1| Little Miss Perfect 

Labels are for filing.
Labels are for clothing.
Labels are not for people.

~Martina Navratilova, ex tennis coach and player

"Will Cecilia Archer please report to my office?" the PA system blared. I smiled and got up, and this earned me a lot of my usual stares in the class. I pretended not to notice. To most people, getting called to the principal's office could hardly be something that'd make you jump for joy. For me, however, it was a different story.

To keep things simple, it was usually something good.

Now that's the thing; everyone probably thinks I'm an awful showoff now. I don't brag, though. I just tell the truth, and I don't see the harm in that. That's the thing about society, isn't it? People are always chiding you and telling you to love yourself and embrace everything you do. The minute you actually do carry out with that plan, people narrow their eyes at you and call you a show off.

I hated society. I hated stereotypes. And most of all, I hated labels.

I walked down the hallway, earning at least ten more long gazes from people I'd never spoken to. I'd never properly held out a conversation with anyone, really (Except for the obvious couple of people like Ashton and Naomi, my boyfriend and my, well, acquaintance, respectively). Most other people didn't really understand me. Either that, or I was that intimidating girl with no time apart from her schoolwork, social work and extracurricular activities. I'll have you know that I actually have none of those things on Friday, not that anyone would bother knowing that.

My heels clacked as I walked towards the office, a radiant smile on my face. "Mr. Horowitz, to what do I owe you this pleasure?" I asked.

"Come on, Cee. I thought me dating your aunt would have gotten me off the 'Mr.' tag you seem to always use, especially if it's just at my office," he said, his laugh lines crinkling around his eyes.

Oh yeah, did I forget to mention that? The principal was dating my aunt and guardian. That also might have made me a little cocky about not getting in trouble.

"Fine," I huffed, playfully. "Henry, to what do I owe you this pleasure?" I parroted.

His smile faltered a little. "I'm here to ask you for more work, unfortunately," he said, shrugging.

"Surprise, surprise," I said, shrugging. I was like his personal robot. Or minion. I basically carried out all his work that he needed done on a student level. I was a one man army of a student council, if that made any sense.

He looked at me apologetically, running his fingers through his dark brown hair that was streaked with strands of gray. "How's your photography going?" he asked.

That took me by surprise. "My photography? It's great, I guess... Like any of my other extracurricular activities. Why?"

He leaned back into his seat, heaving a small sigh. "Well, it looks like it's finally found some great practical use. Someone's been vandalizing school property in the night and leaving behind little notes in graffiti. Wait, I'll show you pictures," he said, and I moved forward to look at his phone. There, in red spray paint, were the sentences 'Stop the shaming', 'Kill the discrimination' and finally, in large black block letters, 'ABOLISH THE LABELS'.

Wow, this person thought like me. "Wow," I breathed. Something like this had never happened at our clean, prestigious school. We'd never had an oddball or someone with so much spite and rebelliousness. "I didn't think things like this happened at Ridgeview," I said, honestly.

Henry looked torn. "Me neither! I didn't think anyone would do something like this. Cee... are there a lot of stereotypes in our school? And if so, who is the most targeted by them?"

I shrugged, although every other fiber of my being was screaming, "ME!"

He smiled, sadly. "This is all we have," he said, and he gestured towards a photo of a figure. The person was lithe and definitely had a nice physique, and you couldn't even see an inch of his or her skin. "It seems like a boy, but we can't be too sure. So, my question to you is... will you be willing to take photos tonight and catch the culprit?"

My eyes bugged out. "This person seems clinically insane! Do you really expect me to waltz into our school with a psychopath and start taking pictures of them like some crazed paparazzi? Especially in the night where I'll need my flash on?"

This was a very bad idea, really.

He shook his head. "This person won't touch you. I'll appoint guards around the place. And you know why I can't have them capture the person... we don't want our school to be dragged down for assaulting their students in the middle of the night."

