Scandalous!

She could barely contain her anger. She cleared her throat, slowly unclenched her fists, and began to doodle. She drew Ashleys. Ashleys in mortal peril. Ashleys in pain. Somehow, it seemed to set her mind at ease.

"No, really," said the redhead to her left. "Did you go dumpster diving for outfits, or what?"

Spinelli counted. She went over the wrestling performance she's seen on the TV just the other night in her mind. She carefully breathed in. And out. And in. And out again.

"You've worn that same kind of stuff since elementary school. This is high school, Spinelli. I'm sorry no one told you to change styles already, but we'd all figured it would be obvious. Trash can only be around for so long before someone finally takes notice, you know—though I guess by now you're used to the smell."

Spinelli grit her teeth. She couldn't give Ashley Q. the satisfaction of a violent reaction. "Isn't fashion supposed to be about looking good?"

"Of course."

"Well what if I think you look like shit?" Spinelli muttered. "What if I think you look like a tramp?" she said, glancing over at her, smirking in satisfaction as the other girl's face colored.

"I'd rather look like a tramp than a hobo," she bit out finally. She turned back to her assignment in the din of the other whispers around the room. She stared at the questions in the book blankly.

Spinelli grinned to herself and returned to torturing two-dimensional Ashleys. Especially one she made to look like Ashley Quinlan, complete with red pen for hair. And blood.

"No wonder your GPA is so bad. Is that what you do all day in class? I'd expect you to fail classes at that rate," said Ashley T. "Although, maybe your widdle girlfriend Grundler does all the work for you."

Spinelli concentrated on breathing again. She turned to her right to look at Ashley Tomassian, and turned back to write "ASHLEY T." under one particularly crude drawing. Ashley T. didn't miss this, and curled a lip.

Spinelli had almost thought the bell was never going to ring. But, of course, it did, much to her relief.

"If I have to listen to another goddamn Ashley put me down," she growled quietly to Vince in the hall, "I'm not sure I can be held entirely accountable for my actions." She had subconsciously rolled up her sleeves a bit as if readying for a fight.

Vince shot her a sympathetic look. "Yeah, I don't know what their problem is. They're probably just jealous."

Spinelli snorted, "Of what?"

Vince merely shrugged.

"Oh, you know," said Mikey from behind them, "Your mere ability to be free and embrace the person you are. For people who seem to hide behind the anonymity that is the fashion world, they must envy your refusal to give into it. Like a bird, you are, Spinelli—a raven with a beak full of pride!"

"Uh . . . thanks." Mikey was so weird sometimes.

He put a large hand on her shoulder. "No problem, Spinelli."

Mikey usually helped calm Spinelli down. But right now she still felt pretty angry.

Gus made his way over to them as they neared the cafeteria, smiling until he saw Spinelli's expression. "What is it, Spinelli? Randal? Ashleys?"

"Ashleys," she grit out.

"What did they say this time?"

"Wardrobe. Grades. Sexuality. Brains." She nearly snarled.

Gus nodded understandingly. "Well, at least it's steak pizza day," he said helpfully, leading them over to an empty table on which he placed his backpack and the rest followed suit. "Wait," he said after a second, "are you gay?"

Spinelli stared at him blankly. "Really, Gus, what I am is what they call asexual. Nothing really looks that appetizing, if you catch my drift."

Gus nodded.

"Don't tell Gretchen," said Spinelli, "but Ashley T. keeps calling her my girlfriend."

"It's pretty bad, isn't it?" said Mikey.

"Yeah," Spinelli said honestly. "It is."

"Why not just deny?" Vince said seriously.

"Are you stupid or something?" barked Spinelli, "Since when has denying something like that ever helped someone's case?"

"Good point," he admitted.

"Hey, guys!" said Gretchen, approaching with her tray already. She moved the things on the table over to make room for it.

"Not a word," said Spinelli as they made their way toward the line. The boys nodded. It was her burden to bear if the Ashleys were going to try and bring Gretchen into things. They didn't seem to bother with Gretchen much, usually just Spinelli. Calling Gretchen her "widdle" girlfriend was only an attempt to get at Spinelli, and no one else. She knew that completely.

"O, to be that which doth persecute," said Mikey quietly.

The steak pizza almost took away the gnawing anger and resentment and utter preoccupation clouding Spinelli's mind, but . . . not quite. Even still, it was steak pizza, so it did help a little. Steak pizza, she was quite sure, could help to fix almost anything. Given time.