PEPSI'S POV

"I don't think your face powder is enough, Pumpkin poop. Just finish the whole bottle up." I find myself grinning at my beloved grandma Mirinda's sarcastic remark. 

History time; the names of everyone from our family were derived from soda brands around the world. It actually rooted in the typo error of our state government's vital records in Grams' birth certificate. Her name was supposed to be Miranda but because of that single-letter mistake, we became a whole clan of sodas in no time. At first, Grams' parents didn't know that Mirinda was actually a soda, Pepsi's version of Coke's Fanta, and when they did, they started having an obsession with soda names.

My late mom's name is Mountain Dew—of course, I'm kidding. Her actual name is Fanta Grace Lane because my grandparents' theme color during their wedding was orange, and I thought that they were just finding an excuse to make her name out of a soda.

And then there's me, the tastiest of them all: Pepsi. Pepsi Anika Lane. For some reason though, I don't think it suits me. My personality is dry as fuck and I like drinking water a lot instead of those unhealthy carbonated drinks. Good thing I wasn't named after 7-up because that would sound weird as hell.

I have an older brother, Sprite Justin. He's ten years my senior and works as a nurse overseas. He's almost thirty and perpetually single—not secretly in the closet, just dedicated to making sure I finish high school. When I tried to get a part-time job at a local diner, it led to a huge argument. He insists I focus on school and take care of Grams after hours because she's all we've got.

Ten years ago, our house burned down due to our nanny's carelessness. She was grilling BBQ on the front porch and recklessly lit her cigarette so there you go. The propane tank exploded and ripped out our entire house.

My parents were in their room while I was playing hide and seek with Lola, our Sphynx cat, in the backyard. Sprite was at school, so he didn't witness the traumatic event firsthand. The fire spread quickly, trapping my parents in their room. By the time the firefighters arrived, it was too late. I remember crying endlessly when I saw their burned bodies. It was shocking, sudden, and traumatic; I was only eight years old. It happened in broad daylight, and I still remember every detail as if it were yesterday—the debris scattered across the yard, burnt clothes, plywood, my toy kitchen, dolls, torn books, mangled furniture, and, of course, our parents' lifeless bodies.

Sprite has been serving as my father ever since our parents went to heaven. He worked at the local cinema in the evening after school hours until he reached college and finally graduated.

When he moved to Europe, I was left alone with Grams in her old, family house. Grams and Sprite are my only family now, and I don't know what I'm going to do without them.

Grams is already eighty-five years old but she's still full of energy. You would always find her in front of our desktop computer dancing Zumba routines by just following the steps on Youtube. I have taught her how to navigate the computer and the internet. She's also a pro at Mobile Legends and Genshin Impact. I'm just worried about her health because she's having this shortness of breath and high blood pressure sometimes. I always scold her and tell her that at her age, she should just be sitting on the front porch and catching some fresh air and not tire herself from playing games and dancing actively like she's sweet sixteen.

She's like my mother and best friend combined, and I seriously don't know what I'm going to do when her time finally comes. There's just the two of us here in this house for the past seven years. 

I look at my reflection in the mirror and smile at the horrible sight. I am fully aware of how much makeup foundation and face powder I am throwing on my face. 

The paler and scarier I look, the better...

This is my daily make-up routine. I'm first using Chanel liquid foundation before sprinkling this baby powder on my face like there's no tomorrow, and no, I'm not an obsessed fan of Sadako from The Ring Japanese movie nor auditioning for an extra role for a horror movie.

So after that, I would apply this liquid eyeliner around my eyes. The stroke should be thick and long...if you know what I mean.

Since this has been my make-up routine for the past six years, I can do this as fast as a cat can snatch our food from the kitchen counter.

After donning my usual all-black get-up, I finally turn to my sweet old grandma and kiss her on her saggy cheek.

"Gotta go, Grams. Behave, okay?" I tease her.

"Take care, Pumpkin. Especially from the boys," she warns gummily. She probably forgot her dentures on the top of the fridge again.

"It's the other way around, Grams." I meaningfully smirk at her.

****

My first class starts at 8 a.m. but I went to school earlier because I needed to find a particular book from the library. I can feel the scared glances and reactions as if I have this kind of communicable disease as I walk down the hallway.

I have quite a scary reputation at school. Almost all students are apparently afraid of me because of how I look and for some other reasons, but to be honest, I'm enjoying the look of caution and horror on their stupid faces whenever I stare at them right into their eyes.

It feels good to be different. To be unique. To jump off the bandwagon and have my own identity. I don't want to be like those Instagram-obsessed and narcissistic girls with feed, travel, and relationship goals who lose themselves in the process of fitting into trendy circles. 

But who knows? I don't give a shit about them. They are all just a bunch of Gen Z shits who only care about their appearance and social media fame and depend on their self-esteem on "likes".

I also don't have any friends. I didn't go to school to socialize. I came to learn. I love being alone, and I find comfort in it. I only talk to my classmates if needed and if it is related to the subject and other school stuff. Graduating is my only goal, and fake people are not on my priority list.

I take out a notebook and some notes from my locker and when I close it, something catches my attention.

Are those two freaking flies having sex? I squint my eyes and look closer.

Oh, for fucking out loud.

They're indeed two obese flies having sex inside the keyhole. The fatter one, which I presume is the male is bobbing on top of the poor female like in a doggie position or whatever. 

I'm busy staring at these two horny little creatures, totally amused by their little act when I felt someone looking at me.

I turn around and our eyes meet.

In a split second, I have already recognized those bluish-grayish eyes, or somewhere in between. I'm not sure what their exact color is because we really never bumped into each other or at least stood near each other.

Jakeson Snyder. The most popular and handsome guy at this school...and the ultimate heartbreaker.

