Yes, teenage Katjaa, teenage Sarita, teenage Molly, and older teenage Sarah. Why are they mean, you ask? Because they deserve it after being nice the whole game. Except for Molly. She has her reasons for being there...I promise.

This chapter isn't really essential to the plot, but we just needed a bit of an intro to our favorite foursome of "nice bitches". Yes, vaguely based on the Plastics from Mean Girls. Except they're gonna be a LOT meaner. *evil laughter*

I don't own Telltale's The Walking Dead Game. This is purely for entertainment purposes. Hope you enjoy!

That week was different.

For Carley, at least, the past few days had been surprisingly light both in schoolwork and in general attitude. The self-proclaimed girl group 'Nice Bitches', whom she had less-than-affectionately nicknamed the 'Snitches', hadn't shown their stupid squawking faces at school. Carley thought it probably had something to do with the two head bitches' boyfriends both getting some injury during football practice.

Ha, they can't possibly show their faces without their man candy glued to their shoulders, can they? It's be like them coming to school without wearing layers upon layers of makeup.

Katjaa was the first face you thought of when speaking of the Snitches. Though the most quiet of them all, she was silently the devil's conduit. She was the person who would shred your clothes to the point of no return. She was the the person who would dye your hair while you were sleeping. She was the person who would loosen every hook in in your bra while you were changing out for gym and then purposefully run into you, pulling them out and leaving you supportless for the rest of the day. Of course, she was the living embodiment of everything people thought of as attractive. Long shaded blonde hair fell over delicate shoulders. Her eyes were china blue when they weren't glowing red with the powers of Satan. She wore clothes that were supposed to be cutesy but were cut in a way that all the right pieces of skin showed.

Sarita was witty, sharp, and tactical. She was analyzed their group torture plans, observed who, where, and when they would commit their malicious taunting. One would think that someone so intelligent wouldn't be able to manage all of the wickedness that flowed from her mouth, but she did, against all odds. Sarita wasn't pretty in a tall, long legged blonde girl sense. She was obviously from foreign descent, probably Indian. She had an exotic charm. No, charm isn't the right word; she was an exotic trap. Boys swarmed around her like flies to a seductively scented pitcher plant, waiting for them to buzz naively to her.

Molly was...she was there. It was that simple. She didn't belong there. She was an extra piece in a long completed puzzle. Anything to survive, she used to say when she and Carley were friends that past year. Now the most Molly ever said to her was a whispered insult when being passed by, such as "self-entitled fuckstick", "microscopic chickendick", or, Carley's favorite yet, "horrid shitwitch". At least she was creative; that was one thing you could count on from Molly. Despite her hot-then-cold personality, she was stunning. Her sunset blonde hair was cropped in a wild way and continuously fell over swimming eyes that reminded onlookers of a chilling calm creek on a warm summer day surrounded by overgrown foliage. When Carley knew her, she wore jackets and loved the color orange. It broke her heart to see her old friend changing her style and attitude just to fit in with people who were notoriously hated.

Sarah was, who you might call, the pack leader. The top bitch. President of Dickwadistan. Even though she was not as smart, daring, or drop-dead gorgeous as her followers, she managed to be the one that hurt the most. She had crawled, scrabbled, scratched her way to the top. Years ago she had been the new girl, one of the most tormented that Carley ever remembered. She almost felt guilty, but Sarah's reign had far surpassed the level of abuse she was given. She was the shortest and plainest of them, but when she walked down the hall, people visibly shrank back.

So a week without them made the place seem like heaven.

"My sins have been forgiven!" she announced comically, hands up toward the sky and head bowed.

Doug laughed at her side. He was definitely her closest friend. Socially awkward but had so much light to give. They sat casually at a secluded picnic table, the surface of which was scratched and painted with names of couples and memes. The table had been around for a very long time, and wasn't technically part of their school.

Oh well, living on the wild side; which happened to literally be inches away from school grounds.

Usually during lunch they chilled out here. Tall trees surrounded one side while the school was clearly visible on the other, causing a nice balance of contrasting shade and sun depending on the time you were there.

Doug was a nice guy and had been her best friend ever since they were both reckless, imaginative five-year-olds with no idea how difficult other people could be. Now, though, he served as one of her most valuable sources of protection; emotional. Whenever Molly or Sarah made a hurtful comment that tore at just the right heartstring, he was there to talk her through it or be her Kleenex if she were to cry. Luckily, Carley never cried.

In front of people.

To physically protect her, she had close friends in Christa and Omid, a couple she had met at a few years prior. Christa was definitely an artistic type and Omid had hopes of starting his own band. She had taken an immediate liking to the pair upon their first meeting. That grew into a mutually beneficial bond between the three of them; Christa and Omid would dissect any heated situation Carley got into, while she would be their lookout if they were to, say, get it on in the janitor's closet. Do them some favors if needed.

They had graduated last year, but still hung around whenever Carley or Doug needed them.

Carley absentmindedly traced marks in the picnic table's top.

"Hey Doug?" she asked.

Doug turned his head, sandy brown hair falling in front of his face and getting caught in his simple eyebrow piercing.

"Yeah?" he responded.

"What's going to happen to us after graduation?"

Doug's face took on a thoughtful look. He was sitting, hunched, in the grass with a book in his hands.

"Better things."

Carley nodded, hoping.