When it comes down to acclaim in the yearbook, my class rank would probably earn me my only entry, but probably very little else. I don’t wear cosmetics, do my hair or really give a damn about my appearance in general. I don’t need to be cool, and I’ve managed my high school career navigating all the different groups from the nerds to the jocks to the theatre kids and the band geeks.
Kicking off senior year, my only focus is to make every AP class count and keep my grades up. Shouldn’t be hard, particularly with my so-called untouchable status. Oh yeah, imagine that—I had a reputation. Hadn’t been a blip on my radar until the end of junior year when one of the girls’ dropped that little nugget on me. Apparently, the guys at school considered me the best girl to hang out with for fun or homework, but nothing else.
While I’m not looking for a date, it’s a little hard to swallow that I ranked as the best bud and tutor, but would definitely never fall into the Girl Most Likely To Get Asked Out.
Pfft. What did I care? One more year and I was off to college, so what if the numbers of female friends I used to have drifted off and I’d scored a permanent seat in the friend zone. I had subjects to study, grades to maintain, and colleges to get into. Fine, I didn’t care about the rules or status before, and I wouldn’t now.
181 class days to go, and I’ll graduate. No problem, right?