Secret Life of a Pretty Nerd

Chapter two

Chapter 2: Ocean Crest High School.

Whether I liked it or not—trust me, I did not— I still had to attend classes. Letting out a deep sigh, I leaned against my mom's car, staring at my reflection in the dirty glass windows. The girl staring back at me looked... scared. She had been running from her own thoughts all night. Now, she was silently pleading for us to ditch school for a week, maybe even disappear from the outside world altogether. I sighed again, slower this time, hoping it might calm the storm in my chest. No such luck.

"Arielle! I'm leaving for school! Why are you still here?! You're late! We don't have time for you to admire how pretty you are—"

"Pretty?" I scoffed. "My clothes look like it was pulled out of a dumpster after a volcano explosion."

Laura shrugged. "You're still pretty. I just wish you had some more confidence to really rock the damn outfit."

I rolled my eyes as I began my walk to Ocean Crest high f*****g school. Don’t get me wrong; I loved learning. Like, genuinely loved it. If learning were a person, I’d marry it. Forget Netflix and chill; I was all about Wikipedia and wonder. Algebra? Bring it on. Chemistry? Oh, baby, light me up like a Bunsen burner. History? Please, I could name all the Roman emperors in chronological order just for fun.

That was probably why I secured the coveted scholarship to Ocean Crest High. A scholarship so rare they only handed it out to one poor student every five years. I should be grateful. I should not even think about complaining.

But here's the thing: I hated the students. The obnoxious students. The 'I'm as dumb as a chicken but my daddy is stinking rich' typestrutting around in their preppy shirts, bedazzled neck ties, and designer backpacks that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. Every day, they wore a different Gucci shoe to stomp on the head of any "loser" that crosses their path. And unfortunately for me, they had quickly declared that I was the unlucky "loser." I was a sore thumb in a sea of their self-proclaimed perfection. They paraded through the halls like gods, and I was just a mere mortal in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Of all the devils that catwalked up and down the golden hallways, one stood out. Even the other devils trembled in her presence, scurrying away like mice whenever she was around.

Penelope Westwood, the bitchiest of all the bitchy bitches. The queen grimalkin.

I often imagined that Satan himself had somehow gotten trapped in the body of a teenage girl, and that girl was none other than dear Penelope. With her perfect blonde hair cascading down her back and pink outfit, she seemed innocent enough. But her heart was pitch black.

At the beginning of my senior year—the winter of 2019—her reign of terror was in full force. The bright sun shone on her face as she used her daddy's wealth as a weapon. And God forbid anyone dare challenge her...

When I shuffled into my maths class, the teacher wasn't around yet. The other students threw death glares at me, eyeing my partly charred clothes. I didn't care about that; I was used to it. According to my calculations, I had precisely 5.85 minutes before the wicked witch of the west, a.k.a. Penelope Westwood, would glide into the room. Not that I was counting or anything. She would be sitting diagonally from me, at an angle of 120 degrees, which was fitting because it felt like she was always plotting something evil from that vantage point.

At least, I had a few minutes of peace. I pulled out my jotter and tore out some empty pages. I started making some calculations. Even though my eyes were squarely focused on the papers on my table, I felt it when Penelope walked in. The air in the classroom became colder and goosebumps appeared on my skin.

I looked up and there she was. The reigning queen bee of the mean girls. She stood in a permanent pose at the front of the class, like she owned the place. Her designer clothes clung to her slender frame.

Perfect long, blonde hair. Four inches heels as pointy as a nail. A form-fitted, pink blouse over that double-padded bra she always wore to make her boobs look four times bigger. Red, glossy lips. Too much makeup that she looked like a clown... to me at least.

With an evil smile, she flipped her hair dramatically. In the social hierarchy, she was at the very top. The Apex Predator of our high school jungle. Her two minions stood behind her like loyal puppies.

As usual, I was her prey for the day. She leaned in to her friends and whispered loud enough for the whole class to hear.

“Oh my gosh, look at that disgusting girl hiding at the back! What in the world is she wearing?” she exclaimed with horror. Her words stung me like a thousand tiny arrows. I felt my face flush with shame.

'Confidence... Rock the damn outfit.' Laura's advice echoed in my mind.

I stood up to meet Penelope's evil gaze and defended myself. “At least I’m not trying to impress anyone with my parents' credit card,” I shot back, surprising even myself with the sharpness of my own words.

The class went silent, and I could hear the gasp of shock.

Penelope’s smug little smirk almost disappeared. She was calculating her next move, like a chess player faced with an unexpected opponent. With her arms folded, she tilted her head, staring at me with a look that could freeze fire.

“You really think you can talk back to me, you f*****g b***h?” she scoffed. She looked me up and down as if I were a piece of worthless gum on her designer shoe. “You must be delusional.”

One of her minions added, "obviously! Only a crazy person would wear a dress so ugly." She giggled as if the world’s most profound joke had just been told, while the rest of the class joined in, laughing like hyenas at a feeding frenzy. Devils. f*****g Evil Devils.

My eyes darted around nervously, palms all sweaty.

Penelope leaned in with a satisfied smile. "Listen, scholarship kid, I warned you before and I'll say it one more time. Leave this school or I'll make you. You don't even deserve to breathe the same air as the rest of us."

I swallowed hard, trying to act tough, but I could feel the sting of tears welling up in my eyes. I couldn’t move, couldn’t blink, couldn’t even breathe.

“And your parents?” Penelope continued, her voice dropping even lower. “Pathetic. I mean, look at you. Do they even care about you? Or are they too busy scraping together pennies to afford your second-hand clothes?”

I wanted to scream, to tell her she didn’t know anything about my life, but the words were stuck, lodged in my throat like a stone.

“My dad could buy and sell your entire family without even noticing the dent in his bank account,” she sneered. “And your mom? What does she do? Clean houses? Is that why you’re always so desperate to prove yourself, trying to fit in where you clearly don’t belong?”

I felt the tears begin to slip down my cheeks, hot and humiliating. I wiped them away quickly, hoping no one would notice, but it was too late.

“Aw, is the little scholarship girl going to cry?” she cooed mockingly, tilting her head to the side in fake concern. “Maybe if you cry hard enough, they’ll give you another pity scholarship, huh? That’s the only reason you’re even here in the first place, isn’t it? Charity. Because that’s all you’ll ever be—a charity case.”

The laughter from my classmates grew louder, echoing in my ears. I felt trapped. My legs wobbled as I stood there, trying to hold myself together, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t take it anymore.

Without another word, I turned and bolted out of the classroom, my feet moving faster than my thoughts.

I didn’t stop running until I was out of the school gates. I guess I was ditching school today after all.

The tears fell freely now, streaming down my face as I walked with no destination in mind. I kept my head down, my vision blurred by the tears that dripped off my cheeks and onto the pavement.

I felt so small, so worthless.

Penelope, why don't you fall in a ditch and die?!