| C h a p t e r 9 |
BEEP BEEP BEEP!
"Son of a—"
I despise alarm clocks with every ounce of my full being. There's nothing more infuriating than having a peaceful sleep be cut off by a sound sent straight from the devil itself.
It's 6:30 am and I have to get to school early to get my schedule and locker number from the office. Everyone else, including freshmen, got theirs' in their emails over the summer, apart from new students like me. I groan and slip out of bed.
I'm wearing a pair of ripped, light blue denim jeans and a plain black crop top. Nothing too crazy, but my ass still looks great.
The walk to school is only 10 minutes, give or take. There's a note on the counter from my mom that says she's made me lunch and it's in the fridge. I smile to myself. She's too cute.
I step outside and embrace the fresh morning air. The sweet late summer air lingers. I open the door to the school building. There's already so many people here.
I remember the school well enough to navigate myself. I was here for half of ninth grade, after all. To make my job easier, there's a huge sign in the front of the school that says OFFICE. I've found my place.
The receptionist gives me a timetable. I have English first. Not bad.
As I make my way through the halls, I hear a group of girls talking about something... interesting.
"So apparently Ashley Hollister's back?" says one of them.
"What the fuck?! I thought she was dead," replies someone in the group.
"Bruh same."
"After she left, Jenny's cousin told me she saw her at a tantric sex retreat."
Who the fuck would I go to a damn sex retreat with?
It takes everything in me at this exact moment to not lose it and laugh.
I notice a few people staring at me, and I suddenly feel like cracking under their scrutiny. Admittedly, I can count the number of people who physically bullied me on one hand. The problem is that there were so many bystanders, so many people who stood by and watched.
They laughed, gossiped, and recorded.
They shared a joke or two over my humiliation.
And to me, that caused more scars than the people who physically inflicted them on my skin.
Luckily, the bell rings, signifying that I have five minutes to get to class. I find the room I need to get to with ease and sit at my favourite spot to sit in any class, the middle of the second row—
Not too involved in the first row, yet not completely detached from the rest of the class in the last.
The second bell rings and the teacher walks in. He's middle aged, about five foot five, and has no hair. His smile is bigger than his height. He takes a huge swing of his coffee.
"Hello class!" he cheers with a slight lisp, happiness radiating off him— much to my amusement.
"Welcome to twelfth grade English and Literature! I'm Mr. O'Leary, your teacher. Why don't we go around and introduce ourselves by saying our names and the highlight of our summers. I'll start! My name is Mr. O'Leary and the highlight of my summer was helping my son move to college out of state. Let's begin from the back and move our way up."
He points to a girl with shiny blonde hair sitting at the end of the back row. It's Starr James. She's super popular, but not exactly queen bee either. Our school doesn't have one of those, thank goodness. Starr just happens to be irritatingly perky and oozes confidence and wealth.
YOU ARE READING
Sweet Revenge
ChickLitWhen they were three, he chopped off her ponytails. When they were eight, he destroyed her dolls. When they were thirteen, he got his friends to beat her up and then threw her in the trash outside school. And the worst part? He's always gotten awa...
