A.N. Hi. A lot of you will not recognize my screen name because I am new to the writing scene. Before anyone complains about the chapter titles, I will provide an explanation: I simply don't believe in titling chapters. Why, you may ask. Firstly, they are super hard to come up with. Lastly, I try not to limit my chapters to one construct. Everything will just flow. Please, no hating on my writing. Please feel free to tell me if I am doing anything wrong! I always appreciate CONSTRUCTIVE criticism. Hate on my story, and I will go ahead and hate on yours (even though all of y'all are amazing writers:D). Anyway, I hope you enjoy Spring Fling!

I was never the "popular girl" in middle school. I was always the nerdy, overachiever who wasn't afraid to call it like it was. There was a small number of people who admired me for that, (mainly my teachers), but many people resented me for it. I guess I could make myself feel better and say that they were jealous, and that one day they would be working for me, but I couldn't lie to myself. They probably just thought that I was a dweeb.

On the outside, I never seemed to give a shit about what other people thought, but I guess that I always had a longing to be popular, like the girls I read about in books; the ones who found their knights in shining armor that protected them from the stupid "institution of education" ("institution of education" my ass) that is middle school. But I was sure that high school would be different.

And it was.

For the preparatory camp during the summer before school, I was the popular girl. I won all the votes for all the contests, and everyone wanted to be my friend. I felt like a superstar.

But that was camp.

—-

The bell rang for first period. I glanced down at my binder.

"A" day. English. Murray, Room 213.

I sighed and started to reconsider homeschooling. I swiftly moved through the dimly lit hallways to my first block.

When I got to my class, I noticed that everyone was out of their seats, socializing. I didn't recognize anyone from camp in my class, and this discouraged me. I wanted to feel popular like that summer.

The bell signaling the start of class rang, and I quietly sat down in a desk and took out my assignment pad.

"Welcome to English class. I am your teacher, Mrs. Murray.

—-

The bell rang, and everyone got up to sprint out the classroom.

"Don't forget to complete your letter to me, introducing yourself!" she yelled at us as we were exiting her room.

After exiting the classroom and walking to my locker, I noticed an odd looking girl sitting across the hall from me. She wore wooden-framed glasses, like the ones my elderly neighbor wore. I glanced down. There, buckled onto her waist, was a sparkly fanny pack. I think I may have thrown up in my mouth a little bit just at the thought of her very unique style. She had wild, brown, curly hair, and small, beady eyes that sort of reminded me of a mouse. She noticed me glaring at her, and decided to introduce herself.

"Hi! My name is Miranda George! I'm weird!" She exclaimed at me. At that second, she jumped out of her position in front of the lockers and started running around the, making odd noises.

She definitely wasn't the most normal person, but her attitude was refreshing. I sort of liked it. I decided that she would be the first person that I would attempt to befriend.

Unfortunately, I couldn't stop to talk. I had AP Human Geography. Great...

—-

The lunch bell rang, and I ran out of the classroom.

And guess who I saw walking out of the next room..

"Hey! Miranda, right?" I yelled.

She turned around.

"Yep! That's me!" she yelled.

We walked together towards the cafeteria.

"Cool! I really like your fanny pack! I saw a lot of people wearing them at Jazz Fest! I'm surprised they have come back into style" I told her, although I was bluffing.

"Fuck! Now I can't wear it anymore!" she exclaimed.

I have to say that I was surprised by her vocabulary.

"Why? Did I say something wrong?" I asked?

"Well now I can't wear it if it is a normal thing to wear. I hate being the least bit normal," she replied.

"Umm, ok! I guess..." I tapered off. "Oh! My name is Cass," I responded.

"Awesome! Are we friends? Because I have never had a friend before! We should have a sleep over at my house this weekend!" she grabbed onto my hand and started sprinting. Of course, she crashed me into a few people.

"Jeezum, slow down, Miranda!" I yelled at her.

"Sorry," she frowned. "I have trouble controlling my emotions."

"It's okay. Sometimes I also have trouble. Making new friends is exciting."

"So we're friends?" she asked excitedly.

I nodded.

"Fuck yeah!" she paused. "I have to call my mom!"

She took out her phone, as if to call her mother.

"Wait!" I said, taking the phone from her. I entered in my phone number.

"Text me later so we can hang out," I told her.

"Cool," she responded. "Gotta run!"

I sighed. Miranda was very eclectic.

—-

Miranda and I were fast friends. She made me not care about the popularity thing anymore. We ate lunch together every day, and we talked about our favorite books and her four cats.

We also had English, Physics, and Algebra II together, so we would often visit Starbucks and study together. Although she was very smart, she had trouble taking notes due to her slow processing speed, so I helped her get up to speed.

One day as we were studying, we got into a conversation.

"Hey, do you want to come over to my house this weekend?" Miranda asked me.

"Yeah! I will have to ask my mom, but I am sure she will be okay with it," I responded.

"Awesome!" she responded. "We can swim in my pool!"

"Sweet!" I exclaimed. "Text me your address, and I will give my mom the info," I told her.

She smiled, and we continued to study.

The rest of the week went on normally, and I was anticipating my visit to Miranda's house.

—-

Finally, It was the weekend. I got my mom to drive me to Miranda's house.

