So, I was just strolling outside the school during break—trying to look busy but really just judging everyone's rich, shiny, over-the-top lives.
You know, the usual.
Some kids were gossiping about expensive jewelry like it was a new snack, others were bragging about their latest fancy project, and a few were attempting their best skateboarding tricks—except, not literally over people, more like around them, which in my opinion, is still chaos.
Honestly, it's like the world's most expensive zoo and I'm just here trying not to get trampled.
I finally found my favorite spot—a bench under this long, shady tree that's basically the school's only piece of nature that doesn't involve a plastic plant.
I pulled out my sketchbook (yeah, I can draw—don't judge), popped in my earbuds, and started listening to my playlist while I doodled, lost in my own little world.
And then—out of nowhere—like a bad sitcom, four girls stormed over. Regina, Minna, Ava, and Isla.
Regina was the boss—annoyingly pretty, the most popular girl, the richest, and, of course, the biggest meanie.
She always looked down on others like they were bugs. Her long ginger hair was so silky it probably had its own Instagram account.
She was wearing her cheerleader outfit—probably because she thought it made her more intimidating, or maybe she just liked the pom-poms.
She looked at me, her face full of that "I'm better than you" smugness, and sneered, "Hey, pauper."
Now, I was so engrossed in my music and drawing that I didn't hear her at first. I mean, I was vibing, okay? She got so annoyed she yanked out my earbuds and threw them aside like they were yesterday's trash.
Bruh. Did she just do that?
My blood started boiling. I stood up from my bench, ready for war. I got out in front of her, puffed up my chest (which, honestly, looked more like a deflated balloon), and glared.
"What's your problem, man?" I asked, trying to sound tough but probably just sounding like a squeaky toy in distress.
She sneered again, eyes scanning my sketchbook like it was her next conquest, and then she waved over Isla—the "innocent" one, but let's be honest, she was part of the crew and probably had a secret stash of snacks.
Isla snagged my book and handed it over to Regina like she was passing the crown to the queen.
I wanted to snatch it back, but—hello—short girl problems. Regina was towering over me, her arm extended like she was about to toss my precious sketchbook into space.
"Give it back, Regina," I said, voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation. "You know I don't like this."
Everyone started giggling—probably at my jumping around like a cartoon character trying to grab a cookie just out of reach.
Regina held my book just out of reach, like she was teasing a cat with a laser pointer.
Then, out of the blue, someone from behind swooped in like he was auditioning for the hero role—Mark.
His voice cut through the chaos like a knife through butter: "No tutor for you for a whole week."
Regina started whining louder than a spoiled kid denied dessert, "Waaaah! I want my tutor!, please Mark" and stomped off like a toddler throwing a tantrum.
Mark turned, handed me my sketchbook, fixed his glasses with that serious look, and I said, "Thanks, I guess.''
He just smiled and slipped a hand in his topic ''Your drawings look nice, you should do more'' He said and I swear my heart skipped a beat.
Or two.
This is the first time someone appreciated my drawing.
I nodded and answered ''yeah sure...'' And walked away, He watched me go like am some kind of cat and couldn't help but chuckle.
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Back at home.
I just finished washing my hair—blonde, perfect, loose—like I stepped out of a shampoo commercial.
Brushed my teeth, washed my hair again (because, you know, gotta keep that hair glossy), threw on my cute little blue silk pajamas—shorts and a top—looking like a fashion icon in my own mind.
Then I was standing in front of the mirror, peacefully blowing my hair, humming some tune—probably some deep, meaningful song about life and pizza—when suddenly, out of nowhere... BAM!
Like, a loud crash that made my eardrums do a little dance.
Followed by a chorus of laughter—who even laughs that loud? It's like a party in my living room.
I looked at myself in the mirror, blinked, and asked,
"What is this?" keeping the hairdryer aside and popping my glasses on like I was about to solve a mystery.
I step outside, and my jaw hits the floor like I just saw a ghost [ not literally just for the humor].
No, scratch that.
Like I saw a circus clown doing somersaults—on my couch. It's a full-on dance party, and in the middle of it—there's a boy.
Yes, a boy.
He jumped off the table and landed on the ground face flat like he was auditioning for a stunt show while everyone else kept dancing like nothing was happening, totally oblivious, as if this was just a normal Tuesday night.
Meanwhile, my annoying brother, Jake, spots me.
Of course.
Because who else would ruin my moment? He shouts, "Ayana! Over here!"
I walk right up to him, pissed and annoyed—like I just found out someone stole my last slice of pizza.
I plant my hand on my hip, giving him the you-better-have-a-good-excuse look.
"What are you doing, Jake?" I ask, voice dripping with sarcasm, the kind that could melt steel.
He arches an eyebrow like he's bored out of his mind. "What? I'm having fun," he replies casually, like he's just out here living his best life.
"Where's mom?" I ask, trying to sound like a responsible kid but secretly wishing I could just vanish into thin air.
Jake smirks, taking a sip of whatever soda or juice he's drinking—probably something sparkling—and says,
"Mom's at work. She told me to have fun as much as I want, and you will clean it up after."
Just as I'm about to go full-on Hulk mode and bounce on him like a spring-loaded kangaroo, three majestic—or should I say, annoying—friends of his stroll up.
"Hey, Ayana! Nice wear for a party," Liam the playboy (more like the play-bore) says, eyeing me.
From head to toe.
I look down at my pajamas—probably the most glamorous thing I own—and then look back up, mortified.
"It's nightwear," I say, voice trembling, trying to save face. Liam giggles like he just heard the funniest joke ever, which, honestly, maybe he did.
And then—oh, the drama—the grand entrance of Mark. His voice slices through the chaos like a DJ dropping the sickest beat "Ayana, we meet again."
My heart dropped like a bad apple.
I swear, my stomach did a somersault—probably because I was about to die of embarrassment.
"Jake," I say, trying to sound authoritative but probably just sounding like a squeaky toy, "tell everyone to go out of my house. You know I do not like crowded places."
Jake just shrugs like it's no big deal and saunters off to the kitchen, probably to grab more snacks or whatever he considers "fun."
My eyes drifted across the chaos, landing on Ethan. For a moment, I just stared—probably looking like a fish out of water.
Ethan, with his unreadable gaze—neither cold nor warm, just sharp enough to cut glass—looked at me like I was a puzzle he wasn't interested in solving.
Then, out of nowhere, he just walked away, leaving me standing there like a statue—probably looking like I'd just been hit by a bus.
Left with no choice, I turned to Liam, who was busy trying to kiss a girl—disgusting, honestly—and I just decided,
"Yeah, I've had enough." I made a beeline back to my room, closing the door behind me like I was escaping a hostage situation.