Back at home, I wasn't really there—just me, telling my imaginary audience some epic story or… whatever. Anyway, none of that matters because, you know, it's not all about me. (Or is it?)
So, at the cafeteria, Mark, Ethan, Liam, and my annoying brother Jake were sitting together. Jake, with a teasing smile that could probably break the sound barrier, Liam frantically rummaging through his bag like he was searching for the lost city of Atlantis, Mark reading a book like he was about to solve world hunger, And Ethan...he is just here for the free Wi-Fi, as always.
Liam suddenly hits the table so hard I jump—startling everyone, including the lunch lady, who almost dropped her tray.
"What's up? Chill, bro," Jake said, already breathing heavily because, apparently, Liam's scare was that intense.
"Where's my homework?" Liam asked, tossing his backpack aside like he was throwing a grenade.
"I didn't see it anywhere," he added, eyes wide like he'd just lost his last Wi-Fi signal.
Mark, flipping through his book, casually said, "Relax. It's with our class captain—drumroll—Ayana."
Yeah, I'm the captain. Guess who's the vice? Some dude. Good times.
Liam nodded, calming down a little, and said, "Actually, since when do you care about homework? You're paying 10 bucks for some random kid to do it for you."
Jake's eyes widened, and he crossed his arms like he was about to deliver a serious lecture. "Oh yeah? Well, now it's 20 bucks. Inflation, you know."
Everyone looked at Liam, expecting some genius comeback—but Liam just sighed like he was tired of the whole conversation and put his hand behind his head.
"Yeah, I paid 20 this time," he said casually, like he was just talking about the weather.
Everyone nodded like they understood the complex economics of school assignments.
Meanwhile, I, the innocent hero of this drama, was walking with my tray—completely nerdy today: thick glasses, a pastel cardigan, high-waisted jeans, and my hair in a perfect ponytail. Yay!
I was trying to keep a low profile, walking past their table, when suddenly Liam calls out, "Ayana! I heard your homework's with us."
I froze, my inner monologue screaming, Why, Liam? Why?
I slowly turned around, smiling like I was auditioning for a role in a cheesy soap opera.
"Yes, Liam. I gave it to the teacher," I said sweetly, trying to keep my cool.
I turned to walk away, but no—Jake had other plans.
"Don't you think you should dress more like the other girls?" he sneered, shooting me a teasing smirk.
What? Excuse me?
Liam, trying to be a hero, winked and said, "What? I like the way she dresses. It's cute."
Please, Liam, don't encourage him.
Mark, smirking like he just cracked a secret code, said, "Yeah, all those rich girls are just pretty faces. It's better to date a monkey."
I blinked. Did he just say a monkey?
Ethan, eyes still tired but with a slight smirk, nodded like he'd just agreed to a secret handshake.
I snapped at Jake, narrowing my eyes. "If you'd buy me clothes, I'd wear them. Besides, I like me this way," I said, crossing my arms and trying to look fierce—like a confused but determined superhero.
Everyone burst into laughter, including the lunch lady who nearly dropped her tray.
Jake sneered, "Okay, dimwit. But next time, say something mean."
They all cracked up, and I felt my cheeks boiling like a microwave oven.
But I didn't fight. Nope. I just turned around and walked away—planning my not-so-secret revenge, which, let's be honest, probably involves some very creative ways to mess with them.
Not literally. Well… maybe.
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So yeah, after that total embarrassment in the cafeteria—seriously, I think I set a new world record for awkward—I headed straight to my favorite spot. Yep, the one with the best view of the parking lot and enough privacy to pretend I didn't care about anything. [wink]
Just as I was about to kick back and relax—like a boss—a girl swooped in and plopped herself right beside me. She didn't just sit; she shifted me aside with her butt. Yep, her butt. She has long brown hair, a smile so cute it could melt glaciers, and big brown eyes that looked like they had their own Netflix subscription. She was rocking cheerleading clothes, like she just came from a pep rally or was about to cheer on the bad guys.
I looked her up and down, raising an eyebrow like I was inspecting a suspicious snack. "What's she doing here? What does she want?" I wondered.
She smiled softly, extended her hand like she was about to seal a business deal, and said, "Hi, I'm Emma. Nice to meet you. You must be Ayana."
I hesitated. Do I shake? Do I run? Do I pretend I didn't hear her? But she took my hand and shook it—not aggressively, but enough to leave me feeling like I'd just been caught in a wrestling match with a fluffy kitten.
"Yeah, I'm Ayana… but how did you…?" I started, but she cut me off like I was interrupting her favorite TV show.
"It doesn't matter," she said, flashing the most adorable smile that screamed trouble. "I just need a favor from you."
Uh-oh. Immediately, alarm bells went off like I was in a spy movie.
"Promise me you'll do it," she added, flashing that cute smile again.
I raised an eyebrow. "I'll have to hear what it is first."
