POP!

A/N: So sorry I haven't updated!!!!!!! They cut off my internet and I couldn't find a way to post the chapter. And just for you guys its pretty long. And thank you for all the reviews I really appreciate it. Love you guys so much.!

Chapter 3

Is this some kind of sick joke?" I asked, staring down at the piece of paper in my hand.

"Maybe we offended someone in the administration office," Tawni said. " Maybe were being punished."

Chad shut his eyes and leaned back against his locker. People swirled around us, on their way to their first class of the new year.

"Worst. Schedule. Ever." He groaned.

"Second-period lunch?" I asked. "This has got to be a mistake. I can't have lunch at nine in the morning!"

"Oh my God, you guys. Fourth period gym?" Tawni wailed. "Do you know how much time it takes me to get my hair and make up right in the morning? And they expect me to get all sweaty in the middle of the day? No. I just wouldn't do it."

"We don't exactly have a choice," I pointed out.

"Oh yes, we do," Tawni argued. " They can't make me sweat if I dont want to. I'll-- I'll say I have cramps."

"Yeah, like Ms. Vandameer is going to let that stop you." I lowered my voice and squared my shoulders in what I thought was a pretty decent imitation. "Exercise releases endorphins. That'll make those cramps hit the road, jack!"

Tawni dropped her head. "This is a disaster."

"Welcome to Senior year," Chad said.

The bell rang for first period, and Tawni headed off to drama class. Chad and I made our way to the temporary building that housed the band room.

The first day of orchestra is always tense, with everyone having to sight-read a section of whatever our conductor, Mr. Murphy, is currently enamored with. Its a mini-audition to determine who will land the coveted "first chair" for their instrument.

In the seven years Chad and I have been tacklin the violin,neither of us has managed to produce anything remotely resembling a melody, so we are happily reassigned to our end-of-the row sixth- and seventh-chair positions. We used to challenge each other for sixth chair on a regular basis, but Mr. Murphy finally threw up his hands and said we were tied for last, so it didnt matter who sat where.

While the other kids were nervously studying their sheet music and applying rosin to their bows, Chad and I slouched back against the percussion section and tried to talk softly.

"This year is not going according to plan," I muttered.

Chad snickered. " Your that upset about second-period lunch?"

"No. Im upset that I apparently have a giant phobia about sex, which you and Tawni were aware of all along."

Chad stuck out his tounge and made a gagging sound.

"Come on, Sonny. It's not that big a deal."

"It is a big deal! How am I going to have a boyfriend if Im so freaked out about sex that I never have sex at all?"

Chad considered. "Well, your aware of your problem now. So, like, maybe if you go out with a guy and start to act all weird, you'll recognize what your doing-- and stop doing it."

I considered this for a moment. "Do you really think that could work?"

He nodded. "Definitely. The first step to fixing a problem is admitting you have a problem."

For the first time that day, hope bubbled up inside me.

"And after I've done it once, the problem is solved, right? Because as soon as Im not a virgin, I wouldn't have to freak about losing my virginity anymore."

"Right. The pressure's off," Chad said. "But Sonny?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't get back together with Eric, okay? He's not good enough to be your first time."

I grinned at Chad. "Not a chance. I'm admitting I have a problem-- with trying to lose my virginity to a guy whose nostrils are big enough to drive Volkswagen through."

Chad let out a bark of laughter, which made Mr. Murphy glare at us.

"So, do you think it worked?" I asked when Mr. Murphy had turned away. "Am I cured of Eric-itis?"

"Let's see. Does this turn you on?" Chad pushed his nose up with his fingers so I could see inside his nostrils. He moved his face toward mine like he was going to kiss me or, more likely, wipe boogers on me.

I shrieked and pushed him away, and we both collasped into our seats, trying to stifle our giggles.

We were the first people in the cafeteria at lunchtime, so we snagged the completely primed table by the courtyard, laying claim to it as ours for the duration of the school year.

Where you sit at lunch can make or break your whole day. Most of the tables are banked against the glass wall that seperates the cafeteria from the administration offices, and nothing kills your appetite like trying to choke down a pizza bagel with the school secretaries glaring at you or principle bound delinquents giving you the finger through the glass.

There are only two tables in the entire cafeteria where you can get a bit of privacy, and landing one of them was the first good thing about senior year..

"Oh no, you too?" A voice called.

I turned and found our buds Miley and Selena entering the cafeteria. We shoved over to give them room, and they dropped into chairs next to us.

"Second period lunch." Miley sighed. " I thought being a senior was suppose to have its privileges."

