End of April in North Carolina is when people start dreaming of the upcoming summer and slowly forget about rainy evenings. But not today. Today is quite cloudy, but that doesn't have to be a bad sign. I can't quite decide if I even like this time of year. In winter, at least I can wear oversized sweaters that hide the flaws in my figure. In summer, I have to face the truth and admit that it's not yet the season to show off in a bikini, even at an empty pool.

When I go downstairs to the kitchen in the morning, I'm greeted as usual by the smell of fried eggs and toast with peanut butter. A typical breakfast in the Parkers' home, unchanged for years, as if out of fear that if someone breaks this tradition, something bad will happen. David Parker—tall and rather slim, not your stereotypical cop stuffing himself with donuts in his patrol car and washing them down with coffee—turns to me and gives me his typical smile number five. Just as if he wasn't upset with me for what happened on Monday. He's as annoying as a mosquito at night, panics at every opportunity, often abuses parental authority, trying to protect me from the evils lurking around the corner of the block, but above all, he's my father. The father who greets me with a kiss on the forehead as if I were five years old instead of sixteen. The father who, despite everything, didn't manage to protect me from the evils lurking within the walls of school.

"I see that since I took away your laptop, I haven't seen you with dark circles under your eyes," he jokes.

Well, Dad, you got me. Not being able to watch Netflix all night really works.

I shrug and, rubbing my sleepy eyes, sit down at the low wooden table. I pull my plate of toast towards me, take a bite of one, and pretend that I'm really enjoying it.

Damn, how I would love a pile of pancakes with maple syrup. Why do parents in movies make pancakes for their kids for breakfast, while in real life they take the easy way out and just pop bread in the toaster?

"I'm on night duty today," he informs me, and I automatically glance at the calendar, which is hung right next to the fridge. Indeed, April 23rd is marked with a red X. How could I have missed that it's today? "Do you remember what you need to do?"

"Yes, Dad." I sigh. It's impossible to fight overprotectiveness. I know this because I've tried. "I'll lock the doors with the extra lock, both the front and the back. I'll turn off all the lights and put the pepper spray under my pillow." Another sigh. "Dad, do you really think anyone would want to break into our house? Even dogs don't pee on our front yard because it's not worth it."

"I love you, sweetie. If I come back in the morning and you're still alive, I'll consider restoring your allowance."

"Hallelujah."

"And of course, the rule: no boyfriends. Until you're fifty, you're not allowed to date anyone."

What world is my father living in? Doesn't it include Kylie Jenner, Selena Gomez, or even Jennifer Lopez? Back in his time, she was probably the goddess of sex. Well, I certainly am not comparable to any of them.

"Dad, I'm fat and don't have boobs. This combination excludes me from the list of potential girlfriends for years."

"I know. I just wanted to make sure."

"Father of the year. I can't believe it." I shake my head.

Dad smiles again, putting a whole egg in his mouth. Seeing this, I thank all the heavens that my mom managed to teach me manners before she lost her sanity. If I were to follow my dad's example, well, the list of everything that could make people dislike me would include slurping and smacking. I can barely stand it myself, and if I did it? Disaster.

"Please, just don't give the principal a reason to call me again." Dad glances at the wall clock, which is already a bit worn out. "How's the auditorium renovation going?"

"I think it's going well. After two days, it looks a bit better, but there's still a lot of work to do. It would be easier if that one guy actually helped us instead of sleeping in the last row."

"Wake him up. Under no circumstances should you complain about him to the principal. Even the police don't like snitches." He winks at me.

Well. Aiden Woods is an extremely tough case. I'd even say clinical. He didn't help us clean the auditorium yesterday, and he didn't admit to shamelessly eating my sandwich while keeping my backpack in the closet the other day. Ivo Jablonsky tried everything. On request, he got a shrug, and on threat, a look full of pity. Even I wanted to use my personal charm, but Ivo said that my sour face was the last thing Aiden Woods wanted to see. He was probably right, but what harm could it do to try? I'll do it today, and if he laughs at me, so be it.

"Sure, thanks for the advice."

When Dad leaves through the door and I hear the roar of the patrol car starting up, I rush upstairs to the bathroom to get ready for the day when Kyle Chew will come up to me during the lunch break. I spent half the night planning what to wear. I decided to squeeze into my only pair of high-waisted jeans, which might elongate my legs a bit and prevent my belly from spilling over the waistband. I paired it with a black long-sleeve shirt with "gone bad" written where my breasts should be. And sneakers. Black ones. Kyle shouldn't think I dressed up for him, but at the same time, I can't look like a total mess. The acne treatment cream worked wonders, so when I got up in the morning and looked in the mirror, I could confidently say that luck was on my side. Now, looking at the whole picture, I'm sure that today will be the memorable day when the boy of my dreams will start saying "hi" to me. A fourth-grader to a second-grader, can you believe it?

