together in shared amusement. Ignoring their antics, I headed to my seat. A glance from Annie met mine before she turned away to whisper to Alex behind her. I paid them no mind. As I passed by, Alex's precarious stack of books toppled over the aisle of desks. "Hey! What's your problem?" My surprise was evident as I faced Alex, only to catch Annie biting her pen, offering a smug smile. Bending down, I reached for the scattered books. But before I could gather them up, someone else's hands intervened, snatching away the book I had just secured. "It's lucky for yo

Frankly, I've never understood why they changed the name of "The Feast" to the "Nutrition Center." Over seventy percent of the food here is high-fat, high-calorie "American fast food." Given we're in one of the most remote towns in America, finding diverse and multicultural chefs is even harder than getting truant students to attend class. Vegetarians even staged a public protest at school, leading to two chaotic weeks of everyone bringing their own lunches! Can't blame them, though—other options are either atrociously bad or might as well be diet pills. Gazing at the crowded hamburger stand, I'm glad I kicked my junk food habit. For those not concerned about their weight, a cheeseburger with chicken strips is a heavenly delight. The aftermath, however, is a struggle with belts and shirts strained by fat. I made my way to the yogurt stand, scooping up a few spoonfuls into an empty bowl, then garnishing it with blueberries, raspberries, and mangoes. As expected, the checkout was swam

"You sure know how to pick your moments. Ready for your first show, Scarlett?" Brooklyn teased, her voice echoing down the hallway clogged by Milo Grayson's fan girls. I lingered, hoping to catch a glimpse of the chaos, but it was all in vain. "Since when are you so interested in Milo?" she prodded, a mix of curiosity and amusement in her tone. "It's not that kind of interest," I quickly clarified, feeling the need to defend my curiosity. "It's probably just admiration for famous people." Brooklyn sighed, rolling her eyes in a gesture of mock despair. "I know Milo is a hottie and he plays cool guitars. I don't want you acting like one of those crazy girls. There's a loss of decency. You're part of the cheerleading squad now, understand?" "Of course, I am, Brooklyn," I assured her, even as my mind drifted to the cool girls of high school. They wore their confidence as effortlessly as their seductive outfits, capturing the attention of everyone around them. Yet, deep down, I harbore