"Ugh. This is disgusting." Tawni groaned, picking at her hot dog and tater tots. " It's too early to eat this kind of food."

I had to agree. Then a thought occurred to me. "Hey, if we dont ever feel like eating lunch, maybe we'll lose weight without having to diet!"

Selena immediately put down her hotdog. "That? Is genius."

"We're actually lucky to have gotten second period lunch," I continued. "It's like the school has given us the gift of anorexia."

"Alright!" Tawni cheered. "Glass half full." she clinked her can of Diet Coke against mine.

Chad reached over and snatched the Tater Tots off my tray.

"Well, I don't want to lose weight," he said. "I'm bulking up. Gonna go out for the football team this year.

"Oh, really?" Selena asked, eyeing Chad's half pumped arms and mid size chest.

"Hell, Yeah!" Chad said. He pushed his sleeves and kissed his biceps, flexing the muscle. "When Coach sees these cannons, he's gonna make me quarterback."

We all laughed. Then a nasal, saccharine voice broke through our conversation.

"No way. This table is ours."

I looked up, dreading the sight of the voice's owner.

Sterling Prep has the same annoying social structure as every other high school in America, and Stella Mallone considers herself Sterling's queen bee. She's beautiful, popular, incredibly nasty, and hands down my least favorite person in the entire known world.

"Excuse me?" I said.

"That's our table," Stella repeated. "The Pradas had it saved."

That's another thing. Ever since they saw Mean Girls, Stella and her friends decided their clique needed a name to make them even more elitist and stuck up. They'd started calling themselves "the Pradas," which was ridiculous in a million ways. Not the least of which was the fact that there was nothing even vaguely Prada-ish about Stella's Shetland sweater and A-line skirt.

Thankfully, the name hadn't stuck-- except with Stella and her most pathetic hangers on. The rest of the cliques in school, who remained happily unmonikered, just refered to Stella's crowd as "the popular kids" or, more frequently, "those bitches."

But the most repulsive thing about Stella's crowd was that they were all a bunch of enthusiastic, unrepentant, overly spirited joiners.

They were the chairs of the homecoming comittee, the heads of the cheerleading squad, the captain of the sports teams, and the stars of the school play.

To the faculty and administration, they were the cream of the crop-- the pride of the school.

But to us, they were just.... fake. We protested Stella and all her ilk by remaining steadfastly and resolutely anti-join.

I mean, it's not like we were outcasts or loners. We all got good grades, got along with our teachers, and spent the seven hours we were required to be at Sterling quite happily.

But life outside school was so much more interesting that anything inside. I didn't really see why I should waste time joining a club in the name of "school spirit."

"You can't save tables," I informed Stella. "Sit somewhere else."

Stella narrowed her eyes at me. "Nice outfit, Sonny, Where did you get it? Out of the bin at the homeless shelter?"

Stella's bestfriend, Macy, let out a snort. "Don't be mean Stel," She said. "It's not her fault her father doesn't have a job."

My father, for the record, is an artist. He paints huge abstracts that hang in offices and galleries all over the country.

He even has one at the MoMA, the Museum of Modern Art in New York. He has his painting studio at home and sets his own hours. But all the way back in elementary school, the girls in Stella's group decided that since my dad was available to chaperone field trips and volunteer as room parent, it meant he was unemployed. They added that to the ammunition they used to torment me.

When I was younger, I would fly into a rage when they'd insult my dad. And to be honest, it still stung. I was about to let loose with some choice words, but before I could say anything, Chad jumped in.

"Jeez, Macy, how do breathe through that thing?" He asked, staring at her nose.

Macy Misa had the distinction of being the youngest person in Hollywood to have gotten cosmetic surgery-- a nose job when she was in third grade. Still, she tried to pretend that her face wasn't store bought and would scream at anyone who suggested otherwise.

"Shut up, loser," She retorted.

Chad grinned. "Ooh, good one."

Stella, meanwhile, was getting impatient. She stamped her ballet-flat-clad foot angrily. "Are you freaks going to move or not?" she demanded.

"Not," we all chorused.

She gave us a murderous look, but there was nothing she could do. She flipped us the bird, turned, and stalked over to the other good table to bully the chess club geeks into moving.

Chad put a hand over his heart. "When we graduate, I'm really going to miss her."

We all laughed, but the smiles faded from our faces when we looked down at the food on our trays. Nine a.m. really was a ridiculous time for lunch.

We had calculus next, and the teacher jumped right into the lesson, barely giving us time to get settled at our desks. The board swam with numbers, equations, and formulas.

