Cracked.

I just cracked. Snapped. Today.

It's not the best time for me - gotten over *another* guy - well, trying to, anyway - and not exactly the best time of the month for me. But today I cracked.

It was already a bad day - I left my notebook at home, and my new, unfamiliar, year eight/year nine schedule.

At recess, my friends and I went to the brand new, too small, smells-like-ammonia cafeteria to meet up with one of my friend's new boyfriend. Jimmy is really sweet and nice and cute, and I'm so jealous of my friend - not that I like him in that way, but the fact that she's got someone who's not some flea-bitten, moral-lacking hoebag.

Jimmy is really sweet - and funny - and he treats my friend like a princess. It was hard sitting there, my self-control and tolerence waning fast, with the prettiest girls in the school, one of which had the perfect boyfriend.

I survived the day. I was proud of myself. Normally I would've snapped.

It was on the way to the train station when I heard a voice say "Did you ask John out?"

John was that guy I was talking about on one of my earlier posts. Yeah, that guy. The Perfect One.

I was overconfident, totally over BSC and eager to bury myself in a new world of exciting opportunities. I asked John to go to a gathering, a sort of hook-up thing Jimmy's girlfriend devised to get my other friend and I hooked up. Publicly, in front of all his airhead friends, he said no.

That was shattering, but I could take it. Rejection is cold, bitter, painful, but bearable. I'm thirteen, been there, done that, and I could take it when some idiot rejected my own personal brand of radness.

What I *couldn't* take when he boasted about it. Some nerd who takes year nine classes asked me out. First month. Aren't I hot?

He told all the year eights. Half the year nines. Most of the year tens. For all the Americans, that's most of the freshmans, sophomores and juniors.

That's nearly half the school.

That was harder to take. It was like having my heart ripped apart, both bits dunked in acid, then stuffed back into my body.

Several Kleenexes and sleepless, teary nights later, I got over it. It wasn't as long and as drawn out as the whole BSC saga. Well, not really.

I was fine until John's best friend coughed 'rejected' everytime he saw me, causing laughter to ripple through the whole stupid group.

He stopped, eventually, because I showed no emotion when he did it. I was used to containing it. Of course it hurt, and I wished I could rip his miserable little throat out and scream at him that he knew *nothing* about all of this shit. But I didn't. I buried myself in my studies, teased my friends about their respective crushes, even though I was secretly thinking that they had so much more chance of making anything work than I did. And I had no idea why.

But it faded over a couple of weeks. I confronted John, but he laughed it off. I dropped it. I wanted to make him cry and blubber pathetically like I had, I wanted everyone to laugh at *him* instead of me. But that wasn't going to happen. So I dropped it. Anger is a deadly poison.

Then, today, that idiot airhead called out 'Did you ask out John?'

I felt like murdering her. How many boyfriends, perfect, gorgeous boys that had treated her like a princess, had she thrown away? How many times had a guy turned her down in front of the whole grade? How many times had she been the dog chasing the uncatchable car? She was probably the goddamn Aston Martin.

Cool and calm, I replied 'Maybe'.

'Maybe' really pisses them off. They can't comprehend that 'maybe' means 'I don't want to talk about this, bitch. Back off before I kill you'. They want a 'yes', which means they can outright tease me, or a 'no', so they could have the chance to say 'I bet you did'.

She seemed a bit shocked. 'Oh. It's just that everyone's talking about it"

My calm and collected cool mood evaporated. It was replaced by ice - cold and deadly.

"What business is that of yours?" I asked her coldly. I stalked off.

I don't care I've made another enemy. I don't care. I'll make a thousand enemies. A million enemies. The whole world can hate me.

But never again will I *ever* be laughing stock.