The Private Camgirl

Tuesday, 10:12, 840 540 followers

The week didn't start off well. Phil wanted more sessions. Sunday was quiet. I was behind the business plan. Dominique was doing my head in. I almost fainted during Monday morning assembly. Kayla dug her elbow into my ribs and grabbed my forearm as my knees grew shaky, and head filled with a haze, but I stood through it. Must've been the heat. Last night wasn't great either – Phil was refusing to cooperate, and went off on a tangent about his feelings towards me, demanding information that I simply wasn't going to give. The appointment overran, which he happily compensated for financially, but I was torn between greed and the growing sense of panic verging on primal. I got off the camera at around two in the morning to spent the rest of the time before school chain-smoking while on the phone to the bachelorette who also had her reasons to be awake at that ungodly hour. I understood that my fears were irrational – there was no real reason to be paranoid, and the matter wasn't really worth the amount of energy I delegated to it, but Phil was starting to get under my skin. Cut him off, was Blaire's advice. As soon as they start trying to seek you out, that's when it gets messy. I didn't disagree, but at the same time, he was valuable as a financial asset. Indulging his naivety became easier when I didn't think about it. When I deliberately ignored the sense of guilt gradually accumulating with every mention of his wife, when I treated him as none else but a sponsor. Talk of sponsorships – I also had a video call with Monika scheduled for tonight, to discuss the benefits and drawbacks of being a detox tea representative, then the next session with Phil which he wanted the day after our most recent one, and then –

"Adria? Did you hear what I've just said?" – My eyes fell on a tartan skirt in front of me. I slowly raised my head, and met the gaze of my rather concerned-looking English teacher, stood before of my desk as my peers fell silent.

"No, sorry."

"I said you didn't hand in an essay last week." – I tried to focus. I couldn't even remember today's date, let alone the title of a week-old essay.

"I could've sworn I did."

"No, you didn't. The question was asking you to talk about the presentation of female sexuality in Jane Eyre, and you handed me a chemistry report." – Considering that I didn't even do chemistry, I could see where the confusion arose. I sent a series of mental curses in Akira's direction. "It said Mr Saunders on it, so I gave it to him." – Oh, bollocks. Of course you did.

"Oh... sorry. Must have been a mix-up."

"Yes, I thought so. Do you have the essay with you now?" – In full awareness that the chances of me having that essay in my English folder were non-existent, I adopted an expression of concern and began flipping through it.

"Um... I don't think so, sorry. I probably printed it off and its sitting on my desktop at home. I'll get it to you as soon as I can."

"Okay, as long as you do, that's fine. Don't worry." – She moved on, handing out sheets to the rest of the class, and I breathed out. Akira was going to get a thorough bollocking for this. My own fault, I suppose, for not checking the damn thing before carelessly thrusting it into the hands of my English teacher and ticking it off my to-do list. I saw my name in the top right corner of the paper and didn't bother to read the rest, trusting Akira's accuracy. A mistake I won't make again.

The class went on as normal after that. I dragged my pen along the wad of paper in an attempt of following along, but couldn't produce anything of actual worth. English was usually the most fun one of the four, but today just wasn't the day for pathetic fallacy and Mr Rochester's assertion of patriarchal authority. I looked up at the clock, and accidentally caught Skye staring at me from the desk opposite, sat back in her chair with arms folded. Not creepy at all. She's had a haircut. I raised an eyebrow at her as if to say what, what are you trying to achieve by shooting me horny looks across the room at ten o'clock in the morning? She raised one back and smiled her cocky little smirk. I rolled my eyes. Skye was one of the few people who suited arrogance. I was one of the few girls who didn't suit Skye.

The remaining minutes went painfully slowly. I passed them fiddling with bits of stationary to occupy my hands. Finally, we were dismissed for break, well-deserved after a long hour deep in thought about my next cigarette purchase, how quick Skye's fingers were as she wrote, and the tirade Akira was going to receive as soon as I summoned her from within the library shelves. I chucked my things into my rucksack at the speed of light, and shot up from the seat, beating the rest of the students to the door.

"Adria, could you stay behind?"– There goes my mid-morning ciggie. I grit my teeth and stood still as everyone else streamed past, eventually turning around in the empty classroom to face the tartan skirt, now sat on a desk cross-legged, feet dangling. "About that essay..."

"Look, I've been a bit overloaded with work recently, and I promise I'll give it in by tomorrow latest, I just grabbed the wrong piece of work and – "

"Adria. You don't do chemistry. I spoke to Mr Saunders, and turns out, one of his students has handed in an English essay instead of a chemistry report. The one I set." – Oh, Akira. I struggled for an explanation, brain stalling. Unfortunate coincidence? My plagiarized essay supplier got a little confused?

"Oh. That's weird. I think I may have printed off the wrong file from the school network."

"Okay, but that doesn't really explain why the report has your name on it and the essay, which I marked, by the way, is named as the other student's?" – I sighed. She tapped her fingers on the desk impatiently, scrutinising my evident lies from under a pair of round spectacles.

"I don't know, Miss. Must've been a glitch." – When in doubt, always blame technology.

"Mhm, okay, well, I just wanted to clarify. It's a good essay, by the way." She picked up a plastic wallet and pulled out the last remaining piece of paper. Océane Wellingford. The presentation of female sexuality in Jane Eyre. "There you go. Didn't mean to stress you out. Hope you get on top of everything in time."

"Thanks. Sorry about the confusion."

"It's okay. Happens. Take care, Adria."

She bought none of that, I thought, as I practically jogged out of the main building to the maintenance shed, stuffing the cursed essay into my bag, Akira's efforts scrunching and tearing. Kayla beat me to it – three stubbed out Camels already on the ground, she was sat in the usual squatting position, head in her hands, indicating at the evident desire for solitude. I looked over the skinny shape rendered even smaller against the backdrop of the wide wooden panels. I couldn't see her face. She was shaking, either from the cold or because of some reason known only to Kayla that I wasn't destined to find out. Without comment or greeting, I lit a slim and took a long, deep drag.