Don't teachers realize that no one is ready to start learning anything until at least the second day of school?

At least we'd get a break in gym, I thought, but apparently I had underestimated the depths of Mrs. Vandermeer's sadism.

Ignoring protests that none of us had our gym clothes, Ms. Vandermeer told us to head out onto the floor and find a partner for "pillow polo," a game that consisted of trying to knock your partner down by whacking her with a what looked like a gigantic Q-tip.

"That is so wrong," Tawni whispered.

"Diabolical," I agreed.

The two of us grudgingly stomped out onto the gym floor and picked up our Q-Tips-- wooden sticks about six feet long with bright yellow and red padding on the ends.

"Ms. Vandermeer is a monster," Tawni muttered under her breath. "How can she force us to get all sweaty in our clothes? We're going to have to go around stinking all day."

"Um, ever hear of deodorant?" I asked, and whacked her across the butt with my Q-tip.

"Stop that," Tawni protested. She tried to hit me back, but I blocked her shot with my stick and then got her again across the back of the knees.

"Good shot, Sonny!" Ms. Vandermeer shouted from the sidelines. She clapped and gave me a double thumbs up.

"I hate this," Tawni whined, flinching as I walloped her again.

"You're only saying that cause I'm winning," I told her. I pushed a strand of hair out of my face, and Tawni used the break to wave at our teacher.

"Ms. Vandermeer, I can't play. I have cramps."

"Exercise is the best thing for them," Ms. Vandermeer told her. "Now get to it!"

I shoot Tawni a what-did-I-tell-you look, but she wasn't paying attention. Swiveling her head around the gym she caught sight of a girl named Dana.

She was sitting on the bleachers, flipping through an issue of Teen People. This is the first class I've ever been in with Dana, so I'd never actually spoken to her. I knew who she was though, everyone did.

Dana had a reputation for being a total skank. I noted this, but since I was completely preoccupied with having sex myself, it seemed wrong to judge.

"How come Dana doesn't have to play?" Tawni asked.

narrowed her eyes. "That's Dana's business."

"But it's not fair," Tawni argued. " Why does she get to sit out while the rest of us have to play?"

"Dana has a medical reason that excuses her from participation," Ms. Vandermeer said. She turned to signal that the conversation was over, but Tawni wouldn't be deterred.

"I have a medical excuse too," she called out. "I'm..... delicate."

"Tawni--" Ms. Vandermeer took a warning step toward us, but Dana spoke up from her seat.

"It's fine, Ms.V. Everybody's going to find out sooner or later anyway." Dana turned to Tawni. "I can't play because I'm pregnant."

Everybody froze, trying not to stare.

My mouth dropped open.

Pregnant at seventeen. Jesus. It was like she was the star of her very own Lifetime movie.

And we were complaining about second-period lunch?

Dana was still staring at Tawni, waiting for a response.

"Um," Tawni shot me a panicked look, but I had no idea how to help her. "C-congratulations?" she choked out.

There was an akward pause while everybody tried not to meet anyone else's eyes. Then Ms. Vandermeer blew her whistle. "All right girls, let's get back to the game."

Dana buried her face in her magazine, and Tawni and I squared off again.

"I can't believe she's going to have a baby," I said, lightly bonking Tawni on the shoulder with my stick.

"Yeah," she answered. "Kind of makes you rethink your whole dying-to-lose-your-virginity thing, huh?"

She planted her Q-tip in my chest and knocked me to the ground.

I arrived in German class the next period rumpled and reeking. I slumped down in a desk at the very back of the room, already bored. In eighth grade, my father had convinced me to sign up for German, and by the time I discovered that only misfits and oddballs studied German, It was too late to switch languages.

Half the kids in my German class were hard core science geeks who stopped talking to me when I admitted I had never heard of Max Planck. The other half are gloomy goth kids, who never talked much to begin with.

Chad and Tawni were living it up in Senora Perez's Spanish class, learning to make authentic guacamole and playing Puerto Vallarta Monopoly, while I was stuck doing endless verb declensions in the gulag otherwise known as Herr Robinson's classroom.

The other kids in the classroom were doing the standard first day back catch up, but since I knew none of them were interested in art class I'd taken over the summer, I didnt bother to talk to anyone. Instead I concentrated on the top of my desk, where somone had carved, Foxy Loves Hound.

Who were these two lovebirds? I wondered. And did Hound love Foxy back?

I traced the grooves with my pencil and let my mind wander. Surprisingly, it wandered back to Dana.

