My name is Burn and I've never been a size eight.
I'm almost seventeen, I like cigarettes, rocky road ice cream, Friday afternoons, vodka and orange juice, my iPhone and I crave heartache, heartbreak, love sickness and all the stuff that goes with falling in love and being in love, because... it's so goddamn romantic!
Bella and Edward - now that's the love I dream of. Simply can't wait for the day I get to experience that kind of love and all that comes with it.
I suck at math, I diet every single Monday morning to Wednesday lunch time, I spend most Saturday nights dateless and catching up with laundry or shaving my legs just in case I get asked out, and, I don't like Beyonc?.
Why? Because she is so beautiful and perfect and I'm not. Am I jealous of her?
She's friggin' perfect. I mean, ever seen her drunk like a skunk, or should I say, drunk like Mariah at an awards evening? Nooo.
Ever heard of her having a public war of words with Kelly Osborne like Christina did?
Of course not!
Ever seen her showing her vijajay like Brittany Bitch? No.
Ever seen her steal someone's husband like Angelina did? Hell no.
'Great' is the word. I mean, she's a great singer, she looks great, she has a great husband, she has great parents, she has a great sister, she's got great friends, she has a great career, she's got a great clothing line, she's got a great ass and she's got great self-esteem. How do I know that she has great self-esteem?
'Cause she lets Jay-Z work with Rihanna and Alicia Keys. Puhleese! If Jay-Z was my husband, I'd only allow him to work with Joan Collins, Betty White and Ellen Degeneres. Maybe Rosie O' Donnell as well.
But wait, there's more - she has an adorable baby girl called Blue Ivy Carter.
Carter? Like President Carter? Trust her to pick a husband with the surname of a president!
And, unlike Posh, she got her baby girl with her first try!
She's not real, I tell you. I think she's the second most amazing Disney cartoon ever created. (The first is Joan Rivers and the third is Nene.)
Anyho, nuff about me and my jealous rants about Ms Beyonc? Knowles Perfect Carter. Allow me to introduce you to the many facets of my average, if not boring life.
First there's my f**ked up school. (I believe that school is only there because Juvenile Halls are overcrowded.)
Sorry, I digress. Walk with me and you'll see what I mean.
Keep up now!
"So Fung Chin, how often do you shave?" Bud McGraw asks.
Fung Chin is our Chinese exchange student and Bud only talks to him when he wants to make fun of him, so all our ears are pricked knowing that a joke is on its way.
"Eh," Fung Chin looks to the left of the ceiling, drums on his desk with his fingers, looks to the right of the ceiling and says, "Maybe, I shave three day...?" He nods several times. "Three day, yes! I shave three day."
"Reeeally? Every three days, Fungus?" Bud nods almost pleasantly. "And your face?"
Laughter all around the classroom.
Embarrassment and confusion flits across Fung Chin's face.
Harjoon visibly tenses as all eyes rest on him.
I spin around in my chair to glare at Bud. "Leave them alone, dickhead."
His blue eyes widen. "Why Burnt, that's really offensive language you're using, Burnt."
"It's Burn, you moron."
"F**k me! I got your name wrong?" Bud lifts up his finger. "Question everyone ...?"
The class falls silent and brace themselves for Bud's next joke.
"Why is Burn's skin so brown? Answer: Because when Burn was born, they put her into a microwave instead of an incubator!"
The room shakes with laugher.
"Very funny," I say. "Where's your white hoodie, KKK asswipe?"
He high-fives his cousins, Nick McGraw and Bobby Rivers seated next to him.
"You guys need to grow up," I mutter.
"Okay, whatever you say, Banjo Lips!"
Screams of laughter all around as everyone cranes their neck to look at my lips.
I give him the finger.
Nick McGraw and Bobby Rivers aren't offensive with their jokes; they're funny and even entertaining. But they laugh at Bud's offensive jokes, which make me mad at them.
Bud is probably the cutest guy in school. Tall, blue-eyed and ripped. Pity he's such an asshole. It masks his good looks. His cousins Nick and Bobby are also eye-candy and girls go gaga over them.
We are interrupted by the arrival of our substitute teacher.
"Settle down now," he drones. "You can call me Ardie, or you can call me Mr Burbak, if you like." He smiles as he links and unlinks his fingers. "I'm not fussy and I, more than anyone else, would like to ensure a pleasant, but relaxed classroom environment."
He's fiftyish, stocky, lots of salt and pepper, curly hair. He wears a hound's-tooth jacket with leather patch elbows, which I'm guessing, fell out of Noah's ark. His pants are equally out dated - beige corduroy and high-waisted.
He has side-burns -- like that Elvis dude my aunt Carlene likes.
"I'm Armenian," Mr Burbak explains. "Like Kim Khardashian. "Though, I might add, we Armenians generally stay married for a lot longer," he chuckles.
"Now, starting from the back, I would like you to tell me your names." He points at Nick McGraw.
"Coombs," Nick says without hesitation. "Sean Coombs. My friends call me 'Diddy'."
"Nice to meet you, Mr Coombs."
We all start to giggle.