Page 1 of A Really Gay Book
ChapterOne
APPLE
“Lucky in life, unlucky in love.”
That’s what the kook psychic my mom dragged me to as a baby proclaimed the moment she laid eyes on me.
Unfortunately, she wasn’t as much of a kook as my dad claimed her to be.
Hi, my name is Apple. Shut up. I know it’s a stupid name, but I don’t care. My grandma picked it out, and I love her, so you can go eat rocks if you don’t like it. I’m cool as fuck, so I can pull it off. Yes, I know that sounds cocky, but sadly, it’s painfully true.
Why would I use the wordsadlywhen being cool is universally considered a great thing? Because I can’t control the coolness.
Not even a little.
No matter what I do, everything works out perfectly for me on the first try.
I don’t have to do my hair in the morning because I wake up with it looking like a team of K-pop stylists kidnapped me and had their way with my head for two hours.
I’ve been described as cherubesque on more than one occasion. It’s the curly blond hair and blue eyes. I may also be a touch on the short side. The whole package draws people in like starving flies to a shit pie. Sigh.
When I made a cake for the first time, it looked like something Mary Berry would eat her heart out over.
Riding a bike? My first attempt ended up saving a school bus full of children.
If I was on a plane and the pilot and copilot passed out, I could successfully land the damn thing.
Ask me how I know.
Why is all this good luck a bad thing, you ask?
Why did I just kick the crumpled-up hundred-dollar bill into a storm drain as I made my way to class?
Wonderful question. I’m so glad you asked.
Do you have any idea how boring life is when everything works out perfectly the first time you try?
I’d never had a challenge. Never needed to exert myself a single time. And when I did attempt to put forth the effort to accomplish something above and beyond the perfection I was already capable of, everyone and their brother came out of the woodwork to do it for me instead.
I didn’t need the stupid hundred-dollar bill I’d sent off to a watery grave. I had a mystery uncle leave me his entire billion-dollar estate on my seventh birthday.
Both of my parents are only children, and both sets of my grandparents are still scratching their heads over the situation.
Yes, I know it sounds like I’m complaining that my diamond shoes are just a smidge too sparkly, but come on. Can you honestly tell me that you’d enjoy a life where you have to fight for the right to use the bathroom by yourself? Everyone in my life wanted to do EVERYTHING for me.
When I turned in an assignment at school, I inevitably discovered that there were already three different versions of it that had already been submitted in my name.
You’d think I’d have gotten in trouble for something like that, but no. Every teacher I’d ever had was irrationally understanding about my ‘situation.’
“It’s not your fault, Apple,” my English teacher told me once. “Someone like you is bound to get more than their fair share of attention.”
I’d been long used to such things. If it wasn’t for my need to not become a drooling moron, I’d have allowed the world to carry me through life on a golden litter and smooth over every tiny bump ages ago.
But no. I absolutely refused to be turned into an overbred, pampered housecat.
I’d made sure no teacher of mine would accept any assignment in my name unless it was given to them directly from my hands.
I had the phrase “No Hugs” printed across the chest of every shirt I own. Somehow, I ended up getting my own clothing line out of it, but I don’t get random hugs as much anymore, so I’ve chosen not to be mad about it.
