Chapter 4: Mocking Malina

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I was sitting at my desk in English. We were working on our argumentative essay. My essay is about how people think that cheerleading is not a real sport.

Mrs. Roxsane asked Malina to go get some papers from the copier. Of course goody two shoes, Malina sprang into action. She marched proudly towards the door and grabbed a hall pass on her way out. I could hear her heels clicking on the tile floor, down the hall.

She disgusts me. She is such a suck-up but for some reason, none of the teachers can see this. It is so infuriating.

As I was typing I noticed that Sarah was sitting in the corner of the room with her posse. Sarah was on her phone when Cristian, a boy in my class, stole her phone.

"Whatcha lookin' at?" He asked

"Nothing!" She exclaimed

"Give me my phone back!" She barked as she stood up

"How about... NO!" He joked meanly

She reached her hand out. "Give. Me. My. Phone." She bellowed

The phone shook for a few seconds and then shot out of Cristian's hand. The rose gold phone shimmered as it flew threw the air and straight into Sarah's hand.

"Whoa, what just happened." Asked Cristian amazed

"I, I don't know." Stuttered Sarah

About two minutes later I heard the same clicking of Malina's heels. She walked in with the hall pass hung around her neck and a small stack of papers in her hands.

"Thank you, Malina," stated Mrs. Roxsane as Malina handed her the papers

"Anything for you Mrs. Roxsane!" exclaimed Malina

Malina turned away from Mrs. Roxsane's desk and sat down at her desk. Malina sits right in front of me and I hate it.

'Such a goody-goody. "Anything for you Mrs. Roxsane!"' I thought

"Hey!" Malina was looking at me intensely.

How had she heard what I said?

"What you said was not very nice!" She grouched as she pouted in her seat.

"She didn't say anything Malina." Responded Parker who sits to the right of me.

"Yeah she did, she was mocking me!" Malina argued

This argument went on for what seemed like forever.

I left the school that day with a lot on my mind.

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