I wandered the halls, fidgeting with my hands, bleary-eyed. I'd met Drake again, and now I wish I hadn't. Not only was he sweaty and gross, but totally off his rocker, too. Of course he's actually Romanian, but he was born in Canada. This was just some character he was playing, a façade.
Suddenly, I heard a commotion by the office. Girls were shouting, not very loudly, but insistently.
"We want equal rights!" one yelled over the others. "Suffragettes rule!" another said, as the group cheered her on.
"If you have concerns, then you must behave yourselves, or it's detention for the lot of you!" a man shouted back, in a distinctly English accent. He had cloudy white hair, thin glasses, a puffy moustache, and a beige suit. "We'll not have a rrriot in our hallowed halls!" When he rolled his 'r', the girls melted and sighed. Then they left, like he'd scared them off, giggling. It sounded as if they just wanted to rile him up.
"You as well, young lady." he said, pointing at me.
"I'm Garcia, sir. Garcia Romero." I reported.
His eyes lit up, not necessarily in a good way, as he searched for words. "Aaahh... young Mr. Romero. Son of my Vice Principal and our fine French Language teacher, am I correct?"
"Yes, sir." I answered.
"You only just found out recently, if I recall. You must be popular, then, eh? All the beauty and strength of your mother and father, and all the love that trickles down from them."
"Not really." I'd mostly been leaving it out until now, but I was actually getting bullied and neglected regularly, left alone during lunch, excluded from group projects, taunted by older kids, and referred to as 'The Accident'.
Don't forget 'Grim'.
Right, Max's new nickname for me. He'd come up with it after driving "Gar-pee-ah" into the ground, and needing newer material. He said it was because I always wore the same grey zip-up hoodie, every single day. That was only because I didn't own a second one, like everyone else. His insults were getting weaker and weaker. But it caught on anyway, because the other kids noticed I had dark circles around my eyes. And a really stern expression. And a bunch of gothic drawings in my notebooks, of bats and spiderwebs. I maybe... kept drawing them, after Halloween. A lot. I dunno, I just like them. So maybe tha name stuck because a shoe finally fit. That, and it spoke for the way people treated me, too – like some foreboding little monolith. Everyone was keeping their distance, all of them afraid I'd tell on them to my mom, and affect their grades, or worse... risk them not being liked by her. I was, even more-so than last year, completely and utterly alone. Hated. So in a way, calling me 'Grim' was the first time he'd ever acknowledged my pain. I could almost thank him. But, it wouldn't change the misery I was stuck with, either way. I took a deep breath, and let it out. I replied, "I keep to my own, sir."
"My apologies, allow me to introduce myself." He held out his hand, and it twitched a little bit. "I'm Principal Claude Fly."
"Mr. Fly, what was all the hubbub?"
"Ah, here comes the women, am I right?" he chuckled, rubbing his eyes. "There's this new fad called the Sadie Hawkins Dance, when girls ask out boys instead of the usual way. The girls here were LOUDLY demonstrating their interest."
"But girls already ask boys." I said. Not me, obviously, but other ones.
"Yes, exactly. What's the point? As much as I like the idea of a school function, we'll have to think of something else," he said, his hand on his chin. "What do you think, Garcia?"
A light-bulb flicked on in my imagination. "Sir, I have an idea!"

In the end, it worked out. Mr. Fly himself had a good, full laugh at my idea, and he loved it.
"It'll really turn them on their heads," he said.
I'll never forget the faces of my classmates when the change was announced.