A F F E C T I O N

s i x

I hate her.

I have never hated someone like this. It burns through my veins and makes my belly feel roiled and hot. I could strangle her (mentally. She looks really strong, if I'm being realistic. You know my arm strength.)

"Ugh, it's her." One of the friends snarls as I walk past their table. I sigh. Raise my head. Keep walking.

"Caroleena, where've you been?" Kennedy asks as I drop my bag on their corner table. She reaches out and hugs me with her skinny bracelet-adorned arms. Her hair, dark as mahogany and straight down to her waist, smells like cinnamon. You always liked her the best of my friends.

"Around. You know," I shrug, and she pouts.

"I saw. Can you believe they're here?" Her voice drops in disdain; this has been our (my friends) lunchtime haunt since sophomore year.

"So. Rude." Prue adds, sipping her mocha with a sneer. "Is Maya coming?"

"No, she left second class. Appointment." I sit in the chain facing away from them and take a sip of the coffee they ordered for me. Medium roast and delicious.

"So, are you okay?" Phoebe gives me the big blue Pity Eyes. Her strawberry blond hair piled into a sexily messy knot at the top of her head.

"I'm okay."

Kennedy grins with lots of teeth and burgundy matte lipstick. "You hate her."

They turn to me and I bite my lip for a second. Two. Three. "Okay, yeah."

"Don't look so guilty, Caro." Phoebe laughs, propping her head on her fist. "So Maya says we can't take revenge."

"No."

"Dude," Prue stares at me. "Why not?"

"But... I have so many ideas." Kennedy makes her Mad Scientist Fingers, and everyone trills. "Like... ugh, really?"

"Really. Can we talk about something else?"

Laughter rises from across the café, and the girls look. I don't, because I know whose responsible. I know they're talking about me.

"Permission to fire?" Kennedy asks, staring at the other group with dark, narrowed eyes. She is amazing at planning; pranks, sleepovers, revenge, you name it she can plan and execute it exceptionally.

"You don't know they're laughing about me." I tell them, and Phoebe laughs sarcastically.

"I heard ex and loser. Pretty sure they were talking about you, babe." I hear my name, and a loud obnoxious laugh that belongs to her best friend, Alex.

"That's it." Kennedy is gone. Black mini-dress swishing, heels clacking, hair whirling.

The laughter stops before she arrives. You know how she looks when someone calls her a slut, now times that by twelve. She's a thundercloud of eyeliner, protectiveness and scary dark lipstick.

"What did you just say?" She asks, popping her hip and crossing her arms. She looks stunningly dangerous, even in her three-inch booties and short swishy dress. Her patterned stockings add to the effect.

Then, I notice she brought her skinny frappé. Oh, God.

Your girlfriend mouths off, I don't know what she says but Kennedy bristles. This results in iced coffee flying and some squeals.

She stalks back to the table with the smile of a cat that ate the canary and the canary's cousin too. She flicks her hair imperiously, and sits back down.

Sorry, kind of. She's your girlfriend (but she totally deserved it.)