How did anyone let themselves get pregnant in this day and age? Iwondered. Didn't she read Seventeen? Half the articles in there were about birth control.

Maybe she was too embarrassed to buy condoms?

Man, If I ever managed to find a guy to do it with, you could be sure I wasn't going to let the checkout guy at the Duane Reade screw things up. Dude could get on the mike. Call for a price check for all I cared. Better safe then.... well, Dana.

I was so preoccupied with this train of thought that I didnt bother to look up when Herr Robinson cleared his throat.

"Ok, Klassen," He said, speaking in his annoying mix of German and English. "We have a new student joining us heute. Let's all sagan Wilkommen to Zac Efron."

Someone new? I glanced up to gaze upon the sad soul who'd chosen German for his language requirement-- and froze.

There, standing in a bright beam of sunlight, was the most amazing guy I had ever seen.

He had brown hair, and his eyes were bright, even from here. He stood at the front of the classroom, completely at ease. A smile flickered across his face. It was the most open, brilliant smile in the entire universe.

If I had been standing up, my knees would have buckled. As it was, I swooned into the back of my desk.

The rest of the class murmured, "Wilkommen, Zac," while I took in the view. This guy was gorgeous. And he took German!

I flashed Zac a big smile, but he sank down into the empty seat closest to the door.

Damn. If I had any hope of getting to him before the rest of the twelfth-grade hyenas- I mean, girls- I'd have to talk to him. And to do that? I needed to sit next to him.

Biggest problem? Getting up and changing my seat. It seemed so obvious. I needed a good excuse or, barring that, the courage to act without explanation.

To be obvious.

Ms. Vandermeer was always shouting slogans at us to rev us up in gym-- why hadn't I paid more attenton last period?

I racked my brain for some properly motivational material.

"Be all that you can be"?

Didn't really fit the situation.

"Go for it"?

Too blah.

Finally I decided on the Lotto Motto: "You got to be in it to win it."

Yeah. That'd do.

I murmered it to myself as I scooped up my books and sauntered toward the desk next to Zac's.

"Better acoustics on this side of the room," I told him breezily, and slipped into the seat next to his.

Zac turned to face me, and my heart skipped about a million beats. Up close, he was even hotter than I'd realized. His hair was a just above his beautiful green eyes. He had a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose, and I had the urge to lick them.

Well, not really, but they were awfully cute.

He met my gaze, and his lips curled into a lazy smile.

"Hey," he said in a soft voice. He reached his hand out to touch my hair.

Whoa! That Lotto motto is effective! I thought. I felt a flutter in my chest.

Then Zac pulled his hand back, grasping a piece of bright yellow foam.

Blood rushed to my face as I realized what it was-- a tiny piece of the giant Q-tip from gym class!

Oh my God. I just left there! I was sweaty and smelly, and now apparently it looked like I'd been rolling around on the floor!

I was about to add my curses to Tawni's at the injustice of middle-of-the-day gym. Then I realized that Zac was still looking at me. And smiling.

I needed to say something__anything__ but my mind was a complete blank.

Say hi! Just say hi, my brain commanded, but my lips wouldnt form the word.

Instead I opened my mouth and closed it a few times, while my face grew redder and redder.

They say you only get one chance to make a first impression. Well, with each second that passed, my first impression was looking more and more like "giant tuna in a D cup."

Zac's expression grew concerned. Like he suddenly realized he'd taken a seat next to the school's only mainstreamed developmentally disabled girl, and now he was going to have to be nice to her and keep her from eating the paste.

The situation was critical__I could see my future as the world's oldest living virgin stretching out ahead of me__so I gave myself a pinch on the leg to jolt myself from my trance.

"HI!!!" I ended up shouting, so loudly that the entire class jumped.

God, what was wrong with me?

"I mean, hi," I said in a normal volume. "Sorry__I've been listening to my iPod all day. Messes with your hearing."

Okay, that didn't sound especially crazy. Of course, it didn't sound especially bright.......

But at least Zac stopped looking frightened. After a second he smiled back at me.

"Ich heiss Zac. Wie heisen Sie?"

"Ich heiss Sonny. Wie geht's?" I answered, pretty much exhausting my entire German vocabulary. "Your new, right?" I added.

"Yeah," Zac said. "We just moved here from Texas a couple of weeks ago." He leaned back in his chair and stretched.

His T-shirt rode up a little way on his stomach, revealing__gulp!__six pack abs.

I forced my eyes back up to his face before I started drooling.

"It must suck having to switch schools senior year," I said, but Zac shrugged.

