The Queen Bees would have a field day with any mishaps I made. I’ve spent three years carefully planning to stay invisible. Not popular, not unpopular, just . . . forgettable. Safe.
The spotlight makes my stomach twist into knots tighter than my little brother’s shoelaces. Anonymity is like armor in high school.
My belly rumbles as the saccharine aroma intensifies, and I rush downstairs into the kitchen where mom flips pancakes like she’s auditioning for Blitz Kitchen—her favorite cooking competition show. She’s completely obsessed with it, her eyes glued to the flat screen TV mounted on the wall to her left while tossing dough in the air, completely unfazed in her blue hospital scrubs, which signals her shift at the hospital begins shortly after breakfast.
My five-year-old brother, Noah, sits at the table, face buried in a stack of pancakes. He looks up and grins, showing me what a chewed-up piece of pancake dough looks like through his missing front teeth.Gross. But he’s still the cutest little brother I could have asked for.
“Save some for me, you little pancake monster!” I say as I tousle Noah’s hair and pull up a chair next to him.
“Chrissy, honey,” mom says, turning from the stove and handing me a plate, “these are for you.”
I grin, seizing the plate like I haven’t eaten pancakes in two days (which I haven’t). “Thanks, mom!” The stack is massive, and I drown it in Maple syrup. The first bite melts in my mouth, and I close my eyes for a second, savoring it. There’s nothing in this world like mom’s blueberry pancakes. “Shooo good.”
“How was the first day back?” mom asks, sitting down for a quick bite before heading to work. Her tired eyes sparkle with curiosity.
“Oh, you know . . .” I swallow the sugary dough. “Same as always. Chemistry is going to be tough. I’ve got three otherscience classes—two of which are AP—so I’m going to sleep with my face buried in textbooks this year.”
Mom smiles at me. She’s one of those people whose smile puts you at ease, which I imagine comes in very useful at work. “Keep it up, and you’ll be on the moon in no time.”
“I hope so.” I glance around. “Where’s dad?”
“He’s over at the Pearsons helping with some repairs,” she replies. “And probably watching Jeff Dunham. You know how big of a fan he is.”
I never got into the ventriloquist act, but Mr. Pearson and dad are hardcore into it. The remodeling of their new home must be taking longer than expected. Not that I’m keeping tabs or anything—it’s just that Theo mentioned it in class. I shove the thought from my head and focus on the task at hand: devouring pancakes.
After breakfast, I help Noah brush his teeth. His mouth bubbles as he talks about his first day in pre-school. His innocence tugs at my heartstrings, even when he insists on showing me his toothpaste foam.
By the time I grab my backpack and head out the door, the butterflies are back. Another day at Meridian High awaits.
Twenty minutes later, Stephanie and I walk through the crowded hallway, dodging backpacks and sidestepping groups of kids hanging around the lockers. She’s mid-rant about our history class being a snooze fest when we spot Ian, standing by the trophy case, handing out fliers like he’s running for student council.
“It’s that time again,” he says with a glowing disposition as he extends a flier toward us. “The Annual Meridian High Talent Show! You’re both joining, right?”
Stephanie groans. “Every year with this.” She glances at the flier but doesn’t take it.
“You know I’m invisible, Ian,” I say, taking the flier just to be polite. “It wouldn’t do me much good if everyone saw me trip over my own two feet.”
“Especially with Paige and her minions competing,” Stephanie adds, shooting Ian a look that says he should know better.
Ian, ever the optimist, shrugs it off. “C’mon! It could be fun. Chrissy, you’ve got that whole choreography thing going. You could be the dark horse of the show.”
“Choreography that no one knows about,” I correct him. “And it’s going to stay that way.”
Stephanie laughs. “Sorry, Ian. I’m with Chrissy on this one. Hard pass.”
“Why don’t you join?” I ask him.
“I’m afraid I possess no talents to show off. I’m better suited to be an organizer.” He sighs, hangs his head low and returns to handing out more fliers as the next group of students passes by. We leave him behind as we walk toward class.
Stephanie rolls her eyes. “I swear, he tries every year.”
“I think he just enjoys being part of something,” I say, glancing back at Ian. “It’s his thing.”
“Yeah, but it’s not ours,” Stephanie says. “Can you imagine us on stage?”
I shudder at the thought. “No thanks. I’m trying to survive high school without giving the Queen Bees more material for insults and criticisms for them to fire off at me.”
Chemistry is no better than yesterday. If anything, it’s worse because Paige is in a foul mood. It doesn’t take long to figure out why—Theo’s absent today. No doubt she’s annoyed that her favorite distraction isn’t here to entertain her.
