A/N: So…I'm kinda obsessed right now. With Mona. Err. Yeah. Is this a phase? IS BEING OBSESSED WITH A FICTIONAL PSYCHOPATH CONSIDERED A PHASE? NO? Ugh. DX

And I'm still planning how many chapters are going to go into this thing, alright? So don't ask. :/

Title: Totally Screwed

Pairing: None

Summary: This is just great. Now I'll have to resort to passing them notes in class. Ugh.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Hey, Em: Though giving your best friend a kiss is really sweet, it's always a pity when she doesn't return the favor…or your feelings. –A

Spence: Valedictorian again this year, eh? Too bad they don't give out A's for making out with your sister's boyfriends. Oh wait…I do! –A (see?)

Aria: Your messed-up family sounds like a real piece of work. Kinda like the ones you paint in art class. Only, paintings don't cheat on each others' husbands. –A

Hannah: My, my, Cinderella. An evil stepmother and stepsister, a father who doesn't care, a mother who left you…no one's here to care about you. There's just me, the fairy godmother, and even she's not very nice in this fairytale. -A

And last but not least, To Alison: Go to Hell, bitch. And stay there.

.x.

Okay, so.

I kind of hate my life right now. You know, sorta. A little. Only maybe.

I am currently stuck in math class. Texting. I mean, honestly, what would I do without my phone? It kind of sucks that I have to use two separate ones, though. My mom's already on my back about my cell phone bill and how much money I've been wasting by texting "my friends".

They are not my friends, Ma. Well, with the exception of Hannah, I guess, but she's been such an idiot lately that it's not even funny to make fun of her anymore.

As A, of course.

Because Mona Vanderwald would never make fun of her BFF.

But anyways, back to the class. Sitting there, texting, trying to get a freaking connection in the stupid school, because, forget expensive uniforms and the 35,000 dollar tuition, Rosewood Day has the crappiest Internet, and because the substitute teacher is droning on and on about whatever, and even if she catches me not paying attention and barks out a math question, I'll know the answer anyway.

Because I'm Mona. And I'm a genius.

And I'm A.

So I guess that that wouldn't explain very much. But—oh wait, something interesting just happened.

Emily just came into class, late. The substitute took her hall pass and explained that Mr. Hends is ill today (good riddance, too—I'm getting kind of sick of watching him trying to weave his fatass through the aisles of desks—it kind of makes me throw up a little inside), and that she would be replacing him for the day.

I immediately see the look on Emily's face when she sees the sub. My gossip senses are just tingling, because the substitute teacher is kinda hot (for an older woman, I mean—hey, I'm not the one who's lesbian here, okay?). I smirk a little as I whip out my other phone.

Emily returns to her seat, her face a little red. She continues to stare at the sub a little while the lady lectures. I start to send out a text—I thought that Aria was the only one who had trouble keeping her hands off of her teachers, Em—but then suddenly, my phone is taken away from me.

More actually, ripped out of my hands.

By the sub.

Oh, shit.

"Mona, is it?"

I look up at her coolly, careful to keep my face expressionless, and nod. Ever since my transformation, I swear to god, I have become a total super spy at disguising my feelings like a total sociopath, darting in and out of sight, keeping quiet, holding my breath for long periods of time, being a freaking ninja, and texting at one hundred thirty words per minute. I'm pretty sure that if the CIA ever knew about my astounding capabilities, they would have hired me by now.

"Detention, Mona. And you can have your cell phone back on Monday." It's Friday. Bitch.

I smile apologetically. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Merle," I gush. "It won't ever happen again, I promise."

She basically just makes this little huffing noise and walks away. God, she sucks.

I deflate a little in my chair. Suddenly, I feel bored and tired, a little like that caffeine crash you get when you've downed more coffee than the world ever needed and ran out. It kind of freaks me out that the loss of a cell phone could make me feel this way. My hands itch to type out the text on my other phone, the one belonging to Mona, but I know that that would be stupid; Emily would find out who I was.

Oh, well. There would be plenty more opportunities to torment, anyway.

Still, though, I kinda miss my phone.

From the corner of my eye, I scan the room. Spencer's sitting two seats across from me—she's busily scribbling down notes and patterns and equations. It's weird, and creepy, the way she does it. I'm mean, with all her good grades, and motivations, and goals, who's she trying to impress? Her parents? Her sister? She's not even doing it for herself. She's just a puppet on strings; doing whatever is told to her, trying to make everyone happy and to please everyone…

My god, she makes me sick.

