chapter 16/ it's a long one. (:

Ugh, mannn! My stomach is like, bulging!
I cannot believe that I crammed up two bags of chips in one night. Apparently, American Idol did a re-run and I still didn’t have enough of Adam’s gorgeous face so I stayed for it, and ate.
Okay, you can’t necessarily blame me. It was 2 a.m, and everyone’s hungry at 2 a.m. What was I doing at 2 a.m?
Ugh, fine. I’ll admit. It wasn’t an ‘apparently’ that AI did a re-run. I sort of…stayed up for it. BUT. I got what I deserved.
A bulging stomach – I look like I’m 9 months pregnant.
Baggy eyes.
Aaaaand, what better than a total wardrobe malfunction? Yes, I was blinded by all those striking colors when I opened the closet door at 6 a.m, and I just prayed, then picked one without looking at it, and BAM!
Here I am. Wearing a perfectly fine sundress….with a pair of Pajama pants.
“Nice tights, yo.” This guy that strutted like Heidi Klum acknowledges as he walks past me, and guffaws.
I lifted my shoe and threw at him, before someone throws it back and hits my head. 3,2,1.
“OMG!?”
“Well, hello Mary Becka.” I said flatly, not looking at her. She just kept quiet. I grab the granola from my locker and starts unwrapping it. And then takes a bite, closes the door, and faces Beck’s not recovered face-of-shock. As I had another bite, I finally managed to lift my brows. “Just spill.” I said, with my mouth full.
“WHAT THE ASDKAICUDVBDF ARE YOU WEARING?” She whispered-shout. Wow, that was an improvement. Usually, her arms would be flailing right this instant, reminding me of how fashion crisis, is indeed, the biggest crime of all.
“I’m wearing,” I gave a turn and flashes her the cheesiest smile. She puts her finger at her own front teeth gingerly and that’s how I got the message that probably one of the grains had stuck to my front teeth. “Dress plus pajama.”
She rolls her eyes. I could tell she didn’t have time for this. So I just kept chewing. “You’re gonna be embarrassed for the whole day.” She says, making me feel like I haven’t known it already.
I shrug. “What can I do?” She gives me a devious smile. “I have change. Just, don’t freak.” She says while her hands signal like a stop sign. I froze.
“Come on, I can’t stand the look of you any longer.” She said, as she dragged me into the ladies’. I hesitated, but let her drag me anyway. Maybe if I tried hard enough, people would think I dressed this way for a reason – and not because I was so tired I couldn’t think straight.
As she dragged, I could see faces swooshing past me and their mouths gradually opening into little ‘o’s with laughter tailing after it. One of the faces was Adam. But he didn’t laugh. He was standing near the ladies’, a book on his lap as he sat on a bench. Becks was still pulling me with her arm, but my force made us stop altogether.
“What!?” she asked indignantly.
I dazed out for a while as I stared at Adam, staring back at me. He looked, sad. Gloomy. Like I didn’t want to see him. I didn’t even know what expression I was wearing, maybe the same. Was he feeling sorry he ditched me yesterday? Or what?
He didn’t blink and neither did I, and before long I realized Becks trudging me hard.
“Come on already!” she shouts.
“Huh?” I turned to her and meets her quizzical expression, “Oh, sorry, I just, dropped something.”
I pretended to bend down and find for my contacts, all the while looking at Adam. He’d looked away, his expressions still the same. I stood up and let Becks pulled me away.
Well, at least he didn’t laugh…
In the ladies’, where a few girls were scurrying out and a few more dilly-dallying on their make-ups – “Lydia, pass me that gloss”, “Babe, you know what happened last night?”, “Ugh, did you see what she wore today?!” – Becks was pulling me into a cubicle.
I guess the ‘she’ was me, you know, the ‘she’ that dressed and screwed up really bad today. In a jiffy, I was in the cubicle, locked. I bang on the door hard, “Lemmi out, you crazy woman!”
Everyone in the toilet was silent.
