Read Starstruck for Free Online Page B

mud-crusted sneakers steps right on my new khakis, leaving a nice footprint on my thigh. He nearly falls back, then turns to me. His eyes trail downward. “Yo, what’s up?” he says to me, almost civilly.
    How do I answer that? I could say, “Nothing,” but that makes me look like a total loser who is up to nothing, which, even though it’s true, is the last thing I want to admit. I could tell him I’m listing lunch meats, but that’s even lamer. I could lie and say I’m writing a screenplay; that sounds cool. However, since my notebook is blank, he could easily see through that facade. A few seconds pass, and then I realize that I’m not saying anything, just staring up at him, like a deaf-mute, which is perhaps the most pathetic reaction of all. So I suddenly open my mouth and out comes this weird humming noise that sounds like a bee crash-landing on a windshield.
    He doesn’t notice. He’s already yo-babying another bunch of girls across the green. This is probably like Christmas morning for him. I look down at the muddy footprint on my thigh as the crowd starts to funnel through the doors.
    Ah, yes, school. The agony and the … more agony.
    After making a pit stop at the girls’ room, I find a seat in the back of homeroom, hoping none of the people who like to cause a scene involving me and my ass, or another of my numerous large body parts, is present. The room begins to fill up; nobody looks at me, or if they do, they quickly drop their eyes. Nobody sits by me. I’m thinking it’s because I’m invisible when in walks Terra Goldbar.
    Terra is a girl who thinks she’s much cooler than she actually is. She has bright red hair and a horsey face, and her laugh sounds like a lawn mower starting up. She joins every club she can fit into her schedule, and so she is friends with everyone—or at least likes to think she is. Oh, except me, but I’ll get to that part in a minute. It’s odd to watch her change the way she acts between groups; one second she’ll be discussing the works of Plato with the brains, and the next second she’ll be like, “Girl! That nail polish is, like, so fabu!” to the fashion mavens. One could call her the Chameleon of Cellarton. Well, except for the stoplight hair.
    Unfortunately, she’s not fooling anyone. She doesn’t really fit into any of the groups. For instance, her observation on Plato will be “Didn’t he write that play about the guy who does it with his mother?” and the nail polish will be the most hideous fashion don’t since culottes on short fat people. I think everyone keeps her around for the amusement value. Because she’s so oblivious they can make fun of her and she won’t get it. Because she’s loyal like a puppy. Oh, and because she’s freaking rich and has completely absentee parents, so she has been known to throw the most mind-blowing parties Cellarton High has ever seen.
    She tosses her Gucci bag down on the floor beside the farthest possible empty desk from mine. Since the room is pretty full, it’s a desk kitty-corner to mine, so close she can reach out and touch me. Still, she pretends not to notice me, turns to Erica Dunleavy in the next row, and says, way too bubbly for this early in the morning, “Hey, girl! You got a new tat! Fabuloso!”
    So here’s why, out of all the students at Cellarton High, Terra picked me as the object of her wrath. She and Wish are cousins. More than just cousins. She writes comments on his Facebook wall at least once a day, usually starting with “Hey, favorite cousin!” And no “favorite cousin” of hers should associate with the likes of me. I think she’s disgusted with me because in all my years, I’ve never had a birthday with a petting zoo, or a bat mitzvah with a robot fortune-teller. Even though his Facebook page says “In a Relationship with Gwendolyn Reilly,” she doesn’t get it. Maybe she thinks Gwendolyn Reilly is a figment of his imagination. If I ever went up to her and told her that