I mean, I'm smart, too, okay? Seriously, how else would I have become A if I hadn't been some sort of natural genius? Honestly. I know about Valedictorian. I know about tests and quizzes and the pressure of getting the best grades and being at the top of your class. But that all changed for me when I became A.

When I look at Spencer, I realize that I used to be her. Which kind of sucks, seeing that the only person she has time for a social life for is her mother.

I roll my eyes and take a look at Aria, who seems a little nervous for some reason. Actually, I know why. Her parents are filing for the divorce soon. If I had my freaking cell phone, I would actually be able to make fun of her a little. I study her face (discreetly, okay? Hey, I'm not stupid) a little, wincing at her makeup.

Ew. Glitter. Okay, I know that it works on some people, but I swear to god, she should stop trying to make herself look like a fairy and start trying to make herself look like something-that-does-not-resemble-a-five-year-old. Or, maybe the glitter's just cover-up for the dark bags under her eyes.

Oh. Now I get it. Her parents are divorcing, anyway.

I sigh and stare right at Hannah, who's sitting right behind me. Well, she is supposed to be my "best friend". Socializing a little couldn't hurt. I make a face and mouth words to her.

"I miss my phone."

Hannah giggles a little, rolling her eyes. She tauntingly texts someone on her cell phone, slowly, teasingly. She presses the send button with a flourish and a dramatic flick.

I grimace and giggle. "You are so dead, Hannah." I whisper, and she laughs.

Inside, though, I want to puke. Hannah's makeup is done perfectly, unlike Aria's. Her hair is freshly curled and shiny, strategically framing her face, managing to make her look innocent yet sexy at the same time—which, I guess, is her idea of how to get guys (talk about giving a guy mixed signals…honestly). Her clothes are the fall's latest fashion—I see Victoria's shirt, Calvin's sunglasses, Vera's on her feet, and Chanel dangling at her wrists. She's the perfect cover girl.

Only, she's putting on some weight. Again.

God, I know that depression makes people want comfort food or whatever, but honestly, how depressed can you get?

Hannah puts her phone down, leans over to my desk, and copies some answers off of my paper. I roll my eyes and poke her playfully in her waist, and she winces a little, keeping her eye on the substitute teacher, whose back is turned to us.

The skin of her waist had sunken a little—no, a lot-to my finger's touch. Ugh. She should invest in a corset.

Hannah whispers to me. "I don't get the stupid math. I mean, why can't y and x just get married, or something?"

I reply. "It's their intersection, not intercourse." Hannah giggles and sits back down.

I turn my head away from her and blankly stare at the blackboard. I wonder how people without cell phones could ever survive. Really. I know I may sound like a complete cell-phone-tard, but it's my life, tormenting these girls.

And, yes, that means that my life ends at twelve thirty lunchtime.

Apparently, after twelve thirty, I have no life anymore. I have to sit with Hannahkins, giggle giggle yakkety yak like the best friend I'm supposed to be.

Of course, I am popular, and being on top of Rosewood Day's food chain could hardly be considered 'not having a life'. But honestly, the only thing that separates me from losers like Hannah and the other pretty, popular girls is that I actually have a brain and use it. Really. You think Spencer's smart?

A is unstoppable. A is invincible. A has outsmarted not only Spencer, but three other girls at the same time, as well. God. I should really get an award, or at least a job offer from the CIA. It's so not fair.

Observations: I'm stuck in math class without anything to gossip about, or anyone to torment, or a cell phone to text, or a job offer from the CIA (yet). There are four flawed girls around me who I'm just dying to sabotage, but I can't, because apparently, y'sintersect of x is more important right now.

Other Observations: Spencer and Emily can wait. Aria's got a divorce plan going on between her parents. Must contemplate tormenting. Try following her home tonight, and spying. See what happens. Oh, and Hannah needs to lose some weight. Drop a text to her once you get your phone back.

Even More Observations: It's really hot right now. And, goddammit, I'm getting so. Tired. Is this really because of the cell phone? Am I like, clinically depressed without it? God…

Conclusion: Don't text in math class. Like, ever. Again.

One Last Observation: I really, really hate my life right now.

Review. Like, honestly. :/