It would be another year and a half before my own boobs showed up, and as much as I thought it would be a blessing, it really wasn’t. No bras fit me well enough to be comfortable, and any that did were just hideous. I secretly wished I could wear sexy ones like Claire Denim— she’d insisted on pulling part of the sexy black lace bra she wears beneath her thin white blouse out for her ‘friends’ to examine. I knew it was more for Dylan’s attention.
My hair is the worst too. The texture is thick and frizzy no matter what the shampoos promise they’ll do. I have no option but to plaster it to my head with hairspray in a tight ponytail, which earns me even more nicknames such as ‘Forehead Fiona’ and the such. School sucks.
I’m in English, minding my own business when my teachers ask me to take something down to the office. I jump up, glad to be given some freedom, even for a short while. The school corridors are empty, and the only sound is my shoes squeaking on the floor as I walk, taking my sweet time.
The office is right at the school's front, so there are four flights of stairs and a long corridor to maneuver before you even see it. So as I turn the corner of the end of the lengthy corridor, I stop, paralysed with fear.
There, in front of me, is Dylan Charmer.
He’s slumped on a plastic-backed chair, his arms folded and his head lolling towards me lazily.
“Rudolph. You've been a bad girl?” he teases, a lopsided grin on his lips.
“No, just bringing something down,” I squeak out, my knees threatening to buckle beneath me.
He rolls his eyes before exhaling, losing interest in me as I push the doors open to the office. The receptionist glances up at me, frowning down her nose as I place the folders I’m holding onto her desk.
“Back to class now, Meredith,” she chirps. “Send Dylan in for me, would you?”
I nod, backing out of the door. I stand like a statue, wringing my hands together as Dylan totally ignores me.
I take the opportunity to study him up close, the telltale signs of his seventeen-year-old stubble shadowing his face. His tie is loose, his blazer hanging on the back of the chair like it didn’t even belong to him.
Maybe it didn’t.
“Uh, Dylan,” I mumble, staring at the floor as he turns towards me.
“Jesus, why are you so red? Are you having some kind of allergic reaction?” Dylan frowns, a look of concern on his face.
“What?” I whisper in horror, my hands flying to my scalding cheeks. “No, um…”
My words won’t come out, and worst of all, Dylan is staring at me like I’ve grown another head.
“They want you to go in there,” I choke out, walking away from him as fast as my jelly legs could carry me.
“Take a chill pill, Merry.” Dylan's voice follows me down the hall. I round the corner, clutching my chest as I try to steady myself, big deep breaths that never work racking my body. Fat, salty tears stream down my face, and I close my eyes, wondering what made my body react so violently to Dylan Charmer.
