My Hot Billionaire Bestie.

Victoria I took a bite of my sandwich, the stale bread and questionable deli meat doing little to distract me from my glamorous life as "Brace Face." That’s me, the human antenna—able to pick up radio signals with just a slight head tilt. My pimples, arranged artfully like a galaxy map, provide stargazing opportunities for anyone bored enough to stare. Add my round glasses that slide down my nose every five seconds, and you’ve got a look so tragic it deserves its own documentary on awkward adolescence. But hey, at least my sandwich likes me. As always, I sit at the edge of the cafeteria like a social leper with a VIP pass to Nowhere. My book is the only thing that doesn’t judge me, though I suspect it’s secretly unimpressed with the crumbs I keep dropping on it. I glance up at the clock and sigh dramatically, wondering if time might speed up out of pity. That’s when I see him. A boy. Tall, a little round, with jet-black hair that’s doing its best impersonation of a mop. His teal eyes practically glow under the fluorescent lights, which is unfair—nobody’s eyes should look that magical in a room that smells like tater tots and teenage regret. He’s clutching his packed lunch like it contains the cure for his obvious social anxiety. Poor guy looks like he’s just been dropped into the Hunger Games: Cafeteria Edition. Oh, he’s new. Poor soul. When our eyes meet, I give him a smile—one of those "welcome to hell" smiles that says, Yeah, this place sucks, but at least the pizza on Fridays is edible. He hesitates, and for a second, I think he might bolt. But no, he starts walking toward me. Slow. Cautious. Like he’s approaching a wild animal that might bite. "Hi, I’m Victoria," I say, sticking out my hand with all the confidence of a motivational speaker who still lives in their mom’s basement. He stares at my hand like it’s a math problem he doesn’t want to solve but eventually shakes it. Then, without a word, he sits across from me, unpacking his lunch with the delicacy of someone disarming a bomb. Cue the peanut gallery. The whispers start, followed by giggles that echo like a laugh track to our awkward sitcom. He shrinks, shoulders curling in like a human armadillo. I can see the please let the floor swallow me look in his eyes—been there, buddy. Welcome to the club. At least we’re both doomed together. “Don’t mind them,” I said, flashing a smile so forced it probably counted as exercise. My stomach churned like a washing machine on overload, but I wasn’t about to let him see that. Not now. Not when he looked like a deer caught in high school headlights. He didn’t reply. He just picked at his food, stabbing at it like it had personally insulted him. After a few minutes, he stood up, leaving his tray half-full. No name. No words. Just the quiet awkwardness of someone who clearly wasn’t ready to deal with cafeteria politics. I couldn’t blame him. This place was like Survivor, but with worse snacks. With a sigh, I closed my novel and got up too, preparing to shuffle to class. That’s when I heard it—the dreaded voice of Lucy, queen of the cheer squad and my personal nemesis. “Oh my god, look at her—she’s already having jags in high school. Yikes.” I froze, my spine stiffening like a cat that just heard a vacuum. Turning slightly, I saw her standing there, radiant and terrible. Lucy wasn’t just pretty; she was offensively beautiful. Long, flowing red hair that probably smelled like cinnamon and privilege. Skin so flawless it looked airbrushed. Her designer clothes screamed, My parents are rich and I never have to work a day in my life. And then there was me. The walking after photo for a "before-and-after" puberty meme. Lucy’s posse snickered behind her, their synchronized laughter fading as they strutted past like a pack of i********: influencers. I clenched my jaw, gripping my books tighter as I power-walked to the bathroom. There, I faced my reflection. Yikes. My oversized hoodie swallowed me whole, layered over so many shirts I was basically a walking laundry pile. I’d tried to hide my chest—ugh, my chest. Too big, too noticeable. The kind of chest that turned a simple walk down the hallway into a minefield of unwanted stares. Tomorrow, I’d wear another cardigan. Maybe two. I was going for invisible, not center of attention. After splashing cold water on my face and giving myself a mental pep talk that went something like You’ve got this, probably, I dashed to class. And then I froze again. Sitting beside my desk, looking just as awkward as before, was the boy from the cafeteria. Well. This was going to be fun. He glanced at me but didn’t say a word, busying himself with arranging his books and pens like he was prepping for a high-stakes stationery photoshoot. I slid into my usual seat by the window, where the sun insisted on turning my desk into a frying pan. The breeze wasn’t any better—it