But it wouldn't be me if everything actually went according to plan. Within forty minutes of Dad leaving, the weather went from moderately unpleasant to a total disaster. It started to blow and rain, and since I'm not Usain Bolt, by the time I reached the van parked in the driveway, water was dripping from my tousled hair, and there wasn't a trace left of my carefully applied makeup. Wonderful, right?

Shivering with cold, I turn the key in the ignition and pray to all the saints that at least the Toyota will cooperate today, but it's in vain. The car makes a suspicious sound and then goes silent, but I suspect this is not the end of today's bad luck festival.

"Breakdown," I groan into the phone. Jen, being the true and only best friend, immediately finds a solution.

"Okay, my mom is starting the engine. Wait for me, I'll be there in five minutes."

I look at my reflection in the rearview mirror and already know that Kyle Chew will definitely not fall in love with me today. I take a deep breath, trying to stay calm. Maybe not everything is lost. I'll get to school, touch up my makeup with the cosmetics I packed in my backpack, dry my hair under the bathroom dryer, and somehow make it work. Although I can't dream of straight and shiny locks, maybe if I tie them up on top of my head, it will be passable?

What's happening to me? Since when do I care so much about what someone thinks of me? But it's Kyle, a little voice in my head whispers. Not just anyone.

The voice is right. If it were about someone like Aiden Woods, I wouldn't care about how my hair looks or if he noticed enlarged pores on my nose.

I rest my forehead on the steering wheel and wonder if I should skip school today. What will happen to my punishment if I miss one day?

The honking of the horn makes me stop feeling sorry for myself. I take a deep breath and sprint to Jen's mom's minivan. I don't lock my car. I'm not worried about it being stolen because:

a) it's parked in front of a police officer's house,

b) it's old and has a not-so-encouraging layer of rust on the thresholds,

c) it just didn't start.

On days like this, I'd actually prefer if someone did steal it. Maybe it would prompt Dad to buy me something better, newer, and less embarrassing. I mean, not that the car is embarrassing. Embarrassing are situations where an automatic transmission suddenly breaks down in the middle of a busy street. How can someone who supposedly cares so much about my safety let me drive such a piece of junk?

Okay, I know the answer. A police officer's job in a small town isn't very lucrative, and paying off a mortgage and raising a teenage daughter is an incredibly tough task.

"You look like a drowned rat," Jen comments as I fasten my seatbelt.

"My Christmas wish this year is a huge garage that connects straight from the house," I reply. I feel a vibration in my rain jacket pocket but ignore it. Jen doesn't know that I have an online friend, and it's better that way. Sitting right next to me, she might "accidentally" see what I'm doing, and that would mean a few hours of questioning that even my father wouldn't be ashamed of.

Jen clasps my hand with excitement.

"Ready for the big day?"

"What's happening today?" Mrs. Holland glances curiously at our reflections in the rearview mirror. She's the most inquisitive person in the world, but well, everyone has their flaws.

Jen is about to open her mouth to spill the beans about me to her mom, but I manage to beat her to it:

"I have a presentation on adapting to life in society."

"Oh, what's it about?"

The effects of meddling in other people's business.

Just kidding.

"Family, the basic social unit." And I thought I couldn't lie. It also turns out that paying attention in class sometimes comes in handy.

"I'm keeping my fingers crossed. For someone who's growing up without a mother, this topic must be really important."

An awkward silence suddenly fills the car, interrupted only by the heavy raindrops hitting the minivan's windshield. I blink several times, Jen is speechless, and Mrs. Holland doesn't seem like she just said something that could upset someone. I don't mind talking about my mom, but I know how such conversations end. Questions about her mental state are common, as are unsolicited feminine advice. Although Mrs. Holland has never committed any of these sins, it could happen sooner or later.

"Mhm," I mutter under my breath, hoping to end the uncomfortable topic.

"Your dad is quite a handsome and still young man. He should come to church sometimes; there are many women who would definitely be interested in him. If it weren't for Mr. Holland, maybe I would..."

"Mom!" Jen silences her mother and looks at her with disbelief. It's actually quite funny, so I can't help but let out a chuckle.

"Unfortunately, Dad often works during church services, Mrs. Holland," I say, trying to sound serious. In reality, I can barely keep a straight face because I never expected to hear such words from my best friend's mom.

"Oh, that's a shame, a real shame."

We pull up to the school eight minutes before the bell. Jen's cheeks have gone from purple to plain red, while I've managed to calm down completely. I decide I'll tell Dad about today's situation at the earliest opportunity so we can laugh about it together. Dad has always loved only Mom, whether she's seeing white mice or not. I'm sure Mrs. Holland's words will lift his spirits for the rest of the day.

"Oh my God, how embarrassing," Jen groans as we rush to the entrance doors of our high school.

