Chapter #1: Apparently Weird
July 3, 2028

Dear Diary, lately I have been thinking about something very specific. I have been wondering, do the heartbreakers who “Don’t care” deep down have sympathy? When you look at someone crying, it can trigger you to cry, or at least feel a little bad. Now, if they are the ones breaking you down, do they? I can now answer my question because I’m older now and I’m looking at it from the future. Yes, they have sympathy, but it makes you feel like a fool, like the world is closing up like a mouth eating. I know what they might eat. Dishonesty. Ariel!”, my mom screams at the top of her very exhausted lungs while most likely stirring a pot of oatmeal. She could make us breakfast before having to drop all 7 of us, (us meaning all of my siblings, plus Dad) off at school, and for old Dad, work. I scream, (respectfully) back,”Yes, Mom?”, trying to figure out why we are randomly screaming across the entire house, other than oatmeal, and oatmeal can’t be that special. Plus, today is Monday, which according to me (and my zodiac) is nothing but trouble. Also, I have just run out of pads and coffee packets.  I  heart coffee. She says, totally unexpected, “What’s the matter with your feet? We have to go! And, for the record, Penny got your oatmeal! Sorry, should've stopped wasting time.” I grunt, frustrated at Penny, who is Penolope, the 3th born. I was the oldest, head of the house, and as my dad would like to call it, the weirdest of the house. I looked down at my new watch I got for my birthday and saw a little 8:00 on my screen. Oh no, I thought. There is no way I am this late for school and Mom is not screaming at anybody else. I run to check my laptop and unfortunately, it IS 8:00. Ms. Swatz is going to kill me. I call her by her actual last name while other kids at school call her Ms. Squats, because every time she answers somebody’s question about something, boop, her butt is in somebody's face. One time, she did what they (and I, occasionally) call a double deck. Last time she did a double deck, it was like a  small tornado. But, if she somehow pulls off a triple or quadruple deck, it would be Hurricane Katrina. She goes over to help someone, she farts in their face, and pokes them with her butt, knocking them right out of the chair. I heard one time, she injured a girl named Kiley ( she was more of a nerd than I am). I don’t know why she got injured. Maybe even scientists don’t even know yet why she got injured. Maybe the smell took her out, just completely sent her into unconsciousness, leaving her traumatized by the stink. But, I have to snap back to reality, I get my shoes and shove them hurriedly on my chubby feet and quickly put on my purse, and open the door to my room and bolt out like a flash of lightning. I forgot again. I always forget to make my lunch the night before, so Mom makes it for me. But, it usually is just leftover chicken parm or whatever we had the night before with a goodie and something to drink. But, I have no problem with that. I honestly prefer that. Only today, she doesn’t have time to make me lunch since we are running so behind. It’s official. I am going to starve for lunch or I have the option to eat the disgusting cafeteria food that they feed other total nerds, but I'm almost one. I am not one yet, I hope.  I don’t want to go out like that. That is just disrespectful. I get to the kitchen to see only a sandwich, with the bread hanging off of it and a juice box that the little kids ( referring to the 5th and 6th born) get in their lunch box. Well, I guess it’s better than nothing. I hurry and get the sandwich and juice and hop in the van, and Mom starts to drive. I have the best seat in the car. The seat right behind Mom. NOBODY ever wants to sit behind Dad for two reasons. For one, he always farts. Second of all, he is  grumpy. He won’t let you recline the seats. He won’t let you turn on the heat.  And God forbid if you kick the seat. He will be so mad and he might start to swear while luke, the  covers the youngest ears. He is not abusive or anything, he is just sometimes angry about what the day is like.  What if the stock market crashes slightly? I'm in a bad mood.  The stock market boosts up. Stop. Spills coffee on tie, extra hot, freshly made. Bad day. But, I just got used to it because I knew he and Mom had a lot of stuff on their hands especially dealing with 5 kids (excluding me). I learned how to do a lot of things on my own because it’s just a fact of matter. I had to learn them anyway and I don’t like to do things delayed. I like to start right away. By the time I stop thinking all these assorted thoughts, we are already at my school. I get out of the van and just pray that my Mom doesn’t say or do something crazy or stupid to embarrass me. Just as luck has it, she says, loudly, “Have a good day, our little cute mermaid!”. My name is clearly Ariel so they always called me a little mermaid when I was little. But, every since I turned 16, it's grown old and now everybody calls me Ari, which sounds airy, and A. Other people call me nerd or dork, but that is not one of my most popular nicknames, yet.  