Sweet Tears, and Chaos. Part 1 of Chapter 1.

If only love were like some retro pop song. Simple, but dramatic. Just enough of both. The thing is, when people are "in love", they always say that they don't want to get hurt. But they are lying. The entire population of teenage girls say it at least once in their lives. Magazines will tell you, love hurts. But what they don't tell you, is that every single person in the world longs for it. To fall in love, just for the purpose of getting hurt and having a story to tell and a reason to cry. Love is unexpected, it is not chosen. You cannot decide who you fall for.

I am in third year in secondary school. A victim you might say. No I'm not popular. But I don't think I want to be either. Not that I wouldn't like for every guy in my school to like me, but if that were the case, wouldn't they just like you for your popularity and not for who you really are? 

A fifteen year old girl such as myself is not one to be accepted in the secondary school surroundings.  I'm not into all that frilly girly stuff but I wouldn't say I'm a total zero. I don't have heaps of friends either, but the ones I do have are for life.  

I live in an estate with my dad. I don't know my mother. I was told she walked out when I was at a young age. It doesn't upset me, not really. If you look at it like this: why on earth would you even want to know a person willing to walk out on her very own daughter and husband? To me, people like that are not important people at all.

Journal Entry.

Dear diary.

It is just four days until the end of the school year, and four days until my birthday. Call me stupid but I am hoping nobody will remember it. I really don't like celebrating birthdays. OH YES! On the brightside I will soon be old enough for driving right? That's enough to keep me sustained. Oh dads calling me; got to leave now.

"Rachel! Come on, hurry up! You'll be late for school". Ah beauty, school. Full of peps and pimps and teachers. Can't wait. "Yeah I'm coming, Dad".

So, I head to school wearing black combat pants, dark green beaded top, a purple and grey striped sweater and straightened hair, feeling like I have a sign held over my head that says - awkward.

Let's get one thing straight. I am not shy. I am however, incredibly awkward. I have a  slight case of social anxiety some might say. Trying to keep my gaze straight on so I don't meet eyes with anyone and have to talk at this early time of morning, I typically spill my books on the dirty, tiled floor. And who's locker is beside mine? Jack's. Of course it is, because that's how this cruel, ironic world works. I can sense the higher powers of heaven or wherever laughing at me as I pick up pages and pages from the floor. So, Jack sees me and offers to help. This is not like him, just to be clear. I'm guessing he just feels awkward watching me on the floor helplessly and wants to do something so he isn't just standing there.

Jack is my neighbour and you would think we would be friends. That's how it works in movies and books. God, no. We can't actually stand eachother. Ever since we were eight years old, infact, we have been at eachother's throats. 

So it's no surprise that I find it strange that he is helping me, which might explain the frozen look of 'what are you doing?' that's on my face.

"Jesus you're still the clutsiest person around. Some things never change do they?" He smirked like a big weirdo. Jack sort of looks like a rock-star, to say the least. This changes nothing, but I thought it best to explain why he thinks he is so great with his band shirts and his long-ish hair. 

"And you've still got the worst grades in the year. So I guess you're right, thing's don't change."

"You're hilarious, really. I was just helping you. No need to be such a moody teenager." He stands up and looks down at me, laughing at his own comment. 

"Yes, I am. And you're the same age as me so shut up."

"See you around, unfortunately." He swings his keys around his finger and walks off. But the most unfortunate thing about it? I have music class with him. Now.

"Ape." He may be only just about a hearing distance away, but I simply must have the last word.

I look back to my locker and get my folder and gulp back some 7-up before squeezing my bag into it and re-applying my cola lipgloss. Now, off to music class for mad banter, I think not.