Goody, Like Two Shoes

The first time I realised that I was different from the other kids my age was when I was six.

It had been a warm, sunny, summer day; one of those perfect days for kids to play in the street, among their neighbours.
The type of day where it's light until around nine in the evening; where kids sit together on the sidewalk, sharing ice-cream, and adults converge in the largest neighbourhood garden, sharing news and gossip.

I, though, found myself at the kitchen table, my bright blue eyes - that were hidden behind glasses, seemingly magnified - were glued to the third grade maths book in front of me.

That coming school term, multiplication would be on the curriculum, and I had to learn how to do it before school started.

As far back as I could remember, I'd always loved to learn, to find out new things.
And, for some strange reason, that's why others didn't seem to like me that much.

I'd rather have my head in a Tolkien book, at age six, than socialize, and this worried my parents; they'd always thought - or hoped - I'd grow out of it, though ...
but I never did.

By the age of ten, I was set on being an astronaut, or, at least, getting a job at NASA.
Next, when I was fourteen, I was convinced that I'd get into the chemistry business.
But now, at seventeen, I wanted to be a zoologist; and I'd dedicated myself to my studies and school work.

And then there was school - half heaven, half hell.

Heaven : because I could learn, broaden my knowledge, test myself.

Hell: because I was constantly taunted, teased and tormented, classed year geek #1, where my fellow classmates would snigger if I ever raised my hand to answer a question.

My parents were proud of me, of course they were - I was a grade A student - but, sometimes, I'd overhear them talking, talking about how I'd never triumphed to have a relationship that lasted more than three weeks, and how they had never seen any of my friends, or if I even had any, for that matter.

What really bugged me though - about my last "relationship" with a boy named Collin - was that my mother and father had placed a bet that it wouldn't last.

My mother had said that it would last three weeks, at most.

My father had chosen one and a half weeks, "if it even lasted that long".

They didn't know I knew about it.

One week and two days later, Collin dumped me, saying that it wasn't meant to be.
But I really knew that it was because my knowledge of Startrek wasn't the best.

That night, I'd heard my dad ask my mom for the twenty dollars that she owed him.

So, from that point onward, I'd pretty much vowed myself to a life of chastity.
Well, that was until I watched "Pride and Prejudice" a month later, and decided that I wanted some whirlwind romance, for some beautifully-spoken, handsome, English man to sweep me off my feet and vow to never leave me.
Heh, but that'd never happen. It'd never happen to me; world class "geek".

No alluring English man would ever want me; but, maybe, I'd have a chance with some American, dim-witted, teenage boy with the IQ of a tinned pineapple.

I'd quickly made an improvement to my To-Do list:

1 : Return Aristotle books to the library
2 : Wish Great Aunt Lou a happy birthday
3 : Hand in zootomy essay to Mr. Malone (before due date)
4 : Take Muffin - the dog - for a trim
5 : Get a boyfriend!
6 : Make sure that said boy has at least some brain cells!

I was going to show mom and dad that I, Sasha Rowland, Einstein-wannabe, could - possibly - (deep down) be a normal person