I bit my lip hard, my perfectly aligned teeth scrapping past some dead skin. This could be absolutely disastrous. What would I do after getting the pictures? I'd go down as a snitch. But then again, was there anyone who I cared about enough to actually give a damn about what they thought of my reputation? My aunt's boyfriend's school was at stake.

"I'm in," I said, after a long internal debate.

Wow, I really needed to sort out my priorities.

Henry fist-pumped the air, pure, unadulterated glee painting his features. "Thank you so much, Cee. This means a lot to me. I'll make it up to you, I promise," he said, a large smile on his face.

I knew he would. I also knew that it meant more work in the future for caving in so easily, but it meant that I'd have some slack cut from my school workload.

"No problemo, you'll have brilliant pictures first thing tomorrow morning," I said, confidently.

"Of course I trust you. You're Cecilia Archer," he said, and that was enough to make my face fall as I left the room.

Of course anything was possible. Of course I was the only one who could get trampled over two-billion times by every other person. Of course it wouldn't matter to me.

After all, I was Cecilia Archer.

***

I smiled to myself as I ran towards the football field, eager to meet Ashton and tell him about what had happened this morning and the latest scoop at school. Ash was like me in every way. The two of us took the same classes, had the same tastes and did the same things. We were like the same puzzle piece, really. We'd always been inseparable. Except now he thought he was the hottest stuff in the world, but whatever. He was my Ash, and that was all that mattered.

I stumbled back when I saw him in all his shirtless glory, being practically clawed at by Naomi. I rolled my eyes. This was another thing I hated about him. He just flirted with everyone, and he'd been doing it with Naomi for more than a month now.

"Get away from Ash, Nay-Nay," I hissed, sweetly, pulling my boyfriend away from her five inched nails. All the other football guys were standing around, laughing at me.

"Jeez, Cece," Ash said, patronizingly. "We were just talking."

I rolled my eyes, my hands on my hips. "Yeah, Ash," I said, in the same tone that he'd used on me. "What if I, say, began running my hands across a shirtless..." I scanned the bunch of twits my boyfriend called friends. "Zach?" I said, when my gaze finally settled on his best friend.

This made Zach wink at me, and Ash to get all pissed off, as usual. "Come on, Cece, don't be so immature," he said, with an eye roll.

This was another thing I hated about society. When a girl got pissed when someone touched her boyfriend, she was being clingy and jealous. When a boy got pissed, he was being possessive in an adorable way.

I was so done with this. "Me?! Immature?! Do you know how annoying it is to see you check out everyone who walks by you?" I screamed. "I'm right here, you know. You're not even subtle. What do I even mean to you anymore?"

Ash cocked his head to the side in that adorable way that he did. He was definitely not lacking anything in the genes department. He had gently tousled blond hair, dimples against a wicked smile, sharp brown eyes and an impressive body. "Aw, I love how psycho you are for me," he said, pinching my cheek.

I swatted away his arm, feeling incredibly stupid. I wasn't your typical shy kid. I was domineering, bitchy, angry, and protective of myself and my own ideals. Ashton Hayes had done enough screwing with my brain and life. He thought he could control me, but really... he didn't know the first thing about me. He didn't even know all the crap that went down over the summer.

"I will not be spoken to like some little kid, Ashton," I growled, getting really mad now.

"I never said it was a bad thing, Cece," he said, throwing his hands up in the air. "I want crazy."

Ashton thought he could sing just because he shared Hunter Hayes last name. Do not be fooled, he simply lacked a good voice box. That was his number one flaw, really.

I pursed my lips at him, deciding that this entire game of his had gone too far. "And I want out."

His entire composure shattered at my statement. "Wh-what?" he asked, seemingly confused as to why I'd allow the power couple of the century to break like this. "You're joking, right?"

"No," I said, shaking my head, my lip quavering a little bit. "I am so, completely done with you and all of your bullshit. I'm breaking up with you, sweetheart. Any questions?" I asked, and I realized he was completely thrown off. "Good."

With that, I walked away, feeling triumphant that I'd gotten the last word in without looking like an idiot, but also feeling very bad for myself.