I roll my eyes and walk into the school and get a face mask from the secretary. The 10th grade hall is to the right of the reception hall and the 9th grade is to the left. I never mix with the 9th grade students because all of those kids act like they are more experienced and more mature than us 10th graders. And, also, being a freshman is not cool. Being a freshman is just like tripping in front of the whole student body. It’s embarrassing. Or, in my experience, your mom calling you an old nickname in front of the school and even the security guards start laughing, and they are paid big bucks like the dude who acted in Annie named Daddy Warbucks to not move and act like weird statues and body check you for weapons and other stuff like that so, I definitely know that that was cringy. I walk to my hall, just hoping I don’t see Alia, my worst f’ing nemesis. She always says what’s on her mind, but what’s on her mind is mostly boys, people being people, (and her publicly judging them behind their backs) and what’s going on everybody else's personal life yet she tells everybody her own. Well, the part she wants people to know. You know, not the shady, backstabbing side. She keeps nothing a secret. Somebody tells her something about their relationship, best believe it’s going to be all over the school and the couple would soon break up, even though most people who spent a lot of time around them knew it was coming. On another note, I wish I had an admirer who I didn’t like and then they relentlessly showed that they liked me but I just be cute like the girls who live in Beverly Hills and stay on Rodeo Drive, buying stuff on TV, playing hard to get. It would be just perfect. I have a good sense of style I believe because I always know how to match everything and tie it together. The only complication with that little detail is that with 6 kids in the house, it’s hard to find money and time to buy clothes plus the gas to go to stores, so, I just stick with a slightly down graded wardrobe that is wack. I remember when every girl in the 7th grade had these cute little handbags that had a little chain on it and it came in different colors. I wanted one so bad, but my parents said  I couldn’t have one. So, I went to the store where they got them from and me and my old best friend who had one, stole it. Yep, stole it and ran. Even though the bag wasn’t genuinely that expensive, it meant a lot to me. The cops ran the CCTV footage and saw me and the girl, whose name was Lexi. I got in trouble and Lexi’s parents claimed that I had “turned their precious child into a hoodlum like me”. With that comment, Mom blew her top. Mom shrieked, “HOODLUM?! Your daughter needed entertainment or she was going to become a boring bank accountant like YOU!” Saying that she grabbed my hand, and said, “Let’s go, Ariel.  Stuck up Wall Streeters don’t need us NORMAL people around.” Lexi’s mom said, “John, do you see this malarkey? I mean, it’s just absurd!” Now, back to school.  I walk out of the push doors to an open “Bridge” to the next door and I opened it and went left to my next class. I stood at the classroom door contemplating whether I should go in or not, because of two things. One, my crush is in that room that smells like unbearable must and something between ocean and feet, looking cuter than ever, and me, looking cute, but, broke and vulnerable. Why? Because of the “nerd” label. It got around school. So, now, people tend to call me that a little. Ok, a lot. So?  And, two, Ms. Squats, I MEAN, Swatz is in there, waiting to pounce on  all of us with a ton of work like a starving tiger. I mean, come on, I don’t want to go in there with that weight of that waiting patiently for me. I had to go to French class, anyway. That’s my first period.
I thought to myself, while trying to visualize what I would look like to others.  “Some may REALLY think you are a nerd standing there, tapping an old, tight tied Conterse, rubbing your chin. Girl, you can NOT stand out this door forever, GO IN.” With that , I walk into the room, with some confidence, not much. I look at him. DEADDROP. It feels like my stomach just dropped to the floor and someone opened a cage of butterflies for them to live in it. My hands start to sweat, my feet tense up, but I MUST keep my composure. See, my relation with him is different. Everybody knows I like him, don’t judge me for it, yet, he knows, too. He used to like me, miraculously. But, that was a long time ago.  We put that behind us and started to be friends. Of course I tried to get out of the friend zone and become something more, but that NEVER happened. Now, we don’t talk anymore because of The Eyesore. More about that one later. But, still he gives me chills. I walk to my desk, sit and immediately start to bounce my leg. I do it all of the time when I’m either happy, sad, mad, or just plain out anxious. Now, I was of course anxious. I start to try to read, but the words my eyes visualize are not comprehending to me, and I desperately try to block out the meaningless conversations, still hoping and praying to God Alia wasn’t here. Well, luck strikes again. In she walks with her “paparazzi '' and “posse”, as she likes to call them. She sits right in front of the class. That’s another thing I noticed about her. She always sits at the front of the class for attention. But, I just learned to deal with her B.S. when it comes towards me. Doesn’t mean I’m weak. Anything but that. Just means I’m resilient. Back to school. I get up, seeing my classmates in French are leaving. I take a final glance at Devin, and walk off, wishing the relationship we had was still alive. I walk down the hall and make a sharp left, to avoid the mop bucket trying to embarrass me. Seems like everything is trying to get in my way today.  