[So now I have no idea where the story is going; please feel free to send in your own ideas and watch them make their way into their book. Please, I encourage, no, I BEG you to do that. Thanks a bunch! And by the way, I thought that I'd do something new this chapter. I've been trying to come with an idea and thought this would be kind of interesting. Tell me HONESTLY what you think! It's in the future a little bit. STRONG LANGUAGE WARNING! Sorry about that, but it kind of fits Jade. Love yous!]

Dear Journal / Diary / Whatever the FUCK you are,

Lane told me I should keep a journal. I told him to suck my dick. He sighed and handed me this. This piece of crap. He told me I should write my feelings in here and I'll feel better. Fat fucking chance. But I'll give it a try. No one has to know that me, Jade West, is writing my stupid feelings down. A couple months ago, I had