jolie memphis

BIG BITCH

OUR GIRL:
Colette Corcoran was a maggot. To put it simply, the biggest bitch you'd ever seen. Some liked to call her a slut. She slept with more guys than all of my girl friends combined, and my girls were the kind to make boys stop and stare, drop to their knees and whatever, but I'm veering off subject. But I'm not lying, she would spit in our drinks. One time Sloane, my sister's ex best friend, swore on her baby brother's life the red sore she got on her lip was from the spit that had landed in her cherry cola the day before. How she told it was like this-Colette Corcoran had been biding her time, sitting and just, staring, at one the awkward seats in the school cafeteria-the ones underneath the staircase-and Sloane, the drama queen she is, was freaked out of her mind, chewing bubblegum like a feral dog that hadn't eaten in days, all nervous and jittery, as if Colette Corcoran was a shark circling her prey, and I mean, it wasn't far from the truth. But seriously though, Sloane was the one that believed all the rumours about Colette Corcoran-like the one about her feeding dead cat parts pretending to be steak to her parents (c'mon..ew, vomit.), or the one about her being secretly married to five men (I mean is that even legal?), or the one about her killing a girl in a juvenile delinquent centre for stealing her jello. Actually that last one, may not be that far from truth. Anyways, I was saying. Colette Corcoran sauntered over to the table while Sloane was gone, for swear, a millisecond, so it doesn't really even seem that possible, and in that blind moment, while Sloane was chatting up Tommy Blake, Colette Corcoran had hurled up a gigantic wad of saliva and dropped it in the can. Sloane got mouth ulcers after that day, and she couldn't eat ice cream at all, which was a total bummer because that Saturday was the hottest one on record, but her teeth were just too sensitive. Anyways, she cheated with my sisters boyfriend three weeks later, so we don't listen to a word that bitch says anymore. Colette Corcoran was out of school for two weeks and it caused such a ditz at school, because everyone was like "ding dong the bitch is dead" but of course, she came back. And people were all saying she looked a little worse for wear-hair not quite right, less attention to makeup-y'know, really small things that people only notice about girls when they're under scrutiny, or whatever. They all knew she was hiding something, like I don't know, a murder? That'd be kinda fun. And it wasn't like she didn't have it in her-She'd been scratching and kicking since the day she could walk, pinching in third grade, pulling hair in fifth. My mom was like...it was this thing she said..."Colette Corcoran came into the world prepped and preened." "Loaded since the day she was born." She went to Bora Bora freshman year, during the vacation to some fully expensive resort and whatever-the kind that leaves wrapped mints on your pillows, but it was this entire thing when she tried to come back- she had to be held on the island for like, another two weeks, on suspicion of murder-I know right? But apparently this man in the room next door to her, had died under suspicious circumstances-anyways, she was let go and came back smirking, all golden and glossy, with a to die for manicure, and practically an entire novel on her sexual escapades. No fair, right? I mean last time I went on vacation, it was to Fiji and all I got to show for it was this ultra embarrassing sunburn and the taste of virgin mojitos in my mouth for like, weeks. Anyways, don't take it from me. This is just word of mouth, the rumour mill churning or whatever. And like, it doesn't really matter what I say anyway.
Because I'm dead.