A toss of stuff landed on my head softly and I grabbed it slowly, in case it was a piece of shirt that had ‘I hate what you’re wearing today’ on it.
But oh, what a surprise! It isn’t! In fact, it was this dazzling pink sequined-dress that was made to look like a Lady Gaga wannabe. And then she throws me this trashy tights that had like, holes purposely made into them.
I stayed silent for a while, balancing the two odd clothes on both my palms.
“Becks?” I whispered.
“Mmm?”
“Were you a prostitute?”
Silence.
“Just go change,” was her reply.
*
I got out, looking like a stripper. The second I opened the door, Becks had definitely shut up and just…stared. She pulled me wordlessly and brought me up in front of the small mirror located above the sinks. And then she swiveled me like I was a display in a boutique shop.
“You look amazing!” she gushed. I think she said ‘you’ like it was all taken for her credit. Since, you know, she sort of dressed me up and I just …wore it.
I had nothing to react so I just rolled my eyes. I looked at myself. I hate what I was wearing, I’d rather wear what I’ve worn about 2 minutes ago. Ugh. Lady Gaga does not look good on me. Actually, it doesn’t really look good on her either. She looks like a Barbie product in a pink carton box with too much leftovers.
“Eww,” was all I uttered. And besides us, a brown paper bag was located. Becks dug her hands into it and brought out a black leather boots. I liked those, though.
She handed it to me, her face cringed as she felt like she was giving away her most precious items. “Leather boots,” she said, “looks good on anything.”
I hurriedly took my sandals off and replaced it. And without another glance of what I was wearing today, I pulled Becks off the ladies.
Oh yes, many heads turned. But none of them were laughing now. They were just, looking. But I guess they thought I was like a Gaga with too much leftover so they divert their attention back to whatever they were doing before, in a short time. I was relieved. I didn’t adore much attention anyway, it’s so…pulsing.
Adam stood where he was before, but now his gray-green eyes stared at my DRESS other than his own big bulk of books. I didn’t know he was that big of a nerd.
Bookworm, yes. It’s a nicer term.
He didn’t say anything. But he just grab his books and left, and I just took on, bumping his shoulder with mine along the way, and as he was turning behind to look, I walked ahead of him. Which is good, because he ditched me yesterday, and today he’s acting like it’s all my fault.
*
Have you seen what she was wearing today?
No? Well, she looked amazing.
She wore this set of pajamas and paired it with, I don’t know. It looked so stylish, that even celebs like Jennifer Aniston couldn’t pull it off. It was such an unfamiliar style.
And then she walked past me into the ladies, but her eyes lingered on mine for a while, and she disappeared behind the doors. A few minutes later, I saw her clad in this super-sexy dress with tights. She looked, equally gorgeous. (Fine, I’ll admit, it was a little trashy.)
And then I was about to say something. But my mind clicked close when I realized she didn’t even show up yesterday. And then, I was mad. Just a little. But more of nervous and regret. My stomach was tying in knots.
I was numb. My mouth just stopped there, but my mind keeps telling me to walk away. If you complimented her, she’d just ditch you off like she did before, and you’ll feel so low.
That was the warning that set my feet off.
And then before long, I was walking away from her. From her! Can you believe it? I tried to stop, but as I get on, the pulse got slower and slower and I felt calmer. I can’t put myself in that situation anymore, I remind myself. Sweat began to bead on my forehead.
Something hit me from behind softly and I hurriedly jerked away. I wanted to punch whoever it was that did that, and so I turned in order to face him. No one was there, and I turned back. With that swish of the hair, I realized it was Delia herself.
I just didn’t know what it meant.
Did it mean she was joking around with me?
Or she didn’t even notice I was there?
Was she mad at me? Infuriated that all she could do was cause me physical harm?
What?!
The bell rang off then, and I had to hurry to assembly with everyone else. Students were grouping with their cliques and heading to the auditorium. I couldn’t spot Delia anywhere. I didn’t know what to do.
