The start of a new day.

One of my most favorite parts of life.

Had a bad day yesterday? Well today is a new day.

I step outside, my black backpack hanging off one of my shoulders.  There is a pep in my step on the walk to school.

I feel good today.  I feel pretty.

My slightly dirty pair of high top converse adorn my feet.  Today I decided to wear a dress.  I got it a few weeks ago.  It's simple but cute.  The white thick material ends a little above my mid-thigh.  A necklace the same color of the dress decorates my neck. (Picture below.)

My hair is left in its natural state, dead straight and long, ending at my lower back.  A white thin headband sits on top of my head.

Staring down at my long thin legs I become slightly insecure.  They look like chopsticks.

My weight has always been a insecurity of mine.  I'm slightly under weight, my body lacking curves.  Over time I've come to love myself more.  Except sometimes I can't help but wish I had a bigger bottom and boobs.

My parents have already left to work, and my brother and sister have already gotten on the bus for school.

The walk to school isn't very long.  Only about ten minutes. 

The wind is heavy today, blowing my hair all over my face.  The sound of the whistles through the air caused by the rapid moving wind relaxes me.  My converse pad against the concrete. I kick any rock I see as I continue walking down the side walk.

Sometimes I wish that my sneakers were magical.  That I could stomp my foot on the concrete once and it would crack all around me.  That would be wondrous.

Goosebumps rise on my skin, it's 75 degrees (fahrenheit) out.  Maybe not the best day to wear a dress, but the heat radiating from the sun makes up for it.

As I walk to school my thoughts trail to library boy.

I wonder how he's doing.  Maybe I'll see him again today when I go back.  Hopefully he was listening to me when I said I'd be there today.

He made it quite obvious that he doesn't want to be friends with me, but I think he'll warm up to me.  Hopefully.  I won't give up just yet.  I tend to be stubborn.

The big red brick building finally comes into view.  Students are swarming the outside, some talking with their friends, some heading straight inside, some laughing.

I wonder what it's like to be in a friend group.

I had a friend once in fifth grade.  She was nice and offered me her pencil since I didn't have one.

At least I considered that a friend.  Mom says I just need to wait until I find someone that I click with.

It's been seventeen years.  I'm tired of waiting.  I still have hope though.  Who knows, maybe I'll find a friend tomorrow, or the day after that.

Which is why I wake up everyday excited to see what life holds in store for me.

I offer this pretty girl and her group of friends a warm smile as I walk past them into school.

They look me up and down and then continue talking amongst themselves.

The hallways smell like a mixture of a little weed and some sweat.

Ah, I love public school.

Class starts in five minutes, giving me some time to lean against the wall and read one of the books from one of the piles in my room.

As I walk to the walk to the wall of windows that I usually stand by, I see bookstore boy.

My smile widens.

He is currently engrossed in a different book from the last book I saw him reading yesterday.

He is wearing a dark grey hoodie, baggy-ish jeans are on his lower half. Converse
at his feet, along with a thin silver chain resting against his neck. He is also wearing a silver bracelet.

He needs to tell me where he shops. We could be shopping buddies.

I stroll up to him, him not even noticing me at first.

"Hey bookstore buddy." I look up at him.  He quickly flicks his gaze up to me.

He is silent for a moment while I just continue smiling at him.  I smile a lot, but never with my teeth.  That would just be scary.

"Not you again." He closes his book and rolls his eyes.

"Oh yes.  Yes it is me." I start playing with the thin silver rings on my fingers.

"So...what are you reading?" His grey eyes stare into mine, not answering my question.

Silence.

"Ok...well I'll tell you what I'm reading." I unzip my backpack and pull out the book. "The Cruel Prince series.  I'm on the last book.  It's so good you should totally read it.  Oh my God yesterday I finished reading The Glass Castle, and it was like Shameless but in book form. What are your favorite types of books? Do you prefer the sadder books or happy ones? I think I like a good mixture of both.  I like making myself cry over books except they leave me gut wrenched. Although happy endings let me sleep well at night. Overall I think reading all different types of books that evoke different emotion is fun-"

"Shut up." He cuts me off, still staring into my eyes, no emotion present on his face.

My smile falters.

I purse my lips together, a poor attempt at trying not to laugh.

A moment goes by, he is looking at the opposite side of the hallway.

"So are you gonna answer the question?" I want to know, I'm curious.

I need someone to discuss books with and he seems to like reading.

He looks down at me again, his eyes meeting mine once more.  "Happy endings." He gives no explanation, turning back to stare at the wall, leaning against the windows.

I glance over his gorgeous side profile.  Damn.

"Why?" My eyebrows furrow.  I love when people explain why they think a certain way about something.  It gives me new outlooks and different ways to look at something, seeing it from a different perspective.

"Because I do." He doesn't look at me when he answers.

"That's not an answer." Why can't he at least attempt to make conversation.  Just answer the damn question.

"Goodbye, Luna." His eyes meet mine yet again before he turns around and heads down the hall.

He remembered my name.

"Wait!" A thought just popped into my head.

He stops and glances back at me, a bored expression resting on his face.

"What's your name?" I don't want to keep referring to him as library boy.

"Owen." He breaks the eye contact and continues his journey down the hallway.

A freshman girl blushes as he passes her.

I don't blame her, he is quite attractive.

Owen.  I like it.

I think we'll be fabulous friends, Owen.

~

I had to pee, so Mrs. Mathews let me go to the bathroom.  Thank god she did because I think my bladder was about to explode.

That would be unfortunate.

On my way back from the bathroom my mind travels to the book I'm currently reading.

Cardan is so hot.

Jude too.

Cardan is definitely one of my top five fictional crushes.

My thoughts of hot fake men cloud my vision but suddenly the girl standing in front of me causes the gorgeous cloud to part, ending my train of thought.

I shake my head and slightly raise my brows, "May I help you?" She is just staring at me with a seemingly angry expression written all over her face.

I don't know what the problem is, I literally don't talk to anybody at the school.  What could I have possibly done to upset this girl?

Her blue eyes are burning holes into mine.  She is wearing the school's cheer uniform.  I recognize her, she is Madeline Moore.  Popular and rude.  Ego bigger then the Atlantic ocean.

Her entire existence is so cliche it's astonishing.

She reminds me of Regina from Mean Girls.

Except maybe she likes being cliche? It's her life and she can choose how she wants to live it, but being rude to innocent people shouldn't have to be apart of that.

She looks me up and down with her arms tightly crossed over her chest.

"You seriously came to school in that?  You look like an attention whore." Attention whore.  My heart sinks at the reminder of my fathers words.

Before I could respond she continues,"Listen if you seriously think Owen is going to go for someone like you then you are out of your fucking mind."

"Uh- okay?" This is a waste of my time.  She is making up shit in her head and spewing it out.

She walks past me, her hips moving side to side as she stomps down the hallway.

She may be an ass, but I must admit she has a nice ass. Ha, see what I did there?

Attention whore.

My heart stings.  Once I got older I realized that my dad is just a cruel person who likes to hurt me with his words.  I began to realize his words didn't define me.  Except now she is calling me an attention whore too?

It seems as though my dad isn't the only one who thinks it. Maybe he wasn't lying if he isn't the only person who thinks so.

Perhaps there may be some truth to his words.

Looking down at my dress, my mood dampens.

Maybe I should just stick to the baggy clothing.