Chapter One

In this chapter: -Luke rejects Skylar -Skylar decides to impress him by getting a makeover -Skylar meets Forrest while asking for directions

 Chapter One

^~*~^

 Luke Parker had always been the most popular boy at my school. Sun streaked blonde hair, twinkling blue eyes, varsity football team's quarterback, complete playboy. You know the drill. He was your standard Californian with the tan. He was amazing at everything. Gym, math, English, Spanish, science--you name it. Every girl (save a few) wanted him and every guy (save a few) wanted to be him. 

 Yes, the vast majority of my school's female population (and a small bit of the male population) is infatuated with him, and that includes me.

 That's right. Me. I'm totally out of his league.

 So you're thinking, why am I not good enough for him? For starters, I'm not exactly the most popular girl. More like the polar opposite. Skylar Adams. That's me. A girl with a boy name. I'm half Asian, half European. I'm nerdy and quiet. I don't have any friends, I don't talk during school except when completely necessary, and everyone only knows me as "That Loner Girl". And there you have it, I do not spell out Luke-Parker-girlfriend material.

 Yet here I am on my way to confess to him. With a freaking letter. Yup. I don't even have the guts to tell him to his face, so I'm going to stand there and hand him the envelope like a fool. You know what? Maybe this isn't such a good idea after all. I can just go on with my daily old and boring routine and forget all about my little crush on him.

 D'oh! Who am I even trying to kid? I'm so helplessly in love with him that it's insane. His name is squiggled on all my notebooks in cursive, block, bubble, graffiti and printed lettering. I snap pictures of him with my camera when he's not looking. His pictures are scattered everywhere. In my locker, on my pillow, in my books, on my mirror, in my wallet, on my lampshade...

 I'm obsessed.

 Luke would be freaked out if he knew how big my obsession with him is. I can't let him know. I can't tell him. I can't let him read it. I have to turn around.

 Eep! Too late. He's here.

 "H-h-h-hi..." I managed to squeak.

 When he was there, the whole world stopped. My heart leaped up into my throat.

 Ugh, I am so lame. He didn't even hear me. I cleared my throat loudly. He looked at me with a confused face. I took a step towards him, tripped over my laces, fell, and dropped the envelope on his shoes by accident.

 God, I am such a klutz! Now he probably thinks I'm absolutely pathetic.

 "Hey now, what's this?" He asked while bending down to observe the envelope that concealed my obscured feelings for him.

 "No!" I shrieked.

 "Geez! Chill. I was just looking. Wait, is that my name?"

 Luke pointed to the sparkly cursive on the envelope.

 "Don't read it! It's not yours!" I screeched, grabbing the envelope from its place on his feet.

 At this point, everyone had turned to look at us. Now this was just perfect.

 Luke snatched the envelope out of my hands, took one look at the careful calligraphy and hearts, and laughed.

 "Sorry to disappoint, babe, but you're not my type," he said and tossed the package I had spent hours creating onto the pavement.

 Ouch. I'd spent all of my time into that letter. I'd poured my heart out into it. And he'd barely glanced at it and then threw it on the ground like it was trash.

 My heart broke into two. Or maybe it shattered into 948148727173570287162 pieces. I can't recall because it hurts too much.

 Tears began welling up in my eyes and I wiped them on my hoodie sleeve. Everyone else around me was laughing. A small handful looked at me in pity. 

 "Maybe you should try again later when you're actually worthy of Luke's presence, loser," a cheerleader spat at me. She wasn't any cheerleader. On the outside, she looked like the girl everybody idolized, worshipped, admired, adored and loved. But behind the scenes, she was the one everyone wanted to bring down and step on. Everyone hated her, but she was so obtuse that she couldn't get it through her thick plastic head. Leyla was Luke's on-and-off girlfriend. Right now, they were off, so I'd taken my chance to confess while it lasted.

 You know what? I'll show them. I'll show Leyla. I'll show Luke. I'll show all of them that I'm perfectly worthy of him. Yes, that's it! I will win over Luke and become popular. I will be the better version of Leyla. Liked by everyone. Popular. Perfect student.

 Luke's girlfriend.

^~*~^

 After the mortifying experience on Friday, I was bent set on my plan. I finished all of my homework after school and on Saturday. Today is Sunday and I've decided that today is the day.

 "Mommy?" I asked with saccharin, setting down a cup of tea in front of her. My mother sighed and looked at me.

 "Alright. How much do you need? Twenty bucks? Twenty five?" She teased.

 "Mother, I'm hurt!" I said, feigning shock. I placed a hand over my b**b.

 "What do you want, then?"
 
 "I just need to ask for your permission to do something," I said, rolling my eyes.

 "Okay, what is it?" She demanded, sipping from her cup.

