Crazy is the Name of My Game

( 6 ) I am reckless.

 Erica Santos

Chief was talking a hundred miles per minute, I couldn't even keep up with the conversation. If he wasn't in charge of my weekly published articles, I would have dropped the call the moment I saw his name flashing on the screen.

 “Did they now?” I asked dryly, my nicest voice losing its cheer. I played idly with my dull black hair, counting the stray strands for lack of better to do. One hundred thirteen, one hundred fourteen, one hundred fifteen...

“Mmm,” I replied offhandedly to a question I didn't hear. The male voice on the other line was suspiciously vibrant.

“Keep up the good work, Ms. 556. The readers are getting more hooked up. We kept getting positive feedbacks...”

Of course, they'll love my articles. I'm awesome.

On cue, his voice became diplomatic. “And so the sponsors are trying to set an appointment – ”

I knew it. With a sly smile, I wrinkled the prepared paper near the phone, crunching it into a ball. My voice came out breezy. “Hello? Chief? Hell-o? He-Hello? I c-can’t hear y-you. Ch – ?”

Okay. Time to drop the call.

I shut my phone with a snap.

Hah, I grinned. Too easy.

The paper ball went in the waste basket. Three point shot! I cheered internally. And our MVP for this season is Er –  

The shrill bell caught me off guard. I jumped in surprise, my sore ankle accidentally hitting the white marbled bowl.

“Ow,” I muttered as I nursed my injury. I glared at the nonliving thing. “Stupid bowl. Why didn’t you move away?”

I heard the chatters gradually filling the dank air, and soon I would be no longer alone in the second floor comfort room. Apprehension filled me. Dear spirits, I would be so dead. The call went longer than intended. To make matters worse, I left in the middle of the discussion. I’m pretty sure my Government teacher would wonder how come I never returned. What excuse should I use? I got a stomach ache so I ditched? The cubicle door locked itself?

Ooh, I flushed my bag in the toilet.

I blew my bangs off my face in frustration. The door slammed open.

“...like, so yeah, you do remember Claire Flinn?” a high, syrupy voice gossiped. “You know, the school council pres?”

Another girly voice – a little lower than the first – chuckled. “Like, who wouldn’t, girl? That’s so like the talk of the century last month. That nerdy slut hooked up with Jason for only a week, and she acted like she’s the queen bee. What a bitch.”

 “Well, she’s back.”

The second girl shrieked. I had to cover my ears. “No effing way! Wasn’t she hospitalized after Jason dumped her? Said she got into traffic accident. Too bad, the car didn’t total her.”

The syrupy voice only got louder, meaner. “BFF, you got it like so totally wrong! She slit her wrist! The whore tried to get him back with a threat.”

“Like OMG!” they squealed together.

I rolled my eyes. Sheesh, what’s wrong with these girls? Couldn’t they speak straight, for goodness’ sake! My ears were bleeding to their deaths! But hey, this is intriguing.

Girl # 1 continued her obviously full report mode. “Saw her this morning, and I didn’t recognize her! She’s so like pale like my mom’s bathroom tiles. Her face was all purple and yellow. And she got five eyes!”