Playing The Bad Boy's Game (Completed July 2012) FIRST BOOK SO IT IS CRAP W A R N I N G

Chapter 15: Hunky Little Liar

Heya!  

I just wanted to say thanks for all those people who keep on reading my story and enjoying it!

Taking the time to read my writing and supporting me through all these 15 chapters means a lot to me. 

Thanks,

Love you all!

Sincerely,

‘still-crippled-w/-cast-and-crutches-and-studying-like-crazy-for-exams-since-they’re-in-3-days-and-there-are-still-more-to-come-Mylan’

<3

Theme song:  Truth About Love By P!nk

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Chapter 15:  Hunky Little Liar

RIVYN’S P.O.V

            “So, you got a plan for the party tomorrow?” hissed Klaire.

            I smiled and fixed my lab coat.  “Oh, I know so.”

            “Miss Stevens and Miss DeLor, please show me your work.”

            I got up along with Klaire and we stepped aside for our science teacher to examine.

            “Are you sure you took out the legs?” I nudged her, our back faced to him.

            She shrugged.  “I’m not a scientist, how am I suppose to know?”

            “What about the intestines?” I whispered, playing with the latex gloves.

            Klaire gave me a worried look.  “I was in charge of taking those out?”

            “Mmmhhm,” I nodded, flashing a sheepish smile.

            The science teacher turned around and we quickly straightened our backs.  “Very well done.  Several things need to be arranged but other than that, you’re both heading to an A.” 

            “Thank you,” we chorused, making sure he was out of ear shot.

            Turning back to the table we began to remove the legs of the pig.  “Aw, man,” I gagged, holding my breath.

            “I can believe this is part of the curriculum,” choked Klaire, closing her eyes as a string of red dangled from her glove. 

            “I’m used it,” I said, laughing at her disgusted expression.

            “What?  How?” she questioned, taking a peek at me.

            “Back home, I lived in the downtown area.  My parents were rarely home for eating times and I would usually be the one who arranged the meals, cooking the raw meat.  I went to the butcher’s every Sunday, waiting and watching him as he slaughtered what was going to soon be in my stomach.”

            Klaire gapped at me.  “Are you serious?  I would hate to see, let alone smell, dead animals early in the morning or late at night.”

            I laughed.  “Oh, boy.  If you weren’t used to the rotten-smell, then, yeah, you were going to get a hell of an awakening.”