 "Can I..."

 "Can you?"

 "Get..."

 "A car? No."

 "Stop interrupting me, will you?"

 "Nope. Not unless you speak faster. I'm a busy woman. I've got things to do."

 "You make it sound like your time is incredibly valuable."

 "Are you saying it's not incredibly valuable? I could always disallow you to--" My mom started.

 "Can I get a makeover?" I blurted out, cutting her off.

 "Hm... Well, I don't know. Can you get a makeover?" She asked.

 "Okay, fine. May I get a makeover?"
 
 "Nope," she responded promptly, and returned to her work on her laptop.

 "Oh, come on! Mom. Please?" I pleaded.

 "No is no."

 "I'll do the dishes from now on."
 
 "Nah."

 "I'll cook from now on."

 "Do I look like I want to die of food poisoning?"

 "No... But you look like you already died," I answered under my breath.

 "What was that?"

 "Nothing, mother dearest."

 "Fine then.  Shoo. I need to work. It costs money to keep this house, you know?"

 "I'll do all the cleaning!"

 "Hmm..." My mom pondered.

 "Well?"
 
 "Give me some time to think!"

 It took her five minutes to think about the last option.

 "Hmm..." She said for the fiftieth time. "No."

 I groaned in aggravation.

 "You're kidding me, right? You spent an hour just deliberating over the last choice!"

 "It was only five minutes, dear. Should I enroll you in kindergarten, because you clearly can't tell the time."

 "Mom, they don't teach time in kindergarten."

 "Oh, shut up. I'm the boss, applesauce!"

 Don't worry. That's normal. My mom always says weird things like that.
 
 "Holy Mackerel. Okay. You're the boss. Happy?"

 "No. Not really. Want to refill my cup?" My mom said, gesturing to the now empty tea cup.
 
 "Will you let me get a makeover?"

 "I'll think about it."

 "You're joking..."

 "Nope."

 I went to the kitchen with the cup and refilled the cup with extremely hot boiling tea.

 I hope she burns.

 "My tea?" My mother asked expectantly when I entered her office.

 "Is here."

 "Mm..." My mom moaned after she took a sip. Damn. The heat didn't affect her.

 "That's disgusting."

 "It's how your father and I made you, baby cakes," my mom said, winking at me before swishing the tea around in her mouth.

 "Ew! Mom! Gross!!!" I yelled.

 "How do you make this tea? It's splendid," she said, abruptly changing the topic.

 "I put tea leaves in water," I said, unimpressed.

 "Really? It's that simple? Are you sure there isn't a secret ingredient?"

 "I spat in it," I deadpanned. My mother ignored my rude comment.

 "So will you let me get a makeover?"

 "Probably not."

 "I'll... do extra Chinese homework for a month," I bargained.

 "Make it two and it's a deal."

 "I'm glad we've come to an agreement," I grinned and held out my hand for her to shake.

^~*~^

 I have no idea how to get to the mall. I should've asked mom for directions. Oh well, I guess I'll have to ask a stranger. But then that's no good! They didn't teach us about stranger danger for us to get killed or raped or something. Ooh! There's a restaurant over there. Public places are good.

 Okay, so what if I'm careful? You may be laughing now, but I'll be the one laughing when we're all at your funeral. Wait, no. Then all the guests will think I'm a pyschotic sicko.

 Which I'm totally not.

 The door rang its bell when I pushed the door open.

 "Welcome to Ben's. May I take your order?" Someone asked. That was one really nice voice. I turned my head toward the sound of the voice.

 Oh my. Major hottie alert. His hair is black. Jet black. Midnight black. Pure black. It's really, really black.

 "Miss, may I take your order now that we've established the fact that I'm a hottie and my hair is black?" He asked and winked suggestively.

 Did I just say that out loud?

 "No, you may not. But you may point me in the direction of the mall," I answered tartly.

 The boy did a double take.

 "What?!" 

 "What?" I blushed.

 "How can you not know where the mall is?" He asked in disbelief.

 "Why so shocked?" I asked.

 "The mall is the home away from home of most girls."

 "I'm not most girls," I shot back.

 "I'll bet," he said.

 "How much?"

 "It's called an expression."

 "It's called sarcasm."

 "Humour me."
 
 "I'll pass."

 "I'm Forrest," the boy smiled and held out his hand for me to shake.

 "Skylar--I mean, Sky."

 "Why not Skylar?" He inquired.

 "It's a guy name."

 "I like it."

 "I'm guessing you like a lot of things."

 "You guessed correctly. I like smart women."

 "I don't like the name Skylar. Just call me Sky."
 
 "Nah. I'll call you whatever I please, sweetheart."

 "I hate you."