Then, I proceeded to walk towards the far end of the benches where he couldn't see me, and start crying, my face buried in my lap. Yes, guys. I was just that pathetic.

"You seem to think you're going through an existential crisis," declared a voice, and I whipped my head upwards, furiously wiping my tear-streaked face. I'd never really let anyone in this godforsaken place see me cry, and I hadn't really wanted it to happen in the future, either. "But that's the thing. All these shallow minded people in this seemingly large school have such different meanings of sadness. If, to you, breaking up with your boyfriend after you saw him flirting with your friend was something devastating, then I'm not judging you. I'm just here to tell you that you guys just have to learn to wipe your asses and get on with life."

My jaw dropped at the audacity of this person. I looked up and my own teary eyes met sharp, calculating green ones. "Excuse-me?" I asked, extremely put off by the rudeness of this boy. "Who are you, again?"

He smirked. I was lying, obviously. When I said that there were no outcasts in our school, I had clearly forgotten dear old Todd Fletcher. Now that boy was an ultimate weirdo, in my eyes. To a lot of the girls in our grade, he was the bad boy supreme with his good looks and brooding face. To me, he looked nothing but troubled. It took one haunted look to identify another, and I'd picked him out. His black hair was overgrown and fell over his eyes dramatically, and his green orbs were stark against his pale skin and sharp features. He looked almost ethereal and delicate, but at the same time strong and capable of bashing your skull inwards with no second thoughts.

Weird.

"So, you're playing the hard-to-get card," he said, and I opened my mouth to retort but he cut me off with a wink. "It's cute."

He used the rod across the benches to hoist himself up. He had a lean body, his black shirt clinging to his muscled abdomen when we climbed up with ease. I could see the veins popping out in his toned arms as he decided that swinging across the rod like a retard suited him better than joining me on the benches.

I didn't really know what to say to that, so I sniffled and watched him swing with a weird sort of fascination. "Are you a dancer?" I blurted, staring at him.

The question seemed to catch him off guard, because he decided to sit down next to me. He took a while to formulate his response, but he finally settled with a tight lipped, "Nope. And I see that this is your way of not being defensive."

"I'm never defensive," I said, hotly.

See? I knew he was weird. I'd been dancing since I could walk, and I could tell when someone was lying about these things or not. I really could.

"Alrighty then," I said, with an exaggerated eye roll. "Now, if you're done annoying the living daylights out of me, you may feel free to leave."

He grinned again, lazily slinging an arm around my shoulders and making me feel pretty uncomfortable. He'd just walked out of football practice, so he was pretty sweaty. I squirmed but he seemed gloriously oblivious. I huffed in defeat and he winked at me, sensing my mood shift. Jerk.

"See," he said, pointing towards the sky. "There's a whole world of opportunities out there, and you're just crying over some guy who probably doesn't deserve your tears. I've seen people do that before, and I decided to knock some sense into you. That's about it."

I glared at him, pushing his arm off me. "And who gave you permission to gate crash my pity party and mock everything I had placed in it?"

He shook his head, clicking his tongue in mock disbelief. "You give yourself so much importance. I was only doing this so that I could preserve the sanity in this already awful place. A lot of people in this school look up to you. The last thing we need is for even more people to become psycho because their leader is down the dumps."

He said the word leader with such contempt that he might have been saying she-devil.

"Oh you good, good Samaritan," I said, getting up now. "You think you're so cool, don't you? Do you think you can just waltz in wherever you want and put your opinion across just because you're entitled to do so? Well, I hate to break it to you, Your Highness. My world doesn't work like that."

He smiled at me. It was the lazy, superior kind of smile that made me want to bash his skull repeatedly with a brick. "Your boyfriend, over there?" he said, pointing towards Ash who was throwing his helmet around while Naomi ran her fingers across his shoulders. "He's got temperament issues. Who says you wouldn't be the next person he was throwing around the place?"

I pondered over that. Yeah, our relationship was pretty screwed up. I guess I hadn't really wanted to face the truth for a while though. I turned towards him. "I'm not doubting your oh-so-wise words, Fletcher. I'm just wondering why you're trying to help me see the truth."