Seven minutes left; maybe I can still fix my messed up makeup.

"Don't worry, your mom cheered me up." Six minutes. "Listen, I have trigonometry right next to the bathrooms, so... we'll meet up later. You know what I mean." Five and a half minutes.

Jen nods and then runs off towards her locker. I'll go to class without my books, but well, some things are more important.

In a hurry, I pull off my jacket and stuff it into my backpack, even though it's still dripping wet. I climb the stairs, getting out of breath. A silly thought crosses my mind: maybe I should start taking sports seriously. What if Kyle likes sporty girls? I've never seen him with any, so I have no idea what his type is. He's pretty slim himself... Five minutes. The crowd of students doesn't help with getting to the girls' bathroom on the second floor. I squeeze between two freshmen, elbow a fourth-grader, earning a string of curses, and finally bump into someone's chest.

No way.

"Auch, oh damn. Hey, Sadie, right?"

Kyle's coal-black eyes are fixed on my hideous, pimpled face. They scan every inch, starting from the smudged mascara and ending on the nasty pimples on my chin that I was able to cover with my make up, but now... well...

It's over. This is the moment when Kyle Chew decides I'm the last person he'd ever want to kiss.

I'm so embarrassed, so I look down. Five minutes, or maybe just a few seconds could save me from this nightmare. If my car hadn't broken down, if Jen's mom had driven a bit faster, if I hadn't bothered with makeup before class, if that damn storm hadn't started...

"Actually, it's good I ran into you. I thought you probably wouldn't want to take money for the ruined shirt, so I bought you a new one." Kyle takes off his backpack and dives into it for a moment, then hands me a white T-shirt wrapped in clear plastic. I involuntarily take the shirt, staring at the black-and-white Eleven print from Stranger Things.

"Thank you. I mean... you didn't have to. I mean... it's nice, I mean..."

Kyle laughs, seeing how embarrassed I am. Focused solely on how terrible I look, I can't fully appreciate the sound of his voice, which is so deep.

"No problem," he says casually, and I muster up the courage to look up. When I see that cute dimple in his cheek, my knees almost give out. "When something gets damaged, you have to fix it. I hope you're not mad at me."

"Not at all," I blurt out immediately, perhaps a bit too loudly, but thankfully Kyle doesn't seem to notice. Or maybe he's just a gentleman with good manners ingrained in him. It's probably why I start regaining some of my usual composure and ask the question that's been on my mind since he handed me the shirt. "Did you really go after school to get me this T-shirt? I mean, you know, most people would probably just forget it, you know..."

"It's a good thing I'm not like most people." He winks at me playfully, and when the bell rings, he lifts his head and glances at the clock above me. "I've got to run. See you later."

See you later.

SEE YOU LATER.

Damn it.

I must look really stupid standing in the hallway with my mouth open, smudged makeup, staring at Kyle Chew's disappearing back.

"See you later." What does that mean? See you later in the hallway? See you later at lunch? See you later as in "ask me out on a date"?

"Parker, special invitation?"

Mrs. Adler stands in the classroom door, and her gaze is definitely not kind.

Wiping the mascara-stained streaks from my cheeks, I make my way into the classroom. I still can't believe that a day that started so disastrously could turn out to be not so bad after all.

➿➿➿

USER @MoodKiller🕷 IS ONLINE NOW!

7:41AM
@Moodkiller: This weather today is a nightmare.

@Moodkiller: Maybe we should skip school today. JKJK

@Moodkiller: Sadie?

USER @MoodKiller🕷 IS OFFLINE

USER @PinkGirl🌸 IS ONLINE NOW!

8:27AM
PinkGirl: Sorry, I had a life error this morning. My car broke down again and I got so wet it looked like I fell into the ocean. You wouldn't want to see me now... Plus Jen's mom started asking about my father and then said something about the struggles of growing up without a mother, so that was a perfect start of the day.

PinkGirl: BUT!

PinkGirl: I want to tell you something, but I don't want you to laugh at me

8:39AM
PinkGirl: Okay, I'll tell you

PinkGirl: I'm in love!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

8:42AM
PinkGirl: God, no, that wasn't supposed to sound like that

PinkGirl: Can we pretend you didn't get the message?

PinkGirl: Okay, fuck, okay, I'm in love, but I'm not saying who. And don't ask me, okay?

PinkGirl: Because I'm not going to tell anyway.

USER @MoodKiller🕷 IS ONLINE NOW!

8:41AM
MoodKiller: Who?

PinkGirl: Kyle Chew!!!!!!!!!!!!!

MoodKiller: Oh my God. Not him. I feel sorry for you..

PinkGirl: You know what, I'm not talking to you anymore.

USER @PinkGirl🌸 IS OFFLINE

MoodKiller: Women...

