"I have a huge problem."

My voice echoed around Mr. Carter's office as I clutched my binder against my rucksack, it was one of those lever arch binders you spent a considerable amount of money on, only to find out that it practically fits nowhere. Still, it was nicely decorated—at least under the boy band stickers—it wouldn't be the first time nor the last time I splashed out ridiculous quantities on items for strictly aesthetic purposes.

Mr. Carter peered up at me through thick-rimmed glasses as he adjusted his mid-part. He had this silky blonde hair that reminded me of the '70s and seemed to love playing up to that 'hippy' vibe. I mean whatever worked for him, I'm not exactly in the position to judge, mostly because this dorky 'hippy' man was my only hope.

He paused, then proceeded to flip his hair. A classic move he had no intention of stopping, Mr. Carter was always one for dramatics, this led me to suspect that he was a theatre kid in his 'pre-hippy-counselor' days. That as well as his plaques and awards he strategically scattered around his desk and shelves, we get it, you peaked senior year. Though, I can't say for certain that the 'hippy look' was newly adopted after he qualified as a guidance counsellor or if in the womb he'd decided that bell-bottoms and ponchos were God's gift to mankind.

"Mr. Carter?" I ask unsure as to when he was ready to start his infamous incredibly monologue about it being 'okay to not be okay.' Though this had nothing to do with why I was at his office 30 minutes before the first period on a Monday.

"Ah," he began. I was growing more impatient but I desperately needed his help. He paused, pretending to sift through files. "What can I help you with?"

"Principal Greene said I need one more signature to be considered on the ballot for student body and I was thinki—"

"Shush" Mr. Carter exaggeratingly put his index finger to his lip as if he were silencing an outrageous demand. "You're giving me some anxious energy right now," he points to a placard behind him saying 'Good Vibes Only.' "Perhaps come back when... you've cleared your mind?"

What the actual fuck. 

"My energy is perfectly fine, thank you very much." I place my binder in front of him, my backup plan was to wow him with my detailed twenty-three step plan on how I planned to resolve Rosevelt High's problems. It was fool-proof.

He flicks and scans through numerous pages.

"This is—" he waved his hand around as if searching for the right words. "Wow." I couldn't bite back my massive grin, it was my best work yet and put my other projects to absolute shame.

"I'm glad you like it, now I just need you to sign he—"

"But." There was a 'but,' 'buts' are never good, ever. My heart lurched in my chest as I waited for the soul-shattering news he was about to break to me.

"But?"

"I'm worried about you, Adanna, this is absolutely brilliant. There's no denying that fact but in order to be student body president, it's vital to be... well liked by your peers."  What was he getting at? Well-liked, I am more than well-liked, sure I'm not Taylor Mason popular. But I'm not a pariah for god sake! "While this is all wonderfully planned, I worry that you've completely avoided the social aspect. Lisa Tran kindly brought it to my attention that she felt you were struggling  socially as of late."

Now this made far more sense.

Lisa Tran is not only my sworn nemesis but a massive primadonna in biz-cazh whose life goal is to one-up me. I'd like to say out altercations are akin to intense battle of the wits, but honestly, it's far cattier and intensely competitive. 

I bite my lip, frowning slightly. I scramble together a weak rebuttal "I wouldn't go that far, no. I wouldn't go anywhere with that, in fact. That's bullshit and she hates me."

"Really? She seemed really worried about you and your mental health, my doors always welcome Adanna."

"Thanks but no thanks, I just need this signature."

"Honestly, I just don't think I can give you what you want."

I audibly sigh, but I wasn't ready to give up on this, the time I'd invested in this project alone was enough for me to topple over crying. The tears threatened to spill as I felt my face grow hot, and impending headache on its way. However, this worked to my favour, as nothing struck more fear in a grown man's heart than a crying teenage girl. I blinked hard forcing a sole tear to roll down my cheek as I furrowed my eyebrows.

"Okay! Okay," Mr. Carter raises his hands up in surrender, visibly exasperated. "I'll tell you what, if you can garner enough support from your fellow peers to instate you, I'll sign whatever you want. Popularity polls are two weeks away."

"You promise to sign that morning?" He nods.

"So, how much are we talking about exactly?" I was more worried about this than I was letting on. Remember how I mentioned being well-liked, it wasn't a lie or anything. It's more like this: my public favour came from a good balance of old-new-kid and just enough mystery, that and an insanely popular best friend. Mostly the latter.

"Ballpark? two-hundred and fifty." Two-hundred and freaking fifty, that was nearly my entire grade!

As the morning bell chimed and the usual monotonous announcements droned on in the background, I could help but think: what have I gotten myself into?

━★━

My reflection stares back at me from the large bathroom mirrors. I was unbelievably dull in every sense of the word; plain brown eyes, plain two-day-old wash-n-go and plain Hollister t-shirt. If we're going by western standards, I think I'm passable maybe pretty. I've thought about this a lot, my appearance.

My father tells me I'm pretty, though he'd give my sisters and I the world, he loves us too much to categorise us. My mother thinks that I don't know that she wishes I was blessed with Nwamaka's supposed beauty; though the only difference between us is our skin tone. I don't think she's quite realised I inherited my colour from her, 'hate' is raised I suppose. She also thinks I look like a 'cow' since I got my nose ring, which makes no sense because it isn't even a septum. 

My ex-boyfriend, Oliver Choi, he told me I was beautiful, it was a statement I nearly took as the truth. 

