Allison Reynolds tossed left, right, then left again. In fact, she'd been tossing and turning all night long. She'd been dreaming again.

At exactly seven o'clock, her alarm clock went off. Beep, beep, beep. Groggily, she rolled onto her side and hit the snooze button. As she lay still, trying to get back to sleep, she could hear the winter wind rattle her bedroom windowpanes. Beep, beep, beep; the alarm sounded again. Annoyed, she reached out from under her down comforter and turned it off. Sluggishly, she sat up.

It was Monday. School. God, she hated school. She didn't fit in there. But today was different; today she was bound to run into Andrew. And then what? She didn't know. She'd felt a connection with him at the end of Saturday detention. And, he'd kissed her, the first boy to do so since Keith Nelson in the sixth grade. Allison sighed as she climbed out of bed and padded to her dresser. Usually she never looked at herself in the mirror, her own reflection repulsed her, but this morning she couldn't help it. She knew she wasn't pretty, but thanks to Claire's trick with some eyeliner and lip-gloss, she'd been able to fool Andrew for a few brief minutes. She'd even been able to fool herself and she definitely should have known better. Reaching over, she pressed the play button on her AM/FM cassette radio, and The Smiths' "Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want" filled the room. She sighed again as she ran her hand through her limp and stringy hair. Sickening, she thought. Her skin, though blemish free, was dull and pale. As she took one last look at herself, she couldn't help sticking her tongue out. Slowly she walked into the bathroom, grabbed her toothbrush, squeezed out some Crest, and began brushing.

That done, she turned on the shower, tore off the t-shirt and panties she'd worn to bed, and stepped in. The water was steaming hot just the way she liked it. But not hot enough to wash away the ugliness, outsider-ness, and numbness she wore. She soaped her breasts. Too small, she thought as she ran the washcloth over them, just barely buds. Her skin felt rough to her own touch. If Andrew were to see her like this, see the real her, he'd be disgusted.

Quickly, she stepped out of the shower and dried off. It was already 7:20am and she had to be out the door by 7:45. With the towel wrapped around her chest, she stood before the mirror again. Should she or shouldn't she?

It was easier to just follow the same old routine. Change was hard; change would draw attention to herself. Then again, change had gotten her Andrew for one brief moment, she thought as she began putting on her underwear. She made her way to her closet, stepping over the piles of books, clothes, and tapes on the floor.

Although she wore black everyday, her closet was full of pretty, girly things; shoes, skirts, blouses, and sweaters her mother had bought her. Of course, her mother never asked her what she liked, and she never seemed to notice that she didn't wear the stuff. Should she, Allison wondered again as she thumbed through the various pinks, blues, yellows, and whites. Was Andrew really worth the trouble? A chill ran down her spine as she replayed Saturday afternoon. They'd definitely connected. And she liked the feeling so much, she now craved it like an addict craved drugs. So …, she chose a blue oxford shirt and a black skirt. She had a pair of pantyhose that she'd balled up and thrown in a corner of her room last week that she could wear with the outfit.

Standing in front of her mirror again, Allison picked up the blush she'd bought the day before at Walgreen's and rubbed it onto her cheeks. Next, she applied lip-gloss. Finally, she was faced with her hair. Usually she wore it in a nest on her head but Claire had brushed it and pulled it back with a headband so she did the same.

It had snowed two inches overnight, so she pulled on her black Doc Martens, and threw a pair of black flats in her bag. In that it was already 7:40am, she donned her big black parka, shoved everything on her desk into her bag, rushed downstairs and out her front door.

Allison could feel her body tense as soon as she set foot on the Shermer High School grounds. She felt that everyone was looking at her, even though logically she knew that as usual, they were ignoring her. As she climbed the stairs, she saw Bender standing with a group of burnouts near the school's entrance though none of them made a move to actually enter the school. As she passed him, Bender gave her a nod but continued talking to his friends.

As soon as she entered the school, Allison immediately ran to her locker. Self-consciously, she peeled off her parka and changed into the flats. A few people stopped to look at her, wondering if she were new. The few who did recognize her from the week before drew back in shock but no one said a word.

Allison scanned the hall looking for Andrew. She had to catch him alone. There was no way she was going to approach him with his friends around. She stood watching the other students pass by. She didn't know any of them and they hadn't bothered to get to know her. She was still standing at her locker when the final bell rang. Dejectedly, she picked up her bag and headed to class. Just as she was walking by the boys' washroom, Andrew walked out.

There he was, Andrew Clark in the flesh, the person she'd been both hoping and dreading seeing. He was tall, muscular, and dressed in jeans, a t-shirt, and Nikes. He jumped, startled.

"Hi," Andrew said, shifting from foot to foot.

Allison looked down at her shoes. "Hello," she squeaked.

"I need to get to class," Andrew said pushing pass her.

"Wait," Allison said as she grabbed his arm. "I was hoping maybe we could talk."

"I can't right now," he said as he ran his hand through his sandy brown hair. "Late for class."

"How about after school?"

"Wrestling practice."

"Oh. Maybe I could call you later tonight."

"Homework. Look Allison, maybe we could get together next week," he said as he uncomfortably looked down one end of the hallway then the other. "See ya," he said as he swung his backpack over his shoulder then headed down the hall.

Allison stood watching his retreating back. Suddenly, she felt sick. How could she have been so stupid as to think that one moment of connection and some lip-gloss could change what they were? She'd known better, yet … yet, she'd wanted to believe, believe that someone could find her interesting and attractive, believe that someone would understand where she was coming from.

Quickly she turned and made her way to the girls' washroom. After ducking into a stall and locking the door behind her, she cried.

The heat from the showers hit Andrew Clark as he stepped into the boys' locker room. Head down, he made his way to a bench in the corner. After dropping his bag on the floor, he sat down, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands.

Why? Why had he blown Allison off? He liked her. She was the most interesting girl he knew. But "interesting" came with a price. Interesting was a euphemism for weird and weird was not acceptable in his world.

"Hey Clark. Earth to Clark," he heard someone say. He looked up to see Mike Kennedy standing over him. Mike was a 6'4", 280 pound, football player. "Dude, how was detention?"

"Okay," Andrew said, shrugging.

"It was probably worth it just to see the look on Lester's face when you taped his ass together," Mike said then laughed.

"Yeah," Andrew said, standing up. "I'd better get suited up for practice."

"Yeah, see ya later," Mike said then walked away. Andrew could hear him mumbling something about freaks with hairy asses.

Andrew sighed as he changed out of his jeans into his shorts. He couldn't tell Mike or any of his other friends that he felt bad about what he'd did to Larry. In fact, his friends believed people like Larry were asking for it when they were harassed. If they would just act normal, they wouldn't be targets.

Andrew took one last look at his friends before turning and walking toward the gym.