Chapter 1: The first day always sucks.

Today was the first day of high school for the graduating class of 2003. Currently, it was August 25, 2000, and all the freshmen were filled with a mix of emotions: hope, excitement, thrill, fear, wonder, and general hesitance... They had seen the films. They knew what a big place high school was, and how mean the upperclassmen could be. Would they be hazed? If you asked the tougher of the ex-middle schoolers, they would say they weren't afraid. But they were.

There was one particular freshman, however, that had no fear. In fact, she was confident, bordering arrogant. She looked at the double doors of her new school and smirked as though she had already conquered her new domain. Rhonda Wellington Lloyd had nearly spent a thousand dollars refreshing her wardrobe the week before, had spent hours that morning picking her outfit and readying her hair and makeup, and was now standing before these doors knowing that she looked fabulous. In all honesty, she wouldn't be surprised if she had upper classmen dropping at her feet.

It was this confidence she exuded that proved her exactly right; girls and boys alike turned their heads when they heard her walking by, the supermodel-esque stomping of her Spumoni boots attracting the attention of anyone in hearing distance. She could feel the wandering eyes of boys, and her smirk only grew. Unlike some of her classmates, Rhonda had been blessed to lose most of her baby fat early; while it was clear that girls like Nadine and Lila had just come from middle school, if people didn't know better, Rhonda could pass for a junior. Sophomore at the very least.

Most of these high schoolers were ugly. Rough around the edges, or in tacky clothing, and just generally unappealling. There was one guy, however, that she was more than delighted to see. There was Brad Hickey, star of the football team, standing there at his locker. She first noticed him when there was a mass assembly; all of the 8th graders marched their way to the local high school's football field and watched as the football players practiced for their game that afternoon. There had been Brad, a sophomore at the time, all blond hair and blue eyes and muscles. On the trek back, all the girls agreed he was gorgeous, although everyone knew he was out of their league. Not Rhonda, though. When she saw him, Rhonda swore that if there was any accomplishment to be made in her first year of high school, it was having Brad Hickey as her boyfriend.

Their eyes met. Her shoulders relaxed, her neck lengthened with grace, and she reached to tuck a lock of her curled hair behind her ear. His eyes lingered for longer than a passing glance; she had him.

"RHONDA, MY PET!"

She felt something smack into her, knocking the wind out of her and pushing her to the ground. She only hit her head lightly and wanted to keep her eyes closed from pain, but something made her open them again: the hot feeling on her chest.

"Is this… soup!?" There was no other way to describe the shriek that erupted from Rhonda's mouth than shrill and stomach-turning. She shoved the person off her and stood, looking down at her $99.00 hand-knit lace shawl, now stained yellow and brown and smelling of beef. Her $300.00 red satin dress shared the same stain and the same odor of food. She could never wear these again.

She spun to the perpetrator that was lying at her feet, cackling and stroking her calves.

"My dove! How long it has been since we've last met! Although not since I've last seen you, for you just visited me in my dreams."

Her hands were trembling. "CURLY! What- what-!?" She tried stepping away from his hands, but the bespectacled geek only clung on tighter.

"My love, I was walking to buy some groceries when I spotted you and Nadine coming from Slausser's. Being the gentleman I am, I followed you home to make sure you arrived safely when I noticed you had a cough. My poor, darling Rhonda—sick! Right before we started high school! I knew you wouldn't miss the first day of school and you would come, despite your debilitating illness, so I stayed up for hours to concoct you this family recipe, sure to rid you of any diseases you may carry. You may reward me with a kiss, or a lock of your hair."

"I was cold, Curly!" Her voice was starting to crack with how loudly she was yelling at him. She glanced up—oh my god, everyone was laughing. All of them… were laughing at her, and there Curly was, kissing at her ankles. Never before had Rhonda been so… so…

"Curly, get OFF!" She yanked back her foot and kicked him squarely in the face, dislodging him from her legs. There was an audible snap and the hallway was silenced, but oh no, Rhonda Wellington Lloyd wasn't done with this creep. She stormed up to Curly, hunched over and holding a hand to his face, and grabbed him by the collar of his worn-out yellow T-shirt. He had grown (although not much, standing only at 5'4) but was still wearing clothes reminiscent of their elementary days.