 "Good. Hate is a passionate feeling. You know what else is a passionate feeling, baby?"

 "Hm... Does the urge to sack you count?"

 "No, babe," he said cheerfully. I froze, recalling what happened on Friday.

 "Don't call me babe," I warned.

 "Chill, bunny. I won't if you're going to be so touchy about it."

 "You still haven't told me where the mall is."
 
 "I was trying to see how long I could keep you here."

 I rolled my eyes and then stomped my foot impatiently.

 "Just tell me where the mall is," I demanded.
 
 "Did you seriously just stomp your foot?" He asked, laughing.

 "Holy Mother of Pearl!" I exclaimed, glaring at him. Yes, I inherit my unusual choice of words from my mother.

 "You are definitely not like most girls," he mused.

 "Stop switching the topic. Tell me where the mall is."

 "I'll think about it."

 "OH MY BLUEBERRY BANANA PANCAKES. JUST TELL ME WHERE THE MALL IS."

 He smirked and gave me directions. I turned to leave.

 "Bye, Skylark," he called.

 "Skylark?" I stopped in my tracks to ask.

 "My new nickname for you," Forrest explained.

 "You say that like we're going to see each other again in the future."

 "Who says we won't?"

 "I say we won't after this."

 "How much are you willing to wager?"

 "10 bucks."

 "Okay. Then make sure you start keeping that much with you at all times, Skylark."

 I shook my head in annoyment and pushed the door open, not looking back.

^~*~^

 Here I am, at the mall. Okay, so where to first? I guess I should work my way down from my head. To the salon!

 I found one where I saw content customers walk out. Their hair looked pretty decent. I walked in and slammed my debit card onto the counter, trying to act all macho.

 "Work your magic on me. I'll pay for whatever cost."

 "Uh... Alright, but I'm afraid you'll have to wait with the rest of the customers," the lady behind the counter told me.

 "That's right. I knew that," I said sheepishly and went to the waiting area. I was called up ten minutes later.

 "Work your mag--" I started to repeat what I'd said earlier, but was immediately cut off.

 "Yeah, yeah. I heard your little speech back there," the guy said to me. He fixated a stare on me for a solid five minutes and I stared back in horror and confusion. He then wordlessly whisked me off to wash my hair.

 "So, what's your name?" I asked, trying to make polite conversation.

 "Otto."

 "Hello Otto," I tried to say as pleasantly as possible.

 He grunted noncommitally in response.

 Otto looked like he was sixty. His head was balding. Sunspots covered his face and hands. His eyelids drooped. Yikes. He's kind of old.

 Do I trust this guy with scissors? For all I know, he was blind!
 
 "What are you going to do with my hair today, Otto?"

 "I'll fix up the layering you already have, and add some highlights."

 "Oh."

 That was it for the talking. After that, all there was was an awkward silence. I twiddled my thumbs as I watched fluffy bits of my light brown hair fall onto the ground. After twenty minutes of rigorous cutting, I looked in the mirror.

 Wow! My hair already looks better. It's still up to my butt like before, but my split-ends are gone and it looks a lot more tidy.

 Otto began the process of adding highlights now. A while later, a lot of my hair was wrapped up in tin foil. I resembled an alien.

 After what felt like a month, my hair was done and I looked in the mirror.

 Is that really even me? Because damn, I look HOT! It's so many shades of brown! Caramel, honey, and chocolate all mixed together. Mm... Okay, that description makes it sound like I'm going to eat my hair. Awkward personal moment.

 "Done," Otto said. I smiled warmly and ran to the cashier to pay.

 Next stop, the rest of my hairs.

^~*~^

 Gosh, this is boring. I checked my watch. 11:42 AM.

 I started to twiddle my thumbs.

 I took out a squashed Skittle from my wallet and ate it.

 I chewed a stick of gum.

 I played Truth or Dare with myself. Well, more like Dare or Dare because it wasn't any fun to choose truth because I already knew everything about myself.

 I dare you to start talking to a stranger.

 I turned to a woman sitting next to me.

 "Hi!" I said perkily.

 She turned to face me. Oh my God.

 Her face was sunken in. Her joints stuck out. She was, in short, a walking skeleton. Or more like a sitting skeleton.

 "Hi," she mouthed. I could smell a putrid, rotting odour drifting out of her lipless mouth.

 I suddenly turned to the other side and greeted a woman. She was turned away from me, texting someone.

 "Gahh!" I gasped when she turned around. Her face looked like a guy's!

 "Hey," she told me in a deep manly voice and waggled her eyebrows at me.

 "Oh my God," I said and buried my face in my hands. I sneaked a peek at my watch.

 What?! Are you kidding me?! How is it possible for it to still be 11:42 AM?!

 "Skylar Adams?"