just made my papers flutter dramatically like I was starring in a tragic indie film. Still, it was my spot, my little corner of solitude, and I clung to it like a lifeline. As expected, the stares started almost immediately. People here loved to stare, probably because Netflix hadn’t been invented when most of them were born. But today, their attention wasn’t just on me. Nope, it was split between me and the new kid. Poor guy didn’t stand a chance. This place was like a zoo, and the animals loved fresh meat. I shifted in my seat, trying to adjust my posture so my chest wouldn’t draw any unwanted attention. It was a pointless effort—if I hunched any further, I’d look like I was auditioning to play Quasimodo. Beside me, the boy glanced over briefly, his teal eyes flicking to me before darting away like he was scared I might bite. He was odd, no doubt about it. But there was something about him—an air of quiet awkwardness that made me think, Yeah, we’re probably going to get along just fine. At least, I hoped so. Friends were in short supply, and loneliness was starting to feel like my default setting. “We’re having a test next week,” Mrs. Smith’s sharp voice broke through my thoughts like a poorly-timed ad. “You’d better do well on this one. There will be no makeup opportunities.” The bell rang, mercifully ending the lecture on why math was the devil’s handiwork. I packed up my books as fast as I could, but just as I slung my bag over my shoulder, Mrs. Smith’s voice stopped me dead. “Victoria Greene, a word, please.” Great. Just what I needed. Dragging my feet to her desk, I tried to prepare for the inevitable lecture. As the classroom emptied, Mrs. Smith gave me the kind of look that was supposed to be encouraging but felt more like a death sentence. “Victoria,” she began, her tone softer now, “I’m concerned about your academics. You came in last on the recent test. I know you’re bright and capable of passing, but… is something holding you back?” My face burned hotter than the sun on my desk. Nothing like a public shaming to cap off the day. “No, Mrs. Smith,” I said, my voice as neutral as I could manage. She sighed, and there it was—the look of sympathy. The one I hated. “You need to pass the next test. It’s going to weigh heavily on your final grade. I know you have it in you, but I need to see some improvement.” “I’ll do my best,” I mumbled, nodding like a bobblehead on a bumpy ride. Math. My mortal enemy. Numbers weren’t my thing—they were a form of legalized torture, and I was their favorite victim. I didn’t have the luxury of a tutor—money was tight, and my parents had bigger problems to worry about than my inability to conquer fractions. Mrs. Smith gave me a small smile. “Good girl. Get home safely.” As I walked out of the school compound, the weight of everything pressed down on me like a backpack filled with bricks. My head spun with dread over that math test. I was going to have to study harder than ever, and even then, I wasn’t sure if it would be enough. I should just marry a calculator and be done with it. Why does everything in my life have to be so damn hard? --- I unlocked my bike, ready to hum a dramatic “I will survive” anthem as I pedaled home, hoping to outrun the mental math demons chasing me. “Victoria.” I nearly jumped out of my skin. Spinning around, I saw the cafeteria boy—standing a few steps away, his hands awkwardly clasped like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. “I didn’t tell you my name earlier,” he said, his voice quiet but steady. “I’m Christian.” Well, that was unexpected. I smiled, trying to keep it from looking like a Finally, a friend! grin. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Christian.” He hesitated, glancing down at his shoes like they held the answers to the universe, then looked back at me. “I… heard what the teacher said to you. I could tutor you, if that’s okay.” A tutor? For a second, I thought I’d misheard him. A real, live person offering to help me with math? My heart did an Olympic flip. “Really? You’d do that?” He nodded, looking faintly embarrassed. “Yeah. I mean, I’m pretty good at math. And… I don’t mind.” I didn’t even try to hide my relief. “I’d love that! Just tell me when.” He glanced down the street, thinking. “We could start now, if you’re free. My mom’s not home until seven, and… I kind of forgot my house keys yesterday, so…” He trailed off, giving me a sheepish look. I laughed, swinging a leg over my bike. “Perfect. Let’s do it.” We set off down the road, me pedaling at a leisurely pace to match his walk. He didn’t say much, and neither did I. But the silence wasn’t awkward—it was comfortable, like we both understood that words weren’t necessary right now. For the first time in what felt like ages, I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t fail this test. Perhaps—this new kid was the start of something good.