"THADDEUS GAMMELTHORPE, you listen to me and you listen good. I have put up with you for ten years. I am NOT letting you do this to me for another! I am tired of hearing you call me your pet, your dove, your whatever—I am tired of dealing with your freakish antics, I'm tired of seeing you, I'm tired of hearing you, and I just want you out! I just want you OUT! OUT OF MY LIFE! I want you to STOP talking to me! I want you to STOP harassing me! I want you to STOP stalking me, stop groveling at my feet, stop looking at me—"

She saw blood on his face, but she didn't care, he deserved it for everything he put her through, all of the embarrassment, all of the nightmares that maybe one day he'd go too far, "—because you know what? No, Curly, I will never be your girlfriend. I will never look at you the way you do me. I…" she paused, and sneered, "hate you. You're disgusting, Curly, and anyone who's ever told you different is a liar. They're just being nice; it's not like they're your friends. People like you don't have friends, Curly; you repel anyone you talk to. People like you should be institutionalized. You're lucky I haven't filed a restraining order, you creepy little slug." She took a deep breath that shook in her chest. "Never, ever, speak to me again."

His glasses had fallen off; she hadn't noticed. All she saw was red. As she released his collar, her view came back into clear focus, and she noticed she had kicked him firmly in the nose, causing his nosebleed. She also noticed tears falling from his eyes, big and sunken and crazy. He got up, grabbed his broken glasses, grabbed his thermos, and walked down the hallway. Rhonda watched as he moved with brisk deliberation, bounding down the stairs one at a time, his shoulders trembling. Slowly, Rhonda turned and looked back at the silent crowd.

Most turned away, not wanting to look her directly in the eye, but whispered to their friends about things she knew could only be about her. Then she saw Brad Hickey shake his head and mutter to a friend, "Damn, what a cold bitch. Freshmen are so embarrassing…"

Oh, fuck.

Her day had only gotten worse. Smelling like beef and having crazy-eye made every class weird, as most people filed into seats as far from her as possible, even if they were her friends. Why couldn't she and Nadine have had any classes together?

"Whoa, looks like the resident princess is having a shit day," drawled Pataki in Algebra. Rhonda couldn't even muster a response, so Helga shrugged her shoulder and turned back, thinking it a bad idea to provoke an obviously high-strung bear.

After lunch with Nadine, where she had, of course, tripped and fallen on top of her food, embarrassing herself in front of what felt like the rest of the student body, Rhonda discovered that she had English with Curly. He wasn't wearing his glasses; she could tell he had been crying for some time. There was also a bandage on his nose and tissue plugged his nostrils. They made eye contact and he turned away fully. There was a sort of burning anger within her; on one hand, she had asked for this, but on the other, the irrational and selfish side of her was screaming at him, 'How dare you ignore me! You've never actually listened to me before! Why now? Why make me look like the cruel villain and just ignore me when I'm having the shittiest day of my life!?'

She sat down in the back and determined that her English teacher was an asshole after he made a snide comment on her stained clothes. Some kids laughed; Rhonda just wanted to cry.

By the end of the day, Rhonda was rushing to get out of school. Even in high-heeled boots, her feet were flying, taking her out of this damned school as fast as possible.

Was this the second crash today? She hadn't even recovered from the first. Falling flat on her back, Rhonda wheezed and rolled over, clutching at the back of her head. If this were to happen again, she'd definitely have a concussion.

She looked up and groaned in agony; there lay Curly, still without glasses, looking around in a daze. 'Is this why, God? Is it because I told him off this morning? Sure, he had it coming to him, but… I guess I was a bit harsh. Maybe this curse will lift if I apologize to the freak. Besides, it looks like he hasn't had the best day either.' Rhonda bit her tongue, silencing the selfish part of her that shrieked to effectively blame Curly for her bad juju, and reached out her hand.

She gasped when he slapped her hand away. Baring his teeth, Curly shoved himself away from Rhonda and stood, turning his shoulder at her. "Sorry," he spat. "I didn't mean to touch your pure, noble body with my… repulsive hands." He turned around, hard, and stormed off, head held low. Rhonda merely lay there on the floor, looking around at her peers. They looked at Curly with pity (word got around quickly) and looked down at Rhonda with disgust.

In a hurry, Rhonda picked herself from the ground and ran out of school. When she looked around and saw no one was close enough to see her face, she started to cry, feeling the hours of time she spent on her makeup crumble away into a wet mess.

This was, officially, the worst day of her life. But maybe someone could help her fix it…