He brightened up like some person that had been put in a toothpaste ad. "Ah, gotcha. Okay, you admitted two things that I'm very proud to point out," he said, grinning from ear-to-ear. "For starters, you do know my name," he said, and I face palmed at that. "Secondly, you admitted that I'm right. And, to answer your question, is it that hard to believe that there are nice people out there? Or are you so keen on believing the world is this horrible, thorny place? That's the thing. All thorny places have roses on the inside."

I burst out laughing. Yeah, reading philosophical things was one thing. Actually hearing someone say it out loud? Ridiculous. "Are you really calling yourself a rose?" I scoffed.

He grinned, flexing a little so I could see his muscles, before ripping off his tee altogether. He was going to have to try a little harder if he wanted to impress me; I'd dated an Abercrombie model before. He then looked at me with an incredibly goofy smile. "Todd Fletcher, the human flower," he said, before running his hands through his hair in slow motion.

I couldn't help myself. The sight was so incredibly funny that I burst out laughing, throwing my head back and allowing little giggles to lighten up my own mood. "You," I said, shoving him lightly. "Are an ultimate weirdo."

He smirked. "See? I'm capable of getting damsels in distress to laugh."

I glared at him, my laughter ebbing out. "I am not a damsel." Suddenly, something dawned upon me. Why would a guy randomly be nice to a girl? Why would he go out of her way to laugh? Especially a bad kid, at that one? "Are you trying to get in my pants?" I blurted, my eyes wide.

At least he had the decency to look taken aback. "Get in your pants?!" he asked, laughing lightly. "To do what, stare at your Pascal covered underpants? That is Pascal, isn't it? That chameleon from Tangled, I mean." My eyes widened, for I was indeed wearing those. "Your pants are slung pretty loose," he clarified, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "What next, Maximus on your bra? Or wait, don't tell me. Naveen, the Frog Prince for tomorrow's set. Kinky, Archer. Very kinky."

My face turned red hot as I pulled my pants up, avoiding eye contact. Then, to preserve my dwindling dignity, I said, "So much for your manliness, huh? You know even the animal names in Disney movies."

This, however, put me in an even worse position. "What, do you think that just because I'm a boy that means I can't know Disney animal names? Is that what you're implying? I'm so done with all these stupid stereotypes."

Suddenly, the images I'd seen at Henry's office flashed through my head. Could it be...? Yep, he's the only one psychotic enough to spray paint the school walls at 2 am.

"No, that's not what I meant, I—" I began, but he cut me off with his loud, obnoxious laughter.

"I didn't mean it, Pascal. I was just testing your 'I don't get defensive' theory, that's all," he said, before winking. "Gotcha."

He'd used that word twice already, and it was annoying as hell.

At that, I decided I'd had enough for one day. "You are the most ridiculous, jobless person I've ever had the misfortune of meeting," I said, getting up and slinging my bag across my shoulder.

"Likewise, Archer," he said, snarkily.

"Takes one to know one," I said, biting back.

"Namaste, bitch," he said, laughing a little at my fury. "See? I'm a miracle worker. Look who doesn't care about her little tiff with Ashton now, huh?"

I growled at him, very close to flinging my shoe across his face. But ah, they were designer. "You are an ultimate, complete... nincompoop." I managed.

Really, Cecilia? Out of all the insults out there, you choose nincompoop?

He laughed even louder at that. "You sure have a colorful vocabulary. I see us becoming fast friends." I flung a pen at his face, before walking away. "Ooh, violent tendencies," he said, dramatically. "You and Ashton sure make a cute couple," he teased, before adding a small, "Oops, my bad. You and Ashton sure made a cute couple. Since it's in the past and all."

And that was all I was willing to have to listen to before I stormed away, leaving him laughing with absolute glee behind me.

Jerk.

what stereotype would you consider yourself under? why, and has anyone called you out for it? have you ever been teased for falling under a certain category?