Then he cheated on me with my ex-best friend.

I splash cold water all over my face catching resident pretty girl Olivia Herth's eye in the mirror. She gives me her mega-watt smile reserved for cute boys, friends and Mr. James when she's failing math. I guess this is a perk of being Kody Johnson's best friend. 

I return a smile—the one I reserve for trying to get in my friend's girlfriend's good graces—and stand up straighter. I tower over her petite 5'1" at a lithe 5'7",  Olivia's an athlete and has the body to prove it. Her calves exude strength and poise and she (not that I'd admit this) terrifies me. Her beauty is intimidating and her overbearing kindness makes me feel uneasy. 

I'm already aware of what a terrible person I am for somewhat disliking her, and I've chosen to accept this inexplicable irrationality. Maybe in another identical yet 'off-kilter' parallel universe she murders puppies or leaves the bread bag open like a cruel, black-hearted monster. 

Though she's different this year, happier. We both used to go to this breakfast club thing in elementary, we were actually pretty close back then. Back when she wore a hijab and she went by Noor. That was when she still lived with her mom and didn't know what 'passing' was. Suddenly the terrorist jokes and out-of-pocket slurs melted away with her baby fat alongside part of her identity freshman year. 

"Hey girl, have you heard from Dakota at all?"

It takes me a minute to realise she's talking about Kody and his "God-awful" first name. I met him sophomore year during ap lit. He had terrible bangs and a mouth full of metal yet he was the epitome of beauty in my eyes. I spent that year with a pitiable crush on him before one day realising he just wasn't that cute. After this disillusionment, I decided to let him know I hated his name and he let me know he did too. That's how we became best friends.

Though I may have told a fib. Kody isn't terrible to look at. In fact he's drop dead gorgeous, smoking if you will. He's also somewhat nouveau hot, who knew how far he'd climb right off the fringe of popularity after he lost his braces, bang, forty pounds and joined football.

I'm not exactly complaining that his abs are meticulously sculpted or that his smile is heart-stopping, I just preferred the times when I wanted to read manga with the chubby boy down the street as opposed to having the chastise my sex-drive for wanting to jump his bones.

"Not since Saturday why?"

Olivia lets out a sigh of relief. "I thought he'd been ignoring me, maybe he was busy..."

I don't get the chance to respond to her, I can't. My vocal chords had been rendered useless after Tara Lawlor strolled into the bathroom. This ladies and gents is the co-conspirator in Oliver-gate, the ex-best friend.

I suppose this is where I give credit where it's due, Tara is prettier this year. Her hair has been cropped to her shoulders with honey highlights dancing throughout. Strength training must really be paying off, her glutes are unbelievable, her ocean eyes hold my stare. Her outfit is cute, I guess. I don't know, It's really hard to look at her sometimes: I see the girl who was there when my brother died, who read me to sleep and made sure I was okay. The one who guaranteed I was worth so much more than my grades, that I had value. Then the feverish kissing of Oliver in my bedroom, on my motherfucking birthday.

Screw Tara, Goddamn.

Olivia follows my line of sight and shoots Tara a look that could not only kill, but stomp on your tombstone aswell. Another perk of being Kody's friend. She stares Tara down until she enters a stall.

Olivia hates Tara for a completely different reason than me, but I allow her to feel vindicated by using my own reasoning as a scapegoat. 

After Oliver-gate, the rumour mill has it that she tried to get with Kody while he was dating Maya Reyes, Olivia's Herth's then it girl. The jury was bound by the 'popular-girl-code' which to the untrained female is the same as the 'girl-code,' what this highschool regal said was binding and indisputable law. By the end of the night Tara was deemed a skank, and Kody didn't want to talk about it despite me trying to verify the validity of the claims.

"Anywhore," Olivia sneers loud enough that she's sure Tara hears. I wince slightly but I'm in no moral position to reprimand her. Remember how I said she was nice, I forgot to mention: this doesn't extend to Tara Lawlor. "Are you coming to Taylor's party tonight?"

Taylor Mason was the resident dick, rich boy and probably caused Mrs. Rothchild's divorce to be as publicised as it was. Rosevelt High's gossip mill lived and thrived off his sex-capades and boyish good looks. He was Harvard bound for some lacrosse scholarship and took to killing time in this town by building a notorious womanising reputation.

He was also infuriatingly attractive. Though his idiocy quickly crossed this out. 

I like his sister though, Quinn Mason is everything her brother isn't. Which isn't necessarily the best thing in the eyes of the principal and her parents but she stood up for me in Elementary school when I was deemed an 'African-booty-scratcher.' So, she's cool; she may sell crack out of her drug dealer girlfriends trailer, but at least she isn't prejudiced. 

That and they're half French, I must admit, the bilingual facet is perhaps Taylor's only impressive quality beside you know, being the golden boy.

"Uhm," She sends me a pleading look, darn those puppy eyes "of course!"

That my friends is how I started this mess. 

___

Hey all! I'm in the process of rewriting this. I'd like to thank you for giving this story a chance and I promise you the SHIPS ARE COMING! I just didn't want to spring love interests on y'all so quick. Anyway, hopefully yous like this.

Also let me know your thought on the book thus far.

Are you curious as to what really went down during #Oliver-gate, what went down that night with Kody and Tara, also will Mr. Carter ever get over the fact her most definitely peaked in highschool?

—Chidindu