"Fuck, Liza, if you 'pop' your gum one more time, I may just have to 'pop' your fucking brain out!" I yell, jumping up from my chair. The chair slides backward with a screech, causing a number of particularly studious individuals to look up in annoyance. The librarian, however, continued on snoring from where she sat in her usual La-Z-Boy behind the front desk. Truthfully, I've never actually seen her awake.
"Make me." She replied, popping her gum extra loudly just for my benefit, I'm sure.
With a growl I launched myself at her, landing a quick blow to her right jaw. Before I knew it, we were screeching and wrestling on the floor, attempting to claw each others' eyes out. She landed a few good ones, and I could taste the blood in my mouth as a big, burly guy pried me off of her.
"You crazy fucking bitch!" She screamed. To my joy, I found she was bleeding just as much as I was, if not even more.
"Wussy ho-bag slut!" I shot back. Not to mention Barbie stealer. That bitch!
All right, not my best, I admit. But it seemed to do the trick as Liza screamed one last time and tried to get at me, only to be stopped abruptly by Mr. Burly-Man.
"What the hell is the matter with you two?!" He yelled at us.
Ah, I recognized him now. He's that scary gym teacher who always finds a reason to peek into the girls' change room at the 'most opportune moment'.
He seemed to enjoy dragging Liza and I to the principal's office just a little too much for my piece of mind.
The next second we were plunked down in front on the Principal himself. He looked up, startled from the stack of paperwork he had been sorting through.
"What's this all about?" Principal Gomery demanded.
And that's when Liza started the waterworks.
Six hours later, after much explaining and lecturing (neither of which was done by me, by the way), we were finally let out. I, with one week in-school suspension, and Liza with a reprimand.
I walked out of the school slowly; trying to regain my composure for what I knew was coming next.
"So, Evie, during your suspension I expect for that social project to be done. Lord knows you'll have the time." Liza sauntered up to me and grinned maliciously.
And I was right.
"I think I may have hit you a little too hard, Liza dear. You seem to be a bit out of sorts. Or wait, I forgot, you were just as delusional before our little scuffle, weren't you?" I replied in a sickly sweet voice, raising my eyebrow with a cold glare.
"Whatever. I don't have time for this. I have to meet up with Derek in half an hour."
I felt a pang at the mention of my ex-boyfriend; all the hurt welling up inside me and propelling the nastiness inside me forward.
"Really? Silly of me… I figured you'd be after another guy by now. The less to fuck, the better, after all."
She turned bright red.
"Yeah, well at least I'm not a freak!"
I just smiled, even though inside my mind was reeling from all the drama of the last few hours.
Seeing that I wasn't planning to reply, she turned and huffed off towards her Porsche, her Roxy-clad back fading away into the gloomy day.
"Thank the lord." I sighed, collapsing onto the curb.
I listened to myself breathe in and out deeply, trying to calm myself down. All the emotions I was feeling –anger, relief, guilt, sadness- were so strong I felt I was losing myself in them.
I felt just like the freak she had accused me of being. Crappy insult as it was, it was still the truth. Usually I'm the nicest person you could ever hope to meet. But with Liza Poleilli, she brings out the worst in me.
As you can see, the absolute worst.
"Did I really call her a wussy ho-bag?" I asked myself aloud, hanging my head in my hands.
That was just plain pathetic.
Although considering our past together, maybe not so unforgivable. You see, not only is she a Barbie stealer (I still have yet to hear any word of my Nightmare Princess Barbie she stole when I was seven), but she also has a special knack for stealing boyfriends.
Such as Derek, my ex-sweetie. However, I suppose that it was my fault for dating a boy in super-tight pants.
You know what they say; "Never trust a boy in girl jeans. Especially the tight ones."
I groaned and rose to my feet. I still had the problem of going home. The office had already notified my aunt and uncle of what I had been up to, and there was no way I wanted to go and face their Puritanical rage. They weren't exactly the most accepting old people around. In fact, I bet you anything that I was facing being kicked out if I went back.
If I went back… I could always… just… not…
"No." I said aloud. I had nowhere else to go.
I started to walk.
As I got closer to 'my' house, I knew that this was the end for me and my life in the little town of Clareton. Ever since I moved in with them after my grandma died, they've had a problem with me. First, they didn't like my tight jeans. Then it was my piercings (labret and eyebrow, pretty tasteful in my opinion). Then, my choppy hair and 'attitude'. Not to mention the vodka they found in my mini-fridge. Oh, and we can't forget that one time with Bobby in the backseat of their shiny new car… And that one, I repeat one occasion where there was that issue with the goat and the football team…
Okay, so I haven't been the perfect kid. Does that really mean that I had to be sent halfway across the country to my great aunt in Los Angeles? Who has an intense love of lettuce?
Fuck, my face hurts.
As these thoughts were running wild through my mind, I didn't notice a particularly deep crack in the sidewalk. I tripped right over it and landed flat on my face. Ouch. As I began to slowly pry myself off the cement, I noticed something sparkly out of the corner of my eye.
That's when it happened.