Author's Notes: Before you go on, I just wanted to say that I revised and revamped Chapter 3 to make Patricia really seem like the bitchy girl that she is. :P I hope. Otherwise, I'm going to need a dose of "bitchiness" to help me out. :P So, re-read Chapter 3 before you read zis, please! Or not. LOL

Chapter 4 - I Found the Drama

My school days are getting so much more . . . uneventful.

Take Warren, for example. He said that he went to my school, and even the kids that I met at Kalmart said he goes to my school. So, what gives? I haven't seen him in the first three days that I've been going to this school. And quite honestly, this school isn't really big. So the question of the day is: Where could that idiot with gorgeous-ness have gone?

I mean, it's not like I care alot. I don't do well under pressure, and just thinking about having a conversation with him makes me feel all nervous, and even embarrassed - when I did nothing, at all! Besides, it was only in my head. Who caves under stress when you're only imagining things?

But I'm getting more desperate to have some real raw and hardcore drama in my life that I'm starting to think I should start acting like a bitch or something to attract attention. I mean, how am I supposed to be successful in my acting career if I don't have materials that I could base my "feelings" on? They're not even having a play until, like, the end of the year. I absolutely, positively cannot wait! If they're waiting to put it off so late in the year, then it must be some terrific production!

I, of course, will get the female lead with the great skills that I possess. I do have a knack for lying. Oh, and with my fantasies as girly as they ever have been, Warren would be the only eligible male lead opposite.

My fourth day at school is turning out to be a really strange one. Oddly enough.

And in fourth period, during the duration in which we all stray in the halls, a senior walked up to me, clad in her cheerleading uniform. Now, usually, uniforms don't make me queasy. Unless it's a cheerleader's outfit. And when a cheerleader wears it.

In seventh grade, I had a horrible time with the "cheerleader-in-training" as she called herself. Ceylina Ghanders, along with the rest of the squadlets-in-training (again, what they called themselves), made so many rumors up about me, and ruined my life drastically - by taking away my friends (not to mention, almost stealing my boyfriend) just because I got a better grade than Ceylina in math class! - that I just developed this immense amount of hate for any cheerleader. And as a result, I think I developed a pathological fear of them, with their blond (and occassionally red and brunette) bobs and up-do's because of her.

"Hi," she says with this bubbly personality that I can't help but feel intrigued.

I look up at her, and place my hands behind my back, wringing my fingers so hard that I bet they were turning white. I bite my lip. "Um . . . hi," I say nervously, trying to conjure up a smile. But I think I fail because she looks at me weirdly.

"Is there something wrong with my teeth or something?" she asks in a very concerned voice. "Ugh. I'll, like, absolutely have to check that in the bathroom mirror."

I bite my cheek, and let my hands loose - but still hide them behind my back. "Um . . . yeah."

She widens her eyes. "Oh, my God! There is something in my teeth?!" she exasperatedly questions. And she looked like she was about to have a heart attack. Not like you shouldn't, but . . .

I laugh and shake my head. "No. I, uh, meant that . . ." I trail off. What did I mean?

"Whatever," she cuts me off with a roll of her eyes, straightening her skirt - as if I wasn't there! Now, I don't mean to be rude, but . . . who does she think she is, trying to strike up some conversation with me, but only to cut me off with those bitchy "whatever"'s?! "I'll, uh, like," she begins, "see you later. During lunch. You know which table I sit in."

Then she walks away. I sigh, and scratch my forehead. Then something hits me - we have the same lunch period?! I had never seen her at the cafeteria, which I would have, because my eyes pretty much search at all the available (and welcoming) tables, and, well, yesterday, I had to sit alone. . . by myself at one table, just wishing, pleading that someone would be "brave" enough to walk up to my table and sit with me.

I can't be considered "new girl" for long. Today's my fourth day, after all. Before I know it, I'll be well associated with everyone in this school, that they'd be so surprised to find out when I tell them I'm new. I think. I hope.

