This is what I like to call a "fairytale romance", because it's improbable. You'll know what I mean. This one is not going to be heavy like Not for Me. I started this because I wanted to write a light-hearted story. Not for Me is my number one priority, so don't be surprised if this doesn't get updated religiously. I will, however, try my best. Enjoy!
When I turned thirteen, officially becoming part of the hormone-driven world of teens, I was ecstatic. I felt so proud and so mature, which did influence the "I think I'm so cool" attitude I developed. Thankfully, I got over it after a couple of months, after realizing that I was still at the bottom of the pyramid and still looked like a kid. It was the same concept as being in grade eight and feeling like you're on top of the world, but when you enter high school as a mere freshman, you're back to the bottom—the world where you're the one getting picked on by the oh-so-controlling sophomores, juniors, and seniors.
However, I didn't have to worry about that yet because I was only in grade eight, and I was freakin' thirteen! My grade was ruling the school, and my life was revolving around a tight group of friends, boys and whatever amusement their stupidity and juvenile behaviour provided, the latest hot gossip (whatever "hot gossip" there was in grade eight), picking on the sevens, and mocking the teachers behind their backs. At thirteen, I was naïve. I thought the rest of my teenage years were going to be a blast all the way. I was completely, ridiculously, and painfully naïve.
Needless to say, my fantasy of living a kickass teenage life shattered when I became a wreck in the middle of my sophomore year. I fought with people; I lost friendships, got them back, lost them again, got them back again, and so on and so forth. On some weekends, all I wanted to do was curl up in a sofa to either read or listen to loud music or watch pointless crap on TV. On other weekends, all I wanted to do was hang out with my friends in very loud places and forget about whatever problems I was going through. I was all over the place. I was always irritable, I got poor grades, I lost my temper very, very easily, I was in detention all the time, and I received never-ending "you can do better than this" speeches from teachers. Needless to say, sophomore year was shitful.
In junior year, my life started to get back on track. I began to learn how to deal with the cracks and bumps that Life enjoyed to shove at me. It was definitely a lot better than grade ten. I learned how to relax myself; every night, I would light three candles in my room, turn off the lights, put on soothing music, sit at a comfortable position, and close my eyes. I would stay like this for the next thirty minutes, imagining that I was sending my stresses toward the flames and watching them burn. By the time I was done, I would feel more at peace. Meditation did help me a lot, and I wasn't surprised that in junior year, not once did I lose my temper. Eventually, people, even teachers, forgot about how I was in grade ten. I became this entirely new person—a calm, patient, friendly, and, most importantly, happy person. I liked the change, and so did everyone else. Remnants from grade ten faded away; the year became no more than a distant memory.
I kept up my good streak in senior year. I was still that joyful, pleasant, and easygoing person from grade eleven. Not once did I lose my temper…
…that is, until Anton Ryker came along, after March break. He strutted in the restaurant I worked at, smirking as if he was the next Brad Pitt, Johnny Depp, or any other worshipped man in Hollywood. Shoot, wait a second…
He really was.
Anton Ryker: hot, young, and gifted actor with one of the biggest fan bases in the world. In school, guys either tried to be like him, wanted to be like him, or wanted to be him. More than half of the girls had at least one picture of him in their locker, agenda, or binders, with him either smiling mysteriously or roguishly, or giving off a "sexy, brooding look" in the photo. No doubt he was very much adored by everyone…
Well, almost everyone.
Yours truly wasn't interested…
Fine, I was interested—in chucking a spoon at him whenever he tried to win me over with his smiles.
Oh, how I loathed him.