"[voice-over] There are times in your life when you find yourself in very awkward situations. And this would be one of those moments. But I swear, it's not like I'm selling my kidney or anything. Although, that would have been less painful. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me start at the beginning. This is my dad. Dad built engines for race cars. And so did I. Ignore the pigtails. I was more naive back then. Because of his work, I changed schools two times a year for the past eight years. This doesn't make me a loner with a highly evolved defense mechanism or anything. OK, fine, it does. Today, everything was about to change. It was my first day at North Shore High, the last stop before Carnegie Mellon University, my dream school. My rules of survival were simple: Don't stand out, never raise your hand in class and watch your back at all times. New town, same school, same parking lot. Everyone obsessed with the freedom of their first car. It's an identity, like the muscle cars who think they own the road, and check out every passing vehicle. Smart cars who don't fit in. The "I'm so perky I might shake off my tube top" cutesy cars. And then there's the most dangerous vehicle on the road, the high-performance, high-maintenance sports cars. If they liked you, your life was all green lights. If they didn't, you were nothing more than a wreck on the side of the road. At North Shore, they were called the Plastics, and Mandi Weatherly was the number one Plastic. She dotted her name with a signature heart above the "i". Probably because she didn't actually possess that organ. Her two sidekicks were Chastity Meyer, who was stupid enough to hit a home run with any boy willing to play, and Hope Plotkin, uber-hypochondriac, who believed that germs led to ugliness, and ugliness led to death. And thus, my number one rule for survival: no girl drama. Actually, no drama, period. And in high school, an already embarrassing moment can go from bad... to worse."