"I don't know." He looked me up and down. "Some of it's not so bad."

I felt my face flush warm. Was he talking about me? I had to keep my wits about me__play it cool.

"Yeah?" I drawled, narrowing my eyes to seductive slits.

"Yeah. You know, I like living this close to New York City," he said, "and it'll be cool to be here this summer, cause I can surf."

Down, girl, I scolded to myself. He wasn't talking about you. Which means he doesn't want you. Yet.

"There's cool stuff to do around here all year long," I told him. "And my friends and I go into the city practically every weekend if you ever, uh, need suggestions about where to go."

Zac's smile faded, and I mentally kicked myself. Why didn't I just invite him to come with us?

Hold on__maybe it wasn't too late.

I opened my mouth, but before I could get out another word, Herr Robinson rapped on his desk to get the class's attention.

As our teacher droned on about the first week's vocabulary lists, I watched Zac out of the corner of my eye.

If I invite him to come into the city with Tawni, Chad, and me, it might sound friend-like, I thought. And I have plenty of friends already.

Maybe I should figure out somewhere else to take him.

Somewhere more...date-y.

And just like that, it hit me. Of course! The back-to-school bonfire!

Every year Sterling had a big party on the beach to get everyone revved up for the new school year. It was a little to rah-rah for my tastes__Chad, Tawni, and I planned to go solely in an ironic capacity....

But the waves, the fire, the moonlight. . . it could be romantic.

To say nothing of the fact that I'd get to see Zac in a bathing suit.

The bonfire was this Friday night, so I needed to act fast.

Zac was paying attention to Herr Robinson, who was wandering up and down the aisles of the classroom, pronouncing each vocabulary word for us.

"Der Bahnhof," he droned.

"Der Bahnhof," Zac repeated.

"Die Fahrkarte."

"Die Fahrkarte."

I didn't repeat the words with the rest of the class. Instead I ripped a piece of paper out of my notebook.

I chewed on the end of my pencil and tried to come up with a clever way to invite Zac to the bonfire. I wanted to find just the right words----

Things will really heat up this Friday. . . .

You're hot, and so is the bonfire. . . .

Sparks are flying. . . .

Ugh. Why not just beg him to turn me down?

A half an hour later the bell was about to ring, so finally I just scrawled,

You. Me. Bonfire. Friday. Yes?

I read it over. Not bad. Straightforward. Sexy.

All right-- Let's do this.

I folded the note into a tiny little cubeand flicked it onto Zac's desk. He scooped it into his palm and opened it. He read the note, then scrawled something at the bottom. But before he could pass it back to me, Herr Robinson intercepted it, plucking the note off Zac's desk and dropping it into the wastebasket without missing a beat.

"Das Flugzeug," Herr Robinson droned

Zac shot me a guilty glance out of the corner of his eye.

"Das Flugzeug," I mumbled, silently willing him to nod or shake his head or do anything to let me know his answer.

The bell rang a minute later. Zac grabbed his books and dashed off after Herr Robinson, who was clutching and empty coffee mugand booking it toward the teachers' lounge.

I hung my head low.

I'm repellant, I thought. I'm human Deet. Why else would Zac run away?

I lingered at my desk until the last German student left, then surrendered the last shreds of my dignity as I scrabbled through the trash can, looking for the note.

I finally spotted it lying next to someone's spit-out bubble gum. I grimaced and gingerly picked it up, smoothing it out on the desk.

I held my breath and looked at what he'd written.

YES

?

!!!

Oh my God. This is it, I told myself as carefully tucked the note into a pocket of my backpack. Fresh start! New beginning! Second chance to make a first impression!

I slung my backpack over my shoulder and headed down the hall toward English class.

I won't ruin this relationship, I told myself. No way.

I was going to date Zac, and hook up with him, and maybe even have sex with him at some point down the line-- and I was going to do it all without freaking out or getting scared or blowing it in some other humiliating way.

In a word, the bonfire was going to be. . . awsome.

I got to English class and slipped into the seat Chad had saved for me.

I could feel it, a buzzing that started in my stomach and tingled its way down my spine.

This time, I vowed, it was all going to be perfect.

"Hey, Sonny," Chad said, "you've got something stuck in your hair."

He reached out and grabbed a bright red piece of foam from my curls.

I closed my eyes for a moment. Gathered myself.

Yes. It was all going to be perfect, I thought.

Starting right. . . now.

A/N: Wow that was some heck of a chapter. I had to cut in half so it could all fit. But oh well it was worth it. Hope you guys liked the chapter.!