And I still haven't found myself a "spicy rib mixed in with just the right amount of sweet" as abuelita puts it. I mean, yeah, most of them are pretty much genetically-endowed, but they haven't mustered up enough "courage" to talk to me, if they really do need courage because I'm so intimidating. Well, I don't really think I'm so intimidating . . . oh, God. Are they just afraid to talk to me because they might get an up-close picture of my face - which isn't so pretty, despite my family's saying so? Ugh, please, God, don't let it be that!

Where is my boring life heading to, these days? Yeah, this moving thing? It sucks.

This is where the break line goes.

"Be-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-ep!" the bell rings.

Mrs. Murray pushes her glasses up with her fingers, and sighs. "I guess we'll continue with yesterday's lesson, tomorrow. Class dismissed," she says, though one-third of my math class is already out of the door.

I grab my books, and throw them in my book bag, half-zipping it up because I felt too lazy to fully zip it. Now, normally, I would still half-zip it, but only because I don't have much time to go to my locker and grab my other books since they only give us students three freaking minutes.

I stuff everything into my locker and head for the cafeteria. I start to panic because I remember that the cheerleader wanted to speak to me during lunch.

As I get into line, and pick out food, I take quick glances at the cafeteria tables. I finally spot her sitting amongst a group of the socially classified elites. A group of six ultra-fabulous-dressed girls (including those in their uniforms) were sitting with a group of eight ultra-hot guys, three of whom were jocks because let's face it - not all jocks are hot.

And then I notice - one of the girls is Patricia! Patricia?! I thought she hung out with the non-A-listers, those dorky friends of hers - that are very fun to be around with. One of the non-jocked guys looks at me, and his face is so familiar, I almost gasp. That strong jaw! Those dreamy jade eyes! His gorgeous green-tinted hair! WARREN! He smiles at me, and my heart slowly begins to turn into this mushy, melted substance.

His smile makes my heart beat even faster, and I look at the floor. I take a deep breath to calm my nerves down - I was starting to think that I was going to vomit or hyperventilate, and I just don't want to perform anything like that in front of my audience.

I walk up to her, and put the most confused face on that I could muster up. The six people around her look up at me with questioning eyebrows.

The edges of the cheerleader's eyes crinkle, and she smiles. "Oh, yay! It's you, the new girl! Sit here," she says excitedly, pushing the chair next to her in front of me.

I give a small wave and go, "Hey, ya'll." I blush. . . ya'll?! Maybe Warren turned my brain into mush, too!

They continue to talk to me, and all of them act friendly. Except Patricia. . . she keeps interrupting me whenever I talk, gives me dirty looks (not the wrong kind of dirty, though), and whenever someone asks a question directed towards me, Patricia always intercepts saying, "Guys. I have family in the Branx. You can ask me, too."

When just about everyone can't stand her by now - I know they can't, they roll their eyes every time - Warren, my might-be "spicy rib mixed in with just the right amount of sweet", glares at her. In a dangerously low voice, with a threatening edge to it, he says, "Let Lanilei speak."

She rolls her eyes and does this "tsk" sound with her mouth. I can't even do that. I guess, despite her unfriendly demeanor towards me, I admire her skills. Especially the ones that she's been rambling on to about everyone at the table: (the stupid) National Honor Society, the debate club, straight A's, AP classes, the whole she-bang, along with being popular.

Now I know why they always say, "Never judge a book by its cover." Because trying to read Patricia is like trying to unsolve the mystery, "Which came first: the chicken or the egg?"

All in all, I had a really good time, despite my nervousness due to being around the socially spoon-fed, and Patricia, though I still had much difficulty with the cheerleaders. But I even had enough courage to ask this question:

"So, what's the deal between you and P-Brain?"

