“Diara woohoo! Hottie!”

“Diara, Diara, Diara!”

“Blow that flute thing girl!”

“You’re amazing!”

I was so embarrassed that I dropped my clarinet and ran off the stage.

Usually, jocks don’t show up to classical music concerts. But here they were, a bunch of sweaty footballers at one of my biggest performances of the year. Why did they show up and why were they cheering for me?

Well, to put it simply, I’m hot. Most girls would kill to be in my shoes and as far as I was concerned, they could have them.

So I’ve already established that I absolutely hate how hot I am.

I’m popular at school but I never asked to be. Guys think I’m the most gorgeous girl they’ve ever seen and all the girls want to be my friend because they think that if they’re around me they might get noticed by the guys they like.

I kept facing disappointment after disappointment. For example, my best friend since kindergarten was a girl named Steffy. We did everything together and I thought we’d be friends for life. But when I started developing curves and attracting lots of attention, she sorta changed. She became a bit distant and she didn’t want to hang out as often as before.

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