My heartbeat races. Why is he staring at me? Does he need anything? This is our last year in high school but I'm pretty sure that this is the first time that our eyes have met.

He looks scared and curious at the same time. Maybe there is some dirt on my face? I suddenly felt conscious about how I looked.

Our staring contest is cut off when his best friend Zeus calls him. So there goes Jerk number 2. He is with Marcus, the third one, and Sierra, the hottest girl in this school, and Jake's current girlfriend. Yes, current because this guy used to change girlfriends like how he changes his shirt; every day. Their squad of jerks thinks that they own the school and I sometimes murder their obnoxious existence in my head.

I slowly shake my head and immediately storm out of their view. I don't want to be associated with these spoiled brats in any way.

After getting that particular book from the library, I finally headed to my favorite spot; on this bench in Little Park. There are fewer students around since most are in class. As for me? I relish being outside and alone. 

I look up at the blue, cloudless sky and close my eyes to inhale the morning air and the wonders of nature. It is so relaxing and is making me feel at peace...

When I open my eyes, I notice a familiar pair of eyes staring at me from a second-floor window. I squint and realize it's Snyder again.

Why are my hands shaking? I'm not comfortable with him staring at me; it feels like he's invading my personal space. He must need something from me—there's no other reason he'd suddenly be noticing me.

I throw him a menacing look and despite my efforts to scare him, the motherfucker just threw a wink at me and I almost dropped my book from my lap in surprise.

I look away and continue reading my book but I cannot damn concentrate as I can still feel his eyes on me. I look up and immediately regret it because it just validated my thoughts.

This is bullshit. 

I nonchalantly get up and throw him another sharp look and this time, I bulge my eyes out as big as I can for the purpose of creeping him out but the jerk instead smiled at me— the kind of smile which shows his teeth. Even from afar, they look so white and I swear they kind of sparkle against the rays of the sun just like those in toothpaste commercials.

What's the catch anyway? 

Is he trying to flirt with me this time? 

I won't be surprised because this guy even dated a girl who has armpits that smelled like rotten tuna, diarrhea, and a thousand-year-old dirty canal combined. You can literally smell her from like twelve feet away and everyone knows she's coming even though she has not entered the classroom yet. Also, whenever she's in the dining hall, almost everyone will stop eating because they will automatically lose their appetite. I don't know how Snyder managed to put up with that. The guy had some kind of obsession with trying out different kinds of girls until Sierra came. They actually look pretty good together anyway, physically speaking.

I look away and walk back inside the building. It's just weird why my heartbeat is still hammering against my chest. I admit he's very good-looking, like extremely good-looking with that messy quiff of dark hair, piercing blue eyes, and tattooed neck and arms, but I will never fall into his charms.

Never, ever.

Over my dead body.

Peps, a boy looking at you doesn't necessarily mean that he likes you. Maybe he's just amused because you're ugly as fuck? Stop assuming things.

And why would I fucking assume? The hell I care about what he thinks? I really want to curse this little voice inside my head. Guys like Jake and his friends are nothing but trouble disguised in pretty packages and as much as possible, we should stay away from them because they only mean two things: chaos and heartbreaks.

****

My last class in the morning just finished, and I'm on my way to the cafeteria for lunch.

 A few moments later, I felt someone's presence behind me. 

I close my eyes when I realize that the presence's energy is familiar. 

There's no way that it's him again. 

I stop in my tracks to look back in slow motion.

Good thing the foundation in my face was able to conceal my blush when my guess betrayed me.

And why are you blushing in the first place?

I'm blushing because this guy is fucking irritating.

Of course, I won't give him any signs that I am actually affected by his presence, and when I say affected, it's in a negative way.

"Hey... It's Pepsi, right?" he greets me with a smug look on his face. How can he look like a snob and a charmer at the same time?

I admit, his sex appeal is really strong, like an earthquake with a magnitude of sixty-nine. I won't deny things and I'll give him that. He has this snobbish bad boy thing going around him, the kind of appeal girls would spread their legs for in a heartbeat. His signature look just intensifies it; a mass of slightly curly hair, striking blue-grey eyes, pierced ear, denim vest, long, black leather V-neck shirt, and black army boots.

There's only like a meter between us at this moment, making his masculine scent mixed with some expensive male perfume reach my sensitive nostrils.

"You done checking me out?" he asks with a corner of his lips quirking up into a conceited smile.

My breathing hikes at the realization of my actions. I nonchalantly return my eyes to his and just raise an eyebrow. My lips are just pressed into a hard line and I don't have any plans of opening my mouth. I just stare at him, poker-faced.

He leans even closer and asks, "Are you deaf or what,"

I just stand still with the same expression.

"Hey girl, don't you know how to speak?" I can make out from his sudden change in expression that he's starting to get irritated.

I still stand my decision of not responding to him. He steps closer towards me until there are only a few inches between our faces.

Holding my breath, I stare back at him and realize that his eyes are actually gray with some flecks of gold in them, though they look blue at first glance. They look so cold and interesting at the same time. I think his eyelashes are longer than mine and... does he have any pores?

From being irritated, his lips start to form into a devious smile.

"You actually look pretty up close," he softly utters, and I step back in surprise. I didn't expect to receive a compliment from Jake Snyder.

A triumphant smile comes out of his lips, which infuriates my skull.

Does he think that I'm just like any other girl? Nope. In his fucking dreams. He should be scared of me, just like everyone else.

I give him a sweet smile before stepping forward again. I then lean closer to his face and whisper next to his ear in the most sensual voice I can muster,

"You don't look bad yourself, baby boy."

A different kind of excitement engulfs me when I notice how his ears reddened as a reaction. Well, looks like the playboy didn't assess and study his new target this time.

Mr. Snyder, just so you know, in every game, there are at least two players...

*****To be continued*****

A/N:
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