As we pulled up to her house, I noticed how big it was.

It was a big, white, wood paneled mansion that looked like it could be about 200 years old, and it had big oak trees framing it.

I walked up the steps, nice, lighted ones at that, to the front door. There, by a little switch, was a note that read: "It's a bell. Whack it." So that is exactly what I did.

The door popped open, and I peered in.

"Hello! Is anyone there?" I asked.

There was no response, but I walked in anyway.

A second later, the door slammed closed behind me without anyone having closed it.

I screamed, and someone grabbed me behind, so I jumped.

Standing behind me was Miranda, fanny pack and all.

"Ha! I scared you!" she giggled.

"Hey! That was mean!" I complained.

"But it was funny as hell!" she responded. "This is a really nice house."

"I know! Isn't it huge! It is even haunted!" she exclaimed. She proceeded to tell me the story of the house. "The old owner was an insane woman, and she was obsessed with mystery books! She had a lot of money, and she would buy outrageous things!" Miranda exclaimed. "There was even a guillotine in the basement!"

"Woah. That it really creepy!" I replied. "What happened to her?"

"She chopped her own head off with the guillotine. I can still hear her cackling sometimes, late at night when no one is around!" Miranda replied spookily.

I shivered. I was deathly afraid of ghosts.

"I'm just kidding. She was arrested for fraud, and she is in the state penitentiary," Miranda laughed. "The house was abandoned for a few years, and after we moved here from Brooklyn, we bought the house in an auction, and we fixed it up," she said. "And it isn't haunted, by the way."

"Well, your house is very nice," I responded, relieved. But before I finished my sentence, Miranda sprinted through the house, wearing socks and sandals.

I shivered.

"Let's go swimming!" she yelled.

I agreed. It was hot as hell outside.

We walked up the stairs to the second floor.

It was ginormous.

On one side of the upstairs was Miranda's room. It was painted light pink, and it was giant, yet all of it was filled with light from the giant windows.

On the other side of the upstairs were two guest bedrooms, adjoined by a bathroom.

"This is giant, Miranda! My house has three bedrooms, and this is just your upstairs!" I exclaimed.

"Yeah! It is huge," she said. "But I wish it wasn't so big. Our brownstone in Brooklyn was a lot smaller and cozier."

"Well, if you don't want this house, you can always move into my house, and I can move into yours!" I joked.

She laughed.

—-

After we changed into our swimsuits and hopped into the pool, we got on to talking.

"So have you seen any cute boys at school?" I giggled.

"You left something out," she replied.

I looked at her, confused.

"I'm bisexual. You left out girls," she responded.

"Oh!" I responded, kind of creeped out.

"And the answer to that is no, I have not," she replied.

—

After about thirty minutes, we got out of the pool, dried off, and changed back into our clothes. As we were going down her steps into the parlor, her mother walked in.

"Oh! Hi! You must be Cass!" Miranda's mother looked unusually excited.

"It is nice to meet you, Mrs. George!" I shook her hand.

"Oh! Please call me Marion!" she replied. "I'm sorry for being so jumpy! Miranda hasn't had any friends before. Thank you for being so nice to her!" she replied.

"Not a problem. Your house is very nice, Mrs. George, um, Marion," I stuttered.

"Thanks. Please make yourself at home. You girls go have fun. I need to make dinner," she replied.

So we went upstairs to Miranda's room. I went into Miranda's bathroom, and looked around. She had a lot of makeup, and I loved makeup. I picked up on of the tubes of lipgloss and read the label.

"This is a nice color," I told Miranda.

"One second," she said as she took the lipgloss from my hands and walked to the other side of the upstairs and placed it into the other bathroom.

"What was that about?" I asked.

"Oh. I have severe OCD, and I have this clean/dirty system. I stay in one of the guest rooms so I won't contaminate anything in my room."

"Ohhh..." I responded, kind of weirded out.

"I know," she looked down. "It blows, but I can't help it," she said.

"It's okay. We all have quirks," I told her.

A few hours later, my dad came to pick me up. He whacked the doorbell, and came inside, and he was greeted by Marion.

"Nice to meet you! You must be Cass' father!" Marion exclaimed.

"Yes, nice to meet you Mrs. George," he responded.

"Oh, please call me Marion! Your daughter has been so nice to Miranda! I am so grateful! Miranda has issues with making friends," she responded.

Miranda and I walked into the conversation.

"Hey Daddy!" I ran up and hugged him.

"Hey Cassie Bug. Did you have fun?" he asked.

"Yup! Loads of fun! We went swimming and ate cupcakes!" I replied.

"Great!" he said.

My dad and Marion got into a conversation about boats.

"You know, we go on a family vacation to the Caribbean every spring, and we skipper a boat! We would love it if Cass could come!" Marion said.

"That sounds like loads of fun, but I don't know if we could afford that," my dad responded.

"Oh! Don't worry about it! It would be our treat!" she said.

"Awesome! Sounds like fun!" I said.

I went home that night, looking forward to my first trip out of the country. I wondered what the rest of freshman year would have in store.

A.N. I hope y'all liked this first chapter! Miranda is actually a real person, and she actually behaves like that. This story is true aside from detail changes, and, of course, Nate.