The Bad Boy s Problem

Part

Disaster strikes at the worst moments. When you are not ready for it. When you think life is going to go smooth. That is when disaster chooses to strike, and it leaves you crying and begging for the time to fly by.

For me, disaster struck on the first day of classes.

"Tracey!" I groaned my best friend's name, as I eyed the soccer ball sized pimple on my forehead, just above my left eyebrow. God, I did not need this right now. It was the first day of my Sophomore year at Burswick Academy and it started off with a big, fat pimple on my head. I was doomed.

"What is it, Brielle? Why are you groaning so early in the morning?" Tracey asked, buttoning her white shirt.

"There is a pimple on my head! What am I going to do?! It's so big, I can't even hide it, " I complained, cursing God for giving everybody else but me the gift of flawless skin.

"Let me finish putting on my uniform, and I'll help you, " she said from her end of the room.

"Class is going to start in half an hour, hurry up!" I ordered.

"Finish tying your hair, I'm almost ready, " Tracey replied.

"How can you expect me to focus on my hair when there is a pimple the size of Jupiter on my face?" I turned around to glare at my best friend, who just finished putting her blonde hair in a ponytail. Her hair was so soft and shiny it made me jealous. And don't even me started on her skin. Flawless. I was so jealous of her flawless skin, especially right now.

Tracey rolled her eyes at my remark. "Must you always be so dramatic, Brielle?" And then her blue eyes widened as she gazed at my pimple, which had tears pricking my eyes. This was going to be the worst day ever. "Okay, we need to work on that."

"Jee, thanks! I did not realize that!" I seethed. I glanced at the clock sitting on the nightstand between mine and Tracey's bed. It told me that ten minutes have already passed, which left me with twenty minutes to hide the stupid pimple and run to my class.

"Alright, calm down. I may have a concealer in here somewhere." Tracey opened her closet and begun looking for her magic products, the ones that might make this hideous pimple go away. While she was busy searching, I turned to stare at the pimple some more. Yes, I was a masochist.

It was sitting right above my eyebrow. Its face, ugly and pink. No, it was red. Okay, it was pink, and it was hideous. And it was big. I did not need a big, fat pimple on my face on the first day of my Sophomore year, it was a disaster; and it hit my superstition. I believed if the first day of the new academic was not great, then the whole year would not be great. And I needed this year to be perfect.

"Alright, I found my concealer. Let's hide that pimple, " Tracey announced, coming up to me.

"Yes, please, hurry. I'll be late for class, " I murmured as she begun applying the concealer over my pimple.

"Bri, you worry too much. You are never late for class and you never will be. One would have to tie you up to a horse's leg and even then you will manage to break free and make it to class on time, " Tracey stated.

"Well, I can't help it. I hate being late. When you are late, you miss vital information, which means you increase your chances of failing in exams. And I can't take that risk, " I responded.

"Hell will freeze over before you fail, Bri. Don't worry, and there. Your pimple is not so obvious anymore, " Tracey said, taking a step back.

I looked at myself in the mirror, and sure enough, the ugly, pink thing on my forehead was not there anymore. I mean, it was there but it was not ugly and pink anymore. However, I could still see the remains of the bump.

"Tracey, it's still there, " I whined.

Tracey groaned. "Bri, it's fine. It's not even that visible anymore like it was a few seconds ago. Stop stressing out, will you? I'm sure your stress is the reason you got that pimple in the first place. So forget about the pimple and it will go away soon enough. Now, come on. Grab your bag, class is about to start."

Throwing a glare at my invisible pimple, I grabbed my bag and followed Tracey out of our dorm. I could see a few other girls leaving their dorm rooms, their bags slung over their shoulders. Now that the pimple problem was out of the way—sort of—I could focus on the new academic year.

Burswick Academy was located in the north of USA, in a remote part of Illinois, near the Mississipi River. It was one of the best schools in the country, and it provided a great environment for its students. The teachers were dedicated and hard working and made sure the students enjoyed learning, although not many did. Burswick took up acres and acres of land, and there were separate buildings for boys and girls dormitories.

Tracey and I ran towards the academic building, the grand clock at the school's entrance doors telling us that only ten minutes were remaining before our teachers reprimanded us for being late. But since it was the first day, I doubted they would say anything to us.

"Good morming, Mrs. Lemons, " I greeted my English teacher as Tracey and I took our seats at the front bench. Mrs. Lemons was a woman of medium height, in her late thirties with black hair tied up in a bun and warm brown eyes.

"Can't we sit at the back for once?" Tracey grumbled, placing her bag on the floor.

"No, I can't concentrate if we sit at the back." I told her, pulling out my notebook and my stash of colored pens from my bag before dropping it on the floor.

"Why do I have to suffer if you are a nerd?" Tracey complained, flipping open her notebook.

"Because you are my best friend. Oh, by the way, no one is staring at my pimple, right?" I looked around the class, making sure no one was staring at me.

Tracey rolled her eyes. "No, Bri, no one is staring at your pimple."

"Quiet! I don't want people to hear you, " I scolded her.

Just then, the most popular girl of Burswick Academy entered the class followed by her posse. Gemma Wyatt, the school's proverbial queen. The girl with the shiniest black hair and pale gray eyes, with a shiny personality to match. The girl could either be your best friend or your worst enemy. Which was why, a lot of people at Burwick chose to kiss her ass, because no one wanted to get on her bad side. But she was incredibly sweet, which meant that hardly anyone got on her bad side.

"Good morning, Mrs. Lemons, " Gemma greeted, her glossed lip curving in a charming smile. I liked Gemma, I really did, but I tended to keep my distance from her, simply because I was not really a fan of trouble. And being friends with the popular girl usually invited trouble.

"Good morning, Ms. Wyatt. Please take your seats, " Mrs. Lemon said to Gemma and her posse of girls. There were three girls apart from Gemma in her group.

Gemma smiled when she saw me and strode over to where Tracey and I sat. "Hi, Tracey. Hello, Brielle. How are you both? I must say, Bri, I missed seeing your face during Christmas break."

"I'm fine, Gemma, " Tracey answered, with a smile.

"Me, too. And...I missed you, too...I guess, " I replied. I wasn't sure if Gemma's compliments were genuine or fake. Right now, I was more worried about whether she could see my pimple or not.

"Of course. You should have lunch with us today, " Gemma offered.

"Uh, s—sure, that'll be great, " Tracey replied.

"Great." With another beaming smile, Gemma went to sit at her usual spot, which was right in the middle of the classroom.

"I'm not sure if she is genuine or fake." I told Tracey as the students trickled through the door.