She sighed dramatically, and from her skirt's side pocket—because what else?—she pulled out a pink envelope. Yep, pink. Because obviously, this was a very serious mission.
She handed it to me. I glanced at it—written on the front was "To Liam." Wait, what the freak?
My eyes widened like I'd just seen a ghost. I literally handed the envelope right back and blurted out, "Oh, hell nah! Those mother… I mean, those annoying freaks! What do you even see in him? He's like a school-wide serial dater! Likes every girl—literally, every girl in this school. No wonder he's popular. But me? I'm not a free sample, okay?"
She just chuckled calmly, handing the letter back as if I hadn't just almost lost my mind.
"You don't know," she said softly, "maybe I'll be the lucky one." She rubbed her arm like she was nervous or maybe just trying to be cute—hard to tell. "Please?"
I nodded almost forcefully, like I was about to do a favor for the Queen of England or something. "Yeah, whatever," I muttered, shoving the envelope into my backpack like it was a ticking bomb.
She stroked her hair—okay, shaking her hair—like she was about to walk off into a romantic comedy scene, then threw me a flying kiss that I swear had a little pow sound effect.
And just like that, she vanished into the sunset of awkwardness, leaving me with a whole new level of trouble.
Great. My day just got way worse. First, I dealt with him, and now I've got a mystery letter to worry about. Ugh…
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As I was walking down The Road—yes, The Road, because apparently it's so special it deserves a name—kicking rocks and dragging my backpack like I was auditioning for a rocky movie, I had a serious pout on my face.
I was tired, exhausted, and to top it off, my stupid brother had left me behind like yesterday's trash.
He'd zoomed off in a car with the rest of the R4, leaving me free to enjoy the wonderful evening alone. Stupid brother.
I was minding my own business, strolling peacefully on the street, the sky almost dark but not quite—like a moody teenager—when suddenly, four goons appeared out of nowhere.
They looked like rejected members of a bad action movie: sticks, knives, and a lot of bad attitude.
They stared me down like I was the last cookie in the jar.
I instinctively took a step back, trying to disappear into thin air.
But nope, another one appeared behind me, blocking my escape route like a human wall.
"What's happening? Leave me alone! I know Taekwondo," I said, trying to sound intimidating.
I even struck a fancy pose that probably looked more like a confused flamingo than a martial artist.
They just burst out laughing—probably because they'd never seen a flamingo try to fight.
The leader, a gross guy with a big belly that looked like it was hosting its own party, waddled closer and started sniffing me.
Yep, sniffing.
Personal space? Never heard of it.
I pushed him away, and he stumbled backward, probably to the sound of a cartoon slipping on a banana peel.
Then, one of the goons tried to punch me—like I was some punching bag.
But just as he raised his fist, the belly guy stopped him with a deep and meaningful declaration:
"Wait… we need her. She's so pretty. I mean, we'll need her to take revenge on Jake—her brother," he said, sounding like he'd just discovered a new planet.
I felt my fist tighten, ready to punch him right there—but I held back.
"Don't touch my brother, or he won't be there to buy me snacks," I shouted, voice echoing.
The belly guy smirked and signaled his goons.
Two of them grabbed my arms—not gently—and I was about to go all ninja on them when suddenly, a loud horn blared like it was a DJ at a rave.
All of us froze.
The car drifted in with style, like a cool action hero making an entrance. Out stepped the R4—the Rebellious Four.
"Leave her alone, or else…" Mark said, calm but deadly serious, like he was about to deliver a very intense lecture.
The goons didn't back down; instead, they decided to test their luck and charged at Mark and the others.
Meanwhile, the tummy guy just stood there, watching the chaos unfold like he was at a spectator at the worst fight ever.
And oh boy, was it hilarious. The goons got beat to a pulp—like a bunch of wet noodles in a spaghetti factory.
It was action-movie level awesome, with punches flying left and right, and the best part? The belly guy's face when he realized he was no match for a group of schoolkids with attitude.
Seeing the chaos, the belly guy moved closer to Jake, frowning like he'd just been served a cold pizza.
"Do you think you can come here and whoop our asses, and we'll be afraid of you?" he sneered.
Jake, the ultimate chill master, just smirked and didn't say a word. Instead, he looked at me, then pulled me close and ordered, "Slap him."
Wait... what?
I blinked.
"Slap him? Really?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
But nope, I didn't waste any time.
Instead of slapping, I decided to show him who's boss. I took a step forward and punched the belly guy right in his muffin top—he doubled over, clutching his stomach like I'd just declared war.
He ran away, dragging his goons behind him, probably screaming for mercy or a snack.
"Yeah! Better luck next time, tummy guy," I shouted triumphantly, hands on my hips like I'd just won the world championship.
Turning to the rest of the R4, I sighed loudly and said, "Thanks, guys. You saved my life… or at least my dignity."