And there was something about her that screamed "overachiever".
Meanwhile, here I was, a newly enrolled senior still figuring out the school's layout. Maybe I should strike up a conversation? Ask her for directions, or better yet, the entire rulebook for how not to embarrass oneself in public.
I should seriously get to know her. She seemed like the type who'd be good to have on your side, someone who knows all the unspoken rules of high school. Plus, there's a certain type of safety befriending the small, studious type. Less chance of being outshined.
I mean, who ever choose the plain old class president over the enigmatic, lone-wolf transfer student? Certainly not anyone with a taste for mystery and sarcasm.
But I'd settle for any acknowledgement at this point. I literally feel like a ghost haunting the mezzanine.
Then, as if the universe itself had decided to punctuate my self-pity with a dramatic flourish, a player from the opposing team launched the ball into the air. With a triumphant shout of, "Mirei Minami, this one's for you!" He nailed a three-pointer that swished through the net perfectly.
The scoreboard flashed 56-53, and the crowd erupted in approval. Why does everyone have to be this confidence? It seriously ruins me! And there, beside me, the so-called class president: Mirei Minami went from serene to flustered, faster than a reaction of a buzzling fly in the summer.
Her cheeks flushed a delicate pink, and her eyes widened just enough to confirm my suspicion: there was definitely something going on between her and the player. Is he Rei Nagakawa? I'm going to start growling again if he is.
Great. Just great. It seems that even in this tiny, meticulously organized school, the lonely gods decided to mock my luck by coupling up the most appealing people.
Seriously, it's like a cosmic rule: if you're attractive, you're already someone's "someone". Meanwhile, here I am, having all of this in my little head, struggling to find my place to fit in.
My mind, ever the overachiever, started filling in the gaps like an overzealous editor. Maybe they aren't exactly "taken", but they're definitely on the brink of being taken.
The clock was ticking, and my chance to mingle with the socially desirable was dwindling faster than a half-off sale on the last day of the year.
I sighed inwardly, resigning myself to the fact that if I didn't act quickly, I'd end up as the guy everyone vaguely remembers but no one particularly notices.
The decision was clear: if I wanted to make an impression, I needed to step up my game further. Otherwise, I would be left on the sidelines, watching the world of high school drama play out like a poorly scripted soap opera.
But then, it hit me, like a stray basketball to the face. All of this is ultimately pointless. All the social gymnastics, the cliques, the students with their immaculate hair and dazzling smiles. It's like we're all starring in our own private soap opera, except the scripts are written by people who don't know about good dialogue.
Honestly, what does it matter who you surround yourself with? At the end of the day, you're still stuck with yourself. If I were afflicted with some rare disease that required constant human contact to survive, I'd rather just kick the bucket, thank you very much.
The truth is, relationships are overrated. I think I have said this before many times, but they're temporary distractions that inevitably crumbles into dust. Why invest in something that's bound to fall apart? It's like building a sandcastle right before high tide.
As I mulled over these deeply philosophical (or maybe just deeply cynical) thoughts, I found myself staring at the flustered class president again. The poor girl just had been publicly adored by Mr. Basketball Star himself, and she looked like she wanted to sink in the floor.
Good for her, I guess. A celebrity in the making, with her own little entourage of admirers. I'd like to think I was rooting for her, but mostly I was just amused.