My books were weighing me down so I ran to my locker and shoved it all in. My chest heaved up and down, and my panting got louder and louder. As I reached the auditorium, the door was closed already. I hope I wouldn’t get caught.
And Delia was slipped to the back of my mind.
Later, my heart whispered, We’ll deal with it later.
I shrugged, and opened the heavy doors with one pull of my arm’s strength, and got inside. The air-conditioning hit me on my face, like the sensation of being slapped. My sweat started to sip into my pores once more, the heaving and the panting died.
I walked up to a vacant seat.
No one was on the podium, and I looked at my watch. I was just about 5 seconds late.
Mr. Principal –his name was too hard to pronounce- stepped up to the podium and the crowd died down. I crossed my legs and rested one of my hands under my chin. This is going to take long, it’s going to be about the non-existent organizations, or the super-boring art classes that it seems only he’s that exuberant about, the Literature class’ step of improvement(to boredom) and his very own Motivational Class that’s only attended by people who have very serious problems like Obese, Depression, or…for some, Homework Issues.
Overall, he’s going to send us to hell.
Mr.P cleared his throat and straightened his tie, and then he straightened himself up. Over the years, the white hair has added and accumulated on his already bald head, and over the months, his glasses has changed, and over the days, his voice got weaker, but he never ceased to stop. To him, speech was golden. Speech was important, and so was his important and superlative position in Zelcosh, his Institution of ‘REAL’ education.
I could almost hear myself snorting.
Has he not seen the school himself yet? It’s a breeding ground of stereotypes, of disgrace, of shame, of guilt and of unwanted conscience. It’s nothing like how he paid the papers to write about, or how what parents sought to think of.
Our principal, I would say, is also a liar.
“Good morning, students of Zelcosh High…”
“Hi everybody!” This sharp voice cut in, from backstage. I knew everybody got who this would be. None other than Jen Dane. Our very own Class President.
“Uhm,” Mr.P said, his brows furrowing as he scanned where the voice – person, to be in detail – was coming from. Jennifer Dane walked out of the little door on the side of the stage and greeted everybody once again.
“Hey Zelcosh!” she semi-shouted into the mic.
Mr. P cringed again. “Ms. Dane, I haven’t had the chance to actually have my speech yet. So please, would you wait for your time?” Mr. P’s voice was convincing, sweet, and a little too needy.
And Jennifer liked needy. She just doesn’t deal with it.
“Please, Mr. Principal.” She coaxed sweetly into the mic, “you’ve had that speech every week. Not that we don’t like it,” now she clears her throat and start all over again, as she realized there were a few surprised gasps from the teachers seated in the front row of how shockingly sexual her voice tone was sounding. Mr. P just looked, bored.
“Mr. Principal. With all due respect, I think the student body will understand just how inconvenient it is that this is to be delayed any further. May I remind you, that we all admire your position on school ground, and that you play an important role in Zelcosh. I just think it’d be better if we got this over with, so you could have ample time to give off your speech – with more efficiency and patience – as you will know that there will be no more interruptions.”
She took a deep breath and composed her teeth-ad smile. Mr. P shuffled his paper noticeable, and nodded. He gave in, what a shocker.
He stepped down from the stage and JD was alone on the stage, where she’s been born to be. I yawned. Just another face.
She stepped to the podium now, her pink skirt fluttering dangerously behind her. “Good morning, Z.” she says without any tone of fear or nervousness. “Guess what?”
The crowd looked at each other and shrugged.
Jen’s forehead creased. “You forget?” Now she seemed pissed that no one has remembered that a Class President be elected. And that no one has remembered that she’d again, be predicted, be elected as our Class President.
No one was good enough for her. No one was good enough against her.
Oh freak, she’s going to be Class.Pres again.
Another year of agony and pain, another year of…being a stranger. Another year of same ol’ thing.Jennifer starts blabbing on how and what a Class President do, as I started dozing off.

*
Call me crazy, but when Jennifer Dane was giving her speech, I was about to pound up to her and give her a piece of my mind.
I wanted to be the next class president.
Against her.
Word.