Chapter 1: Let me take you back

It's a dark and stormy night.

That's why the power has gone out, and I'm stuck doing homework with only the help of a flashlight.

I grip it loosely in my left hand while I write with the other, filling the paper with various numbers and mathematical symbols.

I end up with an solution that doesn't quite make sense with the word problem I'm working with. How does a company maximize profit selling canned dog food at a negative price?

Sighing, I quickly scan over my work again and realise I've mixed up a whole bunch of numbers in this dim light.

Thunder booms again. I hear my hamster, named Boxer, fall off his wheel in fright. But as dedicated as ever, he climbs back on again and resumes his running. Now if only I could hook him up to a generator or something …

I drop my pencil on my open textbook and get up. Peering out my bedroom window, I see fat drops of water splattering against the grass and faint outlines of trees swaying violently.

Mollie must be shrieking her head off by now. She's a towheaded five-year old who lives next door. I baby-sit her sometimes for extra money, seeing as I can't seem to find a part-time job right now, so I know how much she loathes storms.

I do enjoy her company very much, though.

Little girls, they accept you no matter what as long as you come bearing chocolate or Barbie dolls.

Unlike teenage girls.

Most of them, anyway. I have a couple of acquaintances throughout my school, East High. Which doesn't make me a total loner. At least I'm better than Henrietta Waller, who's almost never acknowledged by anyone except for her teachers.

It's like I was born not to fit in.

Let me take you back.

Kindergarten and elementary school were fine, really. I could talk to my peers and they wouldn't ignore me. We'd discuss mundane things like what we had for lunch that day. Occasionally, something exciting would pop up like that one time a kid named Billy found a dead frog near the big tree in the yard and told all the boys petting it was the cure for cooties in case they were ever infected by a girl.

I even had a best friend, Sharpay Evans. She had chestnut ringlets, dark brown eyes and her mouth would be constantly moving, mostly complaining about the retainer that was in it.

Since the day we met in grade two, we'd do everything together. If I wanted to read, she'd read as well. If she wanted to have a pretend fashion show, I'd be strutting down an imaginary runway right behind her.

Once, she shared with me a secret that she liked playing with me even more than she liked playing with Ryan, her twin brother.

Her own twin brother.

The boy she had spent almost all her life with.

I was happily surprised and enormously proud.

Maybe that's why on the first day of middle school I felt as if I'd been trampled on by a herd of elephants when she declared she didn't want to be associated with me anymore.

I stepped out of my mother's car that morning to find a very blonde Sharpay Evans surrounded by a group of girls, chattering away like a chipmunk with movie star teeth, which were unmarred by a metal retainer.

I was about to go celebrate the absence of that thing and marvel over her new hair colour when she cast me the dirtiest look I'd ever received. I'm talking dirtier than the bottom of your shoe after trekking through a garbage dump here.

The entire month of August I'd spent with my dad in Kentucky. I had informed her of this beforehand, so she had no reason to be mad for leaving her in Albuquerque, right?

After that heart-crushing moment it was all a blur.

Sharpay continued her silence. The more she distanced herself from me, the more popular she became. Even treated Ryan poorly.

I'd tried befriending others, but it seemed like everyone I talked to already put me in a box and wouldn't give me the time of day.

My self-esteem lowered, and I eventually gave up.

Middle school was only three years. High school was only four. In total, that was maybe eight percent of my life.

The prosperity and happiness I'd have later in life would make up for it. I'm crossing my fingers.

There was a time where Sharpay and I crossed paths in grade six, though. I had this crush on a guy. I can't remember his name now, but I first noticed him while standing in the lunch line. We were the last two, but he was in front of me and suddenly he swivelled around to ask if I wanted the only apple parfait left.

How sweet of him, I thought. Not only that, but his enchanting cyan eyes were like beacons amidst my lonely darkness …

And, well, anyway, so I liked him. Really, really liked him. Followed the guy to his locker once and discovered he had this cute way of yanking it open when it was being too stubborn sometimes.

I basically stalked the poor boy.

I guess I was too obvious because I'm pretty sure the only reason Sharpay started dating him was because of me.

She broke up with him two weeks later.

Made him swear off girls and devote all his time to basketball.

That bitch.

Ahem. Moving on again …

So, yes, I can't talk to people my own age. Only the five year old next door and the old people I meet when I volunteer at the geriatrics unit in the hospital on weekends.

Well, I should be grateful for that at least. Count my blessings and all that.

It's not like I'm stranded on an island alone.

Or like I'm a mute.

Nope, I'm fully capable of speech and living in a lovely city with many lovely people who aren't teenagers.

It's a wonderful life.

This is just another something I'm experimenting with, really. It's nothing serious. I want to write without pressure from school and for fun. :) Chapters will be short, though.