Robin, Boy Virgin: Original Series

LG's. I used to think that they were a type of flip, cell phone. That was before Clarissa informed me at lunch about the other definition of LG.

LG stands for "little girl", or rather, a girl in a younger grade. It's a demeaning, condescending term that is not used in the LGs presences. Also, there are LBs, "little boys". LGs are generally, from what I understand, bitchy little wanna-be's and LB's are bratty little players.

It was a group of LG's that had made the flyer and put it up on my locker. How do I know this? Simple observation, friends.

We were sitting in the cafeteria and by 'we' I mean all five members, including Cora. I had, begrudgingly, told the others what had happened that morning. I didn't want to say it in front of Clarissa because I had a feeling she'd be a two-faced back-stabber and go ahead and tell everyone about it, but I also felt that I owed it to Harold and our friendship to tell him.

I wished that I could just tell Clarissa and Max to get lost for ten minutes but that's not really an acceptable thing to ask of someone.

"... Robin?" Max spoke up after I'd finished my story and was poking unhappily at this limp macaroni and cheese from the cafeteria kitchen.

"What?" I said, without looking up.

"Was the flyer on white paper?" Max asked. Wouldn't one assume that a flyer is on white paper? Jesus, Max, get it together.

"Uh, yeah," I said obviously and then looked up sharply.

"Why?" I asked. Max looked at me and his eyes were sympathetic. Oh craaap. History has taught me to believe that this is a bad sign.

"Grade eleven LGs are sitting at the populars' table," Max said simply. That's when I got confused about the LGs and Clarissa explained it to me.

"Those little fuckers," Cora said vindictively, narrowing her eyes at the popular table. Her tone made me smile even though this was not a smiling situation.

Some grade eleven little girls were sitting at the popular table. They were basking in the attention they were receiving, batting their eyelashes at the boys and grinning at the girls. And in the midst of them all was one or two white pieces of paper.

If you are not a detective, I'll spell it out for you: those little fuckers made that flyer of me to get in with the senior popular people. I have to admit, it was a stroke of brilliance on their part, even if I was the one suffering for it.

"Do you think they're going to make copies of that flyer?" I asked darkly.

"No. That's too Mean Girls. Stuff like that doesn't happen in real life," Harold spoke up immediately. Dude, why did you make a Mean Girls reference? But he had a point.

"Yeah, yeah. Maybe," I muttered. I looked at Cora, for some dumb reason thinking she had experience dealing with situations like this.

"We'll kick their asses if they do, Boy Wonder," Cora promised me, stealing my fork and stabbing at a piece of macaroni.

"At least, we'll help you shred the flyers," Harold promised me realistically. Cora put the macaroni in her mouth and recoiled.

"Mm," She said and spat the pasta out discreetly into her hand.

"That's disgusting," She said, immediately washing the taste out of her mouth with her can of Coke. Max and Clarissa went to dump out their food and Harold finished all of his macaroni like the commitment kind of guy he is.

Cora and I went to Music Composition when the bell rang. As lousy as my day was, I still appreciated this new friendship thing with her. I had the feeling Cora would be good person to have in my corner.

In the practice room, Cora played single notes on the piano and I played around on the guitar.

Abruptly, Cora sighed and stood up. She walked a few steps over to the narrow desk and lay down on top of it, one knee bent up and one arm extending off the side. The other arm was lying on her chest.

You know the expression, "laid out on a platter"? That's what popped into my head when Cora sprawled out like that on the desk.

"Comfortable?" I asked rhetorically.

"Mmm, anything is comfortable right now," Cora said closing her eyes and yawning. Again with the yawning? Is Music Composition so boring to her? Or... maybe I'M the thing boring her. That doesn't make sense. I myself might be boring as beans, but all the shit that happens around me is not boring.

"Why are you so tired?" I demanded of her.

"Unpacking. Moving is stressful," Cora sighed, closing her eyes. The way she sighed, like she was falling asleep, was a too sexy thing. Her answer surprised me though, because it was so normal.

"Oh," Was the only answer I could come up with. Brilliant. Genius. Dumbass.

I turned my attention to the guitar again.

"Boy Wonder?" Cora spoke up sleepily. I grunted. I still don't like that nick name.

"Will you write a song for me?" She requested. I paused and then shrugged. I picked out a simple, pretty little melody on the guitar. It only had four musical phrases before returning to the first again. But it was nice none the less if I do say so myself.

"Again," Cora demanded when I'd finished. I played it again.

"Will you teach it to me?" Cora asked. You're kind of napping, homie.

"Right now?" I asked doubtfully.

"No. Just... will you teach it to me? On the guitar I mean?" Cora said, opening her blue eyes into slits.

"Sure," I promised. It was an easy promise. Cora smiled and closed her eyes. God, she looked like a sexy delicacy on a narrow, wooden platter.

"It's gonna be ok," Cora said suddenly. Yeah, maybe one day. I'm predicting sometime in June my life will return to being ok.

"Yeah? I hope so," I muttered.

"It will be ok," Cora said stubbornly.

"... thanks Cora," I said.

"Anytime, Boy Wonder," She said and turned her head to face the wall. I hate that nick name.