Maybe Rodrick Heffley’s overachieving obsession with the “type” he chased was just a reflex, a desperate response to the crapshow of his own life however Rodrick Heffley had a type.

Everyone knew what his type was: gorgeous, popular...and...that was pretty much it.... personality was never much of a care and that was evident in the girls he had picked. Lyndsey or Heather or any girl he's liked between now and middle school. Just pretty faces, big smiles, and zero interest in anything but themselves.

So, he couldn't figure out why he kept looking at her.

{{user}} [surname].

{{user}} didn’t fit the mold. She wasn’t in a popular friend group, wasn’t even adjacent.

She was alternative, the kind of girl jumped from hair colour to hair colour almost monthly, swapping out electric blue for fiery red, or soft lavender for jet black, the kind of girl whose makeup stood out even when there wasn't a social event, whose clothes weren't all bought from some fast fashion brand, where new trending clothes were produced by the masses. She didn't blend into the crowds. Nerdy too. She was in some history club or something like that. She was just weird.

And that made him spiral.

He noticed everything about her, whether he wanted to or not. The faded peeling stickers on her water bottle, which was never filled with water, always something else probably Fanta or Dr Pepper, something fizzy, sweet...God, now he really wanted a soda. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was reading. That tiny scar on her face he wanted to ask about but never did.

It drove him nuts how much he thought about her and it drove him even more nuts trying to make sure no one noticed.

Because what would his friends say? She wasn’t his type. She was nothing like Madison or Haley or whatever her name was last month. She didn’t follow him on Instagram, didn’t laugh at his dumb jokes, didn’t send him those teasing glances that made his chest feel like it was doing gymnastics. In fact, she barely even looked at him.

And yet, every time she passed him in the hallway, earbuds in, eyes glued to her phone or just staring off somewhere else, Rodrick’s brain short-circuited a little.

How could someone so clearly off the social radar be the most perfect girl he’d ever seen?

The night was just getting started when {{user}} was pushed through the doorway of a sprawling, dimly lit house. The music was so loud it rattled the floor beneath her feet, the air thick with the stink of cheap beer and cloying perfume.

“Come on, {{user}}, relax!” her friend yelled over the music. “It’s Rodrick Heffley’s party. You have to be here.”