DISCLAIMER: Carrie and Jennifer's Body doesn't belong to any of us, and if we say so, Carrie will make the stones come back. O.O


Carrie realized long ago that the best advantage from being a misfit is being able to actually see anything around her. Most people could see the clouds roll over their heads or the strands of hair blow into their faces; they could see dirty messages, discarded homework assignments, and obscene fingers pointing at each other. They could see the physical form of bullshit, but not the metaphysical truths as to why it's bullshit.

The popular kids could only see, but Carrie White could see.

However, she was smart enough to never share this information with anyone. She was smart enough to hold her own and pretend that they couldn't notice. A part of her hated herself for that because she knew they were there. She knew about their established regulation towards people like her, but somehow, coexisting without giving them recognition would be as sinful as disregarding the latest gossip found on Page 23.

Carrie never wanted to turn to Page 23, but she could already visualize the content. It would be what her Momma described as "the Jackal's dance", cluttered with all types of scantiness, both in clothing and in faith. The blackness of curiosity brewed inside of her, and Carrie's mind often strayed towards images of herself dressed in such lingerie. The images of her swathed in sheathes of lace and silk that left little to the imagination sickened her, and she would often cry about it when Momma sent her to the closet to pray; but it was hard to ignore the thought of looking at herself in the mirror, seeing her svelte figure, and snickering about the fact that Chris gained almost fifteen pounds over the summer.

In fact, it amazed Carrie how low the girls thought of themselves when they weren't wearing scarlet letters just for being glanced at. Carrie vaguely remembered hearing a slew of gossip about how seventy-three percent of the guys at Ewen rated Tina Blake as "Not" rather than "Hot" on a nameless social-networking site. Of course, the conversation ventured into restless tirades against her, but the look on Tina's face was a Kodak moment. That same day, Heather had to get down to brass tacks in regards to anorexia rumors about them, and the Watson twins were accused of sleeping with Hisao, a foreign exchange student that was sent to a different community after gaining a reputation for wanting a nice piece of ketsu. Carrie also remembered a day when Norma Watson ran into the bathroom, crying for hours upon end because a rumor about her sleeping with a throng of popular jocks had caught fire, and none of her "besties" defended her against the Ultras' wrath. Carrie wanted to comfort those girls whenever they went under the knife, but she also reveled in their tears because, in the twinkling of an eye, they knew what it was like to be her: always feeling hopeless in a series of dusty, yellow shadows.

(of course nothing ever happens to big bitch chris break her break her once)

Having these resentful thoughts felt very uncharacteristic of her, but it became a leaden weight her thoughts bore like a cross, as if to mollify the gaping hole in her self-image. Carrie found that the key instinct to survive was to hold a grudge, in spite of the passive smile she tried to give over the years. How else could the ringleader and her contortionists have constructed this grandiose circus over the years in order to appease the masses? Carrie understood too well how it felt to be lion and wanting to roar or snap her mouth around the self-imposed pundit's head...maybe someday?

So, Carrie kept these personal laws intact when she braved through the last First Day. The weight of inadequacy kept her head down and her shoulders slumped, but the ache felt peculiarly light today. She read the syllabi for her classes, and she also read the comments some classmates wrote on the back of them. Carrie expressed slight humor towards their lack of grammatical insight rather than their vivid impudence. She enjoyed a green apple and a bottle of water for lunch while some of the guys tossed potato chips at her, oinking fervently. She combed all the crumbs out of her hair in the bathroom before Fifth Period Economics, and in that class, it wasn't more than ten minutes before Chris called attention to the class in order alert them of a certain greasy nun that entered the room. She was reminded of that status for the rest of the day, and when Momma finally picked her up at the end of the day, she didn't come to a proper conclusion as to how her day was.

The only thing that piqued Carrie's interest was how the New Girl, Jennifer Check, hardly hung around the popular people. She didn't attend lunchtime with the Ultras or their Mortimer Snerds. Jennifer refused to speak when called upon, and she didn't socialize during Free Period. Carrie heard Jennifer throwing up in the restroom while she was combing the crumbs out of her hair. Throughout the jungle of sneering faces, Jennifer glanced at her often, but Carrie never discovered any materialistic malice in her eyes. If anything, Jennifer actually looked pleasant towards her. The piece of evidence that made Carrie come to this conclusion was how every time Jennifer caught her glance, she simply smiled and waved.


A/N: (of course my Internet almost went out when I tried to post this -_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _-)

Errrrrgh, short chapter. Yeah, I know transition chapters can be kinda dry, and this is one of my least favorite chapters in this entire story, but I thought that if it just cut to Jennifer and Carrie talking outside in Car Circle, it'd be pretty jarring. Like, okay, what happened that day? Did anyone torment Carrie? Did Jennifer make the moves on anyone at Ewen High? Did Jennifer taunt Carrie like the rest of the goddamn jackass students, or did she just do her own thing? I thought a chapter kind of detailing how Carrie can manage to put on a happy face (or, as happy as religious fundamentalism can be) while high school shit continues to pile up would be decent enough. I felt like it mimicked Stephen King's writing style in a way, as does the parenthetic, stream-of-consciousness style of writing.

Speaking of high school shit, I think there are some overdue lessons I must tend to before taking my AP Bio and Art History exam. :o

I will tend to that first, and once I am done with that, I will post the third chapter! I wanna make sure I'm not overwhelming everyone with updates. Take care!

peace xx