Everyone looks at me like I'm crazy, and then they look at Patricia as if unbelieving what I just said. Seeing the nervous look in her eyes and the confidence in mine, they all look back and fourth from me to Patricia. I raise an eyebrow, lowering the other. What was wrong with what I said?

The bubbly cheerleader, whom she was introduced as Callina, turns her head to fully view Patricia. "Oh. My. God. You like him?!" Callina asks Patricia in an amazed voice.

Patricia blushes, grabs her trey, and says, "Leilani is a pile of crap, speaking bullshit like that. God, I can't stand you," she points out. Yeah, like I didn't get that ever since the moment you met me. I roll my eyes. "I'll talk to you all - except for Leilani - later."

Wendy, one of the rich girls, furrows her eyebrows. "Patricia!" she calls out. "Her name's Lanilei."

Patricia rolls her eyes and blushes. "How many times do I have to tell you?! That's her nickname, you moron!"

Denny turns to the rest of us and shrugs. We all continue to talk, and then, when no one was talking to me - just ignoring me, like they should do because I'm the new girl, Warren turns to look at me. I can feel his eyes boring into my head, and I raise my hand to my cheek, trying to hide the blush that's slowly spreading across my head. Then he does the unthinkable - he leans in, but then he backs up a little. Oh, no! I knew my ears were huge and ugly.

And then, he does this even more unpredictable thing! "Of all the people in this table, I'm the only one who doesn't hate you," he admits to me. Now, I think that was supposed to be a compliment, with him looking very goo-goo-eyed, but I took that as an insult.

But nevertheless, his husky tone of voice made me quiver, sending chills repetitively up and down my spine.

He looks at me, smiling at my magenta-pink hair, sees my blush, and smirks. The group of people at the table see the event unfolding before them, and I get even more self-conscious.

"D'ah. . . I-uh-em . . ." I look at all the people's faces, purposefully avoiding Warren's glance - he's the first guy that ever made me blush so much. I guess what they say about red-heads sort of holds the same for pink-ish-magenta-heads. Red-heads have tempers, and pink-heads get embarrassed way too easily.

In this squeaky, high-pitched, cracked voice, I proclaim my getaway with these words: "I, uh, have to go, and uh, prepare for Mr. Whisper's class. I-uh. . . mean . . . Mr. Whitster's class. Yeah, um, I'll, um . . . go now."

I grab my trey and scurry as quickly as I can away from the table whom I can see, from the corner of my eye, are laughing at my skittish ways. Except . . . Warren's and Callina's face look pretty normal. Well, Warren's does. Callina looks angry. Angry as in, "I'm a bull, and will ram anyone in my way." I hope I don't add her to my list of people who hate me.

Without knowing what I'm doing, I accidently dump the trey full of food into the bin. And guess what goes down Orson's (from Raisin Street) home of a garbage can. Yes, my trey! I open the lid to reach into the garbage can to get it, but the smell! It's nas-ty, with elongated syllables. And, oh, my God! There is a rotten egg, and it's cracked shell reveals a torn head from a chick's head.

I don't know what I did, but suddenly, the only thing I see is that the walls keep spinning, growing faster and faster until, finally, all I see is darkness encompassing me.

This is where the break line goes.

And before I know it, I feel the familiar vibe of the house. I open my eyes and nearly jump at the sight in front of me! No, it's not like someone - namely, Warren - carried me all the way home or something and is now still here. But it was my . . . parents!

You do not want to look at their faces up close. Especially my dad's face - he's got so many gross-looking blackheads on his nose . . . and my mom, well, her face is pretty much okay, except for the skin that's, like, almost chipping off because of the sunburn that she got during our trip on Christmas to San Fransisco.

"Lani, babes. You a'ight? That nurse say that you got blacked out near a trash can . . . the smell was that bad, huh?" he asks me, though I think he was joking.

I smile and say, "It wasn't even the smell. I mean, papi, it was bad that I felt like puking, but it was what I saw. . ." I trail off, not getting that disgusting image out of my mind. I wasn't usually the type of girl to go all, "Ah, spider!" over things, but the chick . . . oh, man. It was so gross!