USER @MoodKiller🕷 IS OFFLINE

➿➿➿

Aiden Woods is sleeping again. How do I know? His snoring can be heard all the way down the stage, and he's sitting in the last row at the top of the hall with his head tilted back and his mouth open. Someone with better eyesight could probably count all his teeth, but Aiden clearly doesn't care.

Sometimes I wish I could approach life like he does—carefree, projecting an air of mystery and a touch of danger. When Aiden was in second grade, he suddenly disappeared for three months, and a rumor spread that he was locked up in the most secure juvenile detention center for murder. When he returned, he had slightly longer hair and an even colder stare. The rumor turned out to be false, but it didn't change the fact that everyone has been afraid of him ever since.

"Can you hold the ladder for me? The principal wants the curtain taken down and put in the hallway. He wants to personally take it to the laundry."

I tear my gaze away from the sleeping Aiden and look at Ivo. His eyebrows are so white that I can't stop staring at them.

"We have to do something about him," I say, nodding toward Woods. "We can't do all the work for him."

"I'm not going over there. If you want to, go ahead," Ivo shrugs and leans against the ladder.

I shake my head in disbelief. Coward. I'm not afraid of Aiden.

I take a deep breath and firmly walk up the stairs. When I reach the spot where Woods is sitting, I see a complete disrespect for the school's rules. His legs are stretched out, there's crumpled breakfast paper lying nearby, and he's wearing headphones. My blood boils. We're working our butts off to make up for our punishment, and he's just sleeping away?! Plus, he's making extra work for us, because I'd bet anything he wouldn't bother cleaning up the mess around his feet.

Asshole.

I yank off his headphones, causing the plug to fall out of some old, round player. Is that a Discman? Who even uses a Discman these days?

"What do you want?" I hear as Aiden angrily grabs his property back from me. He shoves the headphones into his backpack, giving me a disdainful look.

"Maybe, if you would be so kind, you could finally help us?"

He clearly wants to continue his interrupted nap. He was angry a moment ago, but now he looks bored. I'm not about to be brushed off. No chance.

"Leave me alone."

"No. You're not special enough for me to do your work for you. You need to go downstairs right now and help Ivo take down the curtain," I say firmly, glaring at him.

Aiden raises his gaze, which could intimidate any freshman. Fortunately, I'm tough enough to handle it.

"Listen, I'm not going to help anyone with anything, got it? I've been staying after school, and I've been fine with that. I didn't sign up for any of this renovation nonsense."

"Neither did I?" I cross my arms over my chest.

"What's your name?" he asks, slightly catching me off guard.

"Sadie."

"Okay, so fuck off, Sadie."

No way he's going to scare me. I sit down next to him. He's wrong if he thinks he can tell me to fuck off.

"I'm not leaving until you move your lazy ass," I say with a fake smile.

"One more word...—"

"And what? You're going to hit me?" I ask, hoping he would actually never do that.

Aiden clenches his teeth, a muscle in his temple twitches. He could be quite handsome if it weren't for that perpetually sullen expression. Of course, he's not my type at all, but from what I know, some girls faint at the sight of guys like him.

"You're fucked up"

Aiden, fuming, kicks the back of the chair in front of him, then stands up, walks past me, and heads over to the stunned Ivo Jablonsky. The triumphant smile on my face as I follow Woods would make even our principal proud. Who would have thought I could achieve the impossible? Me? Crazy Parker?

"I'll take down this shitty curtain and you'll leave me alone?" he growls, turning to me.

I nod.

"For today, yes."

Aiden sighs, looks at the ladder that barely reaches halfway up the curtain. He puts his hands in his pockets, then gives us both a condescending look.

"God, what a bunch of losers. You're good for washing rocks in a river at best."

I shrug and give Ivo a confused look, having no idea what Woods is on about. He disappears behind the wall separating the stage from the backstage, and a few seconds later, I spot him at the top of the mechanism controlling the curtain's descent. Brilliant, it's so obvious. How could I not think of that myself? Ivo started talking about the ladder, and I, being clueless, didn't realize that it's impossible to take down the heavy velvet curtain that way.

Aiden grabs the thick rope, braces himself with his feet, and gathers the curtain at one corner, then struggles with its fastenings for a moment.

"Watch out!" he shouts.

The fabric falls to the stage, kicking up clouds of dust. I cover my face with my sleeve, imagining all those bacteria and germs getting into my lungs.

"Well, that's that," Aiden says, wiping his hands on his pants, then heading back to his usual spot where he sleeps.

"Hey!" I shout at his back. "It still needs to be taken outside!"

Aiden stops, turns around, and gives us the same condescending look he gave a few minutes earlier.

"Well, get to it then. You're not special enough for me to do the work for you."

Dear God, I swear someday I'll kill him and even connections with the police won't save me from prison.