I know my mom's a little drunk, but threatening to fire Alex still isn't a good thing. After all, he's the only thing between me and an insane asylum.

"What happened at the party, mom?" I ask, shifting my weight, hands on my hips.

"Little girls shouldn't ask questions," she grumbles. She always treats me like a child, even when she isn't under the influence. 

At a party about a year ago, I overheard her talking to Jaimie about me. She said that I was driving her crazy with my "stupid anxiety", and she got mad at me for "stealing the show" at her premiere. I think she even mentioned something about putting me up for adoption. She might as well have written Sell Micah on her calendar. Wow, I have a great mom.

Kevin says I shouldn't contradict my mom, but it's so hard to resist. She can be so stuck-up and egotistic sometimes.

"Come on, Mom, you need to get to bed." I grab her sleeve and lead her upstairs.

She doesn't protest.

In a few minutes, I am leaning against the white-trim doorway, watching her curled up in her huge bed, snoring so quietly that it just sounds like a normal person inhaling. Gosh, she even sleeps like a diva.

I tred silently down the hallway, closing the white door as I go. As soon as I enter my room, I collapse onto the mattress, not bothering to move it back against the door. I close my eyes, and I'm immediately out.

The next morning I stroll into school in a red t-shirt and blue jeans. My hair is pulled up and twisted into a nice cinnamon-bun do at the top of my head to keep my long brown hair off my neck and back. I feel everyone's eyes on me as I walk down the concrete pathway. Yes, people, I'm dressed as Micah Tanner, just like every other day.

There are two more weeks of school, and other students are already getting their booty shorts and spaghetti straps on. I'm pretty those aren't even allowed at school, but the teachers don't exactly give a crap. Especially since most of them have celebrities connections.

I push through the wide double-doors, intent on getting to 1st period before Austin can find me. I open my locker and pull my supplies from my small grey messenger bag before carelessly tossing it into the spacious inside. Slamming the door, I speed-walk down the white-tiled hallway, clutching my notebook and binder in my right hand.

"Micah Tanner!" a voice suddenly shouts from behind me. I slowly turn around to come face-to-face with a boy about my height grinning so widely I swear his lips are going to split.

"I looked up your name," he states like it's some huge achievement.

After staring at him for a few awkward seconds, utterly bewildered, I suddenly recognize him as the twerp who tried to ask me out yesterday. He called me Megan. I nod slowly, turning back around, but before I can sprint in the opposite direction, he grabs my hand and shakes it firmly.

"What's up, I'm Norman Baker," he says, introducing himself. "Let's be friends."

"That's...nice," is all I can say, releasing my hand from his.

The passing period bell chimes loudly, and Norman starts to walk past me, patting me on the back as he does so. "See you at lunch!" he hollers over his shoulder.

Okay? I think. Shaking my head, I walk down the hallway to math class, sliding into my seat. I plop my supplies on my desk and pull out a pencil right as the bell rings a second time.

A tall man walks up in front of the class, his glasses at the tip of his nose. My math teacher's name is Mr. Scalpel, a terrible title for someone I'm already scared of. In fact, I'm practically convinced he's some sort of serial killer, judging by the fact that he knew all of the students first and last names on the first day of school, and he claimed to have not looked at the list.

"Class, today we will begin with a pop quiz that will take about half of the period," Mr. Scalpel announces, sending shivers down my spine.

He knows exactly how to please a class that just woke half an hour ago.

I suck in a deep breath as he hands out a centimeter-thick packet to each desk. Thank you so much. I clearly print my name and the date at the top of the page, then begin scanning the paper.

A few hours later, I stroll into French, my mind focused on food. 3rd period is split into two parts, with lunch in the middle. Half an hour is already too little, but this the principal thought she was so sneaky and took away 5 minutes from first lunch, which is the one I have. I know it doesn't sound that bad, but at the end of the year, that adds up to practically 15 hours of lunch missed!

As I said, the principal thought she was sly doing this, but in fact, the whole school found out in a matter of hours.

The French teacher, Monsieur Simmons, is actually pretty cool, except when it comes to homework. Every night, not only do we have to do a few pages of practice, but he also assigns a book to read every other week. This week we have to read an 800-page autobiography about some French artist.

Following an exciting class mainly consisting of singing songs about conjugating French verbs, he assigns us an article to read tonight, and then I am off to the cafeteria.

After dropping my binder in my locker, I quickly walk around the corner and down the hall, turning into the lunchroom. There are ten long table stretched across the room, each seating a couple hundred students. Beverly Hills High School has about 2,300 kids, with around 700 sophomores. All the schools in Hollywood are about this big, though I believe that this one holds the most.

I scan the large room, looking for Norman. I spot him in the corner, waving me over. As I make my way over there, I notice that he has saved enough space for me, and is seated far away from everyone else. I take a deep breath in and sit down.

"Hey, Micah," he says kindly, smiling the same smile as before, though a little less intense this time. "How were your classes?"

How bad was this idea? I'm not entirely sure why I decided to sit with him. Probably because I'd be lonely otherwise. I shrug. "Fine."

He nods knowingly, then unzips his backpack to pull out his lunch.

Suddenly, someone taps my shoulder. I whirl around in my seat to see a tall boy looming over me, his dark eyebrows raised. I almost shriek, then hold it in. Next to me, Norman notices my fright and bursts out laughing.

"Micah," he says, his voice sounding as though it is on its way to hysterics. "This is RJ." He points to the teenager behind me.

'RJ' plops himself down right next to me, and immediately begins staring into my soul. I could swear his eyes are throbbing. Now I'm surrounded by fanatics. Maybe I was wrong about Mr. Scalpel. Maybe this boy is the real threat.

"Okay....." I say, sucking in a deep breath, then bite my lip. I inch slowly towards Norman, for he seems to be the safer of the two. I blink a few times.

Norman laughs again, then leans in to whisper into my ear. "He thinks you're beautiful."

I jump. God, they're both crazy. For a second, I consider standing up and sitting against the lunch counter as I do every day, but I decide to wait it out. Maybe they aren't that bad. Plus, I've never been told I'm beautiful before.

"You must be Micah," RJ says in a voice surprisingly low for a teenager.

I nod. Reaching into my lunch bag, I remove a small Tupperware containing five biscuits. After unlatching the lid, I shove all five of them into my mouth and munch on them soundly. Next, I swallow them and rub my stomach, smiling, even though I know it's stupid.

"Norman has talked a lot about you."

In the past three periods since he met me? Yikes.

Fortunately, lunch passes quickly, and for once I am grateful when the bell rings loudly. I stand up immediately, eager to get away. As I exit the lunchroom and stride down the hall, I run through the new problems introduced today in my head.

1. The fact that RJ is really creeping me out. 

2. The fact that Norman is really creeping me out. 

3. The fact that I somewhat have a boyfriend. 

And 4. The fact that I actually find Norman attractive.