 I woke up with a start and looked at my watch. 12:57 PM.

 "Yes?"

 "It's your turn."

 Holy macaroni. I am never coming to the spa again without booking an appointment.

 "OW!!!" I shrieked. I was thirteen minutes into my appointment.

 "STOP MOVING!!!"

 I whimpered.

 Who knew eyebrow plucking hurt so much? I didn't!

 "I didn't sign up for a freaking torture session!"

 "You haven't seen nothing yet! Just wait 'til I start waxing your bikini area!"

 "Ow?"

 "Yes. Ow."
 
 To think that I still had to get my legs, arms, pits, and bikini area waxed.

 Eep.
 
 At least I still have a relaxing facial mask and back massage to look forward to.

^~*~^

 I was lost. I had no idea where to go shopping for clothes. Scanning the crowd, I tapped a girl clad in preppy clothes on the shoulder.

 "Sorry, miss."

 "Whataya want?" She looked annoyed smacking her bubblegum.

 "Um... I was just wondering what shops I should go to to shop for stuff similar to what you're wearing."

 "Hm... Why?"
 
 "I think you have a very good fashion sense," I complimented her, crossing my fingers behind my back.

 "Really? Thanks. Well, I got this sweater from TNA. Their stuff is expensive, though."

 "DNA?" I asked the random girl I'd pulled aside.

 "No, it's TNA."

 "Yes, but that's what I said!"

 "You said DNA. I said TNA."

 "It's the same thing!"

 "OH MY GOD. It's T as in T-shirt."

 "Oh! That makes more sense. Thank you! Any other shops you recommend I shop at?"

 "Hollister, Aeropostale, and Abercrombie," she listed.

 She sounded like she was asking three separate questions.

 "Hollister? Aeropostale? Abercrombie?"

 God. Do I have to talk like that to be popular? Heck. Do I seriously have to talk at all?

 Suddenly, I spotted a shop called Hot Topic. I could see lots of cool stuff in there.

 "What do you think of Hot Topic?" I asked her.

 "Ew, don't go there. That's only for freaks."

 I frowned. One shop that I actually like and she dismisses it as one for freaks. I hastily thanked her and then scurried away to find this "DNA" she was talking about.

 ^~*~^

 I smelled awful. Yes, I'd sprayed one perfume bottle too many. Or maybe a dozen.

 "Miss, do you need any help?" A salesperson of the make-up store said, exasperated.

 "Yes, please."

 "How may I be of help?"

 "Help me find something that isn't too strong," I told her, coughing.

 "Try water," she said sarcastically. "Or maybe just putting on less."

 I didn't say anything.
 
 The lady gave me some sort of Chanel perfume.

 "Too strong," I criticised it.

 The lady gave me some sort of Elizabeth Arden perfume.

 "Can't smell it."

 The lady gave me some sort of Dolce & Gabbana perfume.

 "Not my style."

 The saleslady groaned.

^~*~^

 "How am I supposed to do this without poking it in my eye?" I asked the instructor.

 I was taking a make-up course. A professional taught here every Sunday afternoon and her sign caught my eye on my way out of the make-up store. I ran back in there and just made it as her lesson was starting.

 Besides me, there were two twelve-year olds and a bunch of thirteen-year olds. I was the only fifteen-year old there.

 "Here. Hold the pencil like this. Make sure you don't put too much or too little pressure on the waterline."

 After that, she let us experiment with different hues of stuff like cheek shadow and eye blush or something like that. Being me, I made myself look like a clown. Blood red lips. Powder white skin. Unnatural pink cheeks.  She gave us each a card with a colour palette on it and circled the ones that she thought would match our skin tone. We mastered all the techniques and she pulled me aside to tell me not to overdo the make-up. Finally, we each got our own starter make-up kit.

 Mine had an extra bottle of make-up remover. Coincidence? I don't think so.

^~*~^

 "How much did you spend, honey?" My mom called out when I got back home at seven.

 "A lot," I admitted, embarrassed.

 "Fork over the receipts."

 "Would you believe me if I said I threw them out?" I asked hopefully.

 "No."

 "Yeesh. Fine."

 I gave her a wad of receipts.

 "Two fifty for your hair?"

 I winced.
 
 "Three hundred at the spa?!"

 I cringed.

 "Five hundred for clothes?!?"

 "One fifty for make-up and perfume?!?!"
 
 I smiled weakly.

 "SKYLAR ADAMS!" My mother shouted.

Reviews

[John Patrick Robbins AK..]

You have a really good sense of humor and it works really well in this write cause any reader could attach to your style of eritting really a fun read with some good characters welcome to writers cafe most know me as the full time madman of the net my friends all call me gonzo cheers and keep posting and most of all stay crazy

Gonzo