But, I can’t let that happen. Last time that happened, “nerd” ultimately started. I have to stop to get my textbook and notebook. My locker is constantly bombarded with junk from haters and bullies. But, nobody has tried to put me in a locker or beat me up. That’s a miracle, because a lot of people who don’t like me look like freaking skyscrapers compared to me, short and scrawny, and willowy. You can probably guess that my school is not your typical fairy tale type, huge gym, bougie tables with flatscreens in the office. MY school has falling paint off the wall, lead chips some kids have actually eaten, classrooms smaller than bathrooms, bathrooms smell just as I described the classroom. Smells like unbearable must and something between ocean and feet. Disgusting. I wonder if they buy their”signature scent” in a can or something. But, as I walk to French, I realize I left my cough syrup. I’m not one of those kids that just drink cough syrup for the fun of it. I need it for my constant sunflower and grass allergy. Everytime I get around freshly cut or freshly grown grass, I cough like I'm choking on a golf ball and the best doctors can’t get it out of me. The other allergy,  sunflower allergy, everytime I get beside it, my face swells and my throat closes up. Right after this fact spreaded around school like the rest of my business, it was a great idea to ONLY Alia that we should have a garden. With bunches of sunflowers and grass and tulips and junk. I like flowers, but it gets annoying to see too many and smell too many in one space. Another thing that makes me weird. Hey, why not make an entire list? Back to French. I walk into Mr. Tellohouses’ class, and sit in the back next to Randy Sammersail, the biggest nerd in school. But, he does have his elect qualities. For 1, when I need answers for like a major test or a final, he literally explains it to where it makes sense, while basically just giving me the answer.  And, for 2, he has a sense of humor. To others, he may seem as

disgusting as a piece of soggy expired bologna with mold spots, but, he has MY type of humor: dark and inside jokes. I know this really sounds atypical, but I just get it. When he makes a joke, it’s like he processes my weird thoughts that I am weirdly trying to explain to you is this weird book, and makes the jokes. It’s like he can mind read. Maybe he can mind read like the crazy people in the movies. I always thought, even as a kindergartener, Randy was a weirdo. He would eat his crusts on his tuna sandwiches that used to stink up the place, and have a V8 in his backpack to go with it. Like, who doesn’t just want an uncrusted PB and J with a pouch juice? Come on. Back to French. I listen to Mr. Tellohouse as he talks on and on about stupid French verb - noun agreement, as I fiddle away to my stress toy I got from a counselor for my arranged thoughts. Come to think about it, I have had 5 counselors for my thoughts. Maybe people think I’m weird for the things that I think. Maybe I'm abnormal or just “crazy”. I doubt it, but there might be some scientific evidence that I am “Crazy”. I never thought about it that way, but hey, you learn something new everyday. I wonder whatever happened to just being normal and not worrying about a thing because life used to be easy. I guess that’s just the gift of early childhood. Now, we worry  about popularity, social media, you know, dumb stuff. I wonder where did the times go when you had freedom to live your life without fat shame and stuff like that. Some may say I’m thinking too deeply, but it’s true. I believe that if someone judges you, that is a reveal of their true colors, not yours. But, let me stop being sooo sentimental, and just get on with the day. I know the longer I think about stuff like this, the longer the day seems to drag out. In French, the class has ended, and Mr. Tellohouse is staring at my face like a fly. I got slightly startled, but I sat up and tried to hear what he was saying. “Ariel, this has been for the billionth time. I have asked you nicely to stop zoning out in my class. I know you have…..nevermind. Just don’t let it happen again. Have you taken your allergy medicine?” I responded, a little suspicious about the dramatic pause, “Yeah, I did. I don’t know why I keep zoning out, Mr. Tellohouse. I am just connecting the dots here, and, maybe, I  don’t get French verb-noun agreement. Oh! Wow, that was hard.” Next thing I know, I’m in the office getting my parents called. My sarcasm always gets the best of me. There have been… hold on, wait, 1, 2, 3… 15 incidents where my sarcasm has been like a chip on my shoulder. I always thought I was weird for doing what I did. Some kids may think I had balls to do that, even though, honestly, I have none. I just thought I was being honest. So that’s what I assumed, so I kept doing it. I kept getting in trouble and I kept getting on Dad’s nerves. I used to think that every time I made him mad and his face would flare up and go red in rage, I would say, “Dad, why are you transforming into a tomato? Transformers!” Then, he would flare up even more. But, since I’m a teenager, it’s not that simple anymore. I don't care, though. The older I get, the worse the consequences. But, I just don’t see why in the world I should get punished for something my parents know is a common occurrence in my day to day life. I don’t think I understand. I don’t think I will ever understand. Maybe I am apparently weird. Who knows?