My mom puts her hand to my forehead, and with widened eyes asks me, "You're not hallucinating, are you, Lei-lei?"

I look at her increduously, and lower one of my eyebrows. I roll my eyes. "Mom, I saw a dead chick in that garbage can. Puh-lease, I can't be hallucinating just because of that. It was real, anyways."

"Diego . . . Lanilei's back," she says with this disappointed flick in her voice!

This is where the break line goes.

Now, under normal circumstances, I would have enjoyed the seemingly serene moment that we, as a family, were having during dinner. But I could just feel this sort of anxious tension filling up the air. Finally, after much clanking (because of the spoons, forks and plates), I got fed up.

"Okay, okay! Just tell me what you have to tell me," I plead to them, exasperatedly. If I had known what they were going to say, I never would have asked at all.

Before exchanging anxious looks, they smile, as if relieved they get to tell. "Lei-lei! Your dad and I . . ."

I roll my eyes. "Are what?!" A shiver runs through my spine as the thought that my parents were going to (finally) divorce because, let's face it, they have such a bad relationship together - I guess it was good while it lasted. But I shake the shiver and the thought off, and get annoyed at myself for worrying so much about things like divorce, particularly concerning my parents.

My dad smiles. "We're going to divorce."

My face falls, and I'm flushed. My parents are chuckling - I guess more of my reaction than their news, but I mean, hello! They're supposed to be sad and grieving that what once was a happy and eventful marriage, had turned out to be a false fa├žade of love.

Seeing that my reaction was an ongoing one, they chuckle some more, and say, "No, we were only joking. We're separating."

Which just gets me angrier and more shocked and embarrassed. How could they joke to me about divorce?! And then . . . separation. That sounds even worse, in my opinion.

Again, they chuckle it off, and I buckle myself down for the one news that I hadn't ever even suspected:

"Lani, your mami's going to have a baby!" my dad says excitedly, bouncing up and down. He runs over to my mom, hugs her and kisses her on the cheek. She hops on alongside him, and they make their way towards me, kissing and hugging me as if I was the newborn baby or something.

My mom gets this confused look on her face. "Lei-lei! Aren't you happy? Excited?"

"Duh," I blurt out before thinking it through because I really am not happy. Sure, I wished for brothers and sisters in the past when I got lonely, but that was only when I had trouble with my parents. I really don't want to share the limelight with any siblings.

And then, stupidly, I ask, "Who's the father?" The moment it leaves my mouth, I feel like laughing, and my dad sort of looks angry at me for even asking, but my mom! She looks like she's guilty of some crime.

Nervously, she stutters, "Lei-lei. You-you're crazy . . . da-dad is the f-father! M-my, my. You-you're b-being . . . silly." She sounds so scared that my father gives her a suspicious look, to which she replies with a nervous shrug.

To stop the weird moment, I then say, "So, uh, when's the baby shower?"

"Lei! There are so many things I have to plan with you!" my mother gushes.

Oh, boy. There's going to be some chaos in the house for the next nine months. Uh-oh.

Author's Notes:

JaH, Patricia is different than the typical catty popular bitch that just happens to dress all sluttily. LOL Sluttily. I want different people to be able to be popular, even if they don't look it at first - Patricia could happen anywhere, couldn't she?!

Isn't Callina a pretty name? I got it from my friend's name - Kalina, which I personally think is prettier.

LMAO . . . Orson - Oscar, Raisin Street - Sesame street. XD

This was a pretty short Author's Notes as the whole chapter was short, huh? Well, compared to my others, that is. :P Heehee! I wanna give a shoutout to my... only reviewer, Mona (well, the only that I've seen so far.. LOL)! Muahzzles! LOL (Thrin, I know where you live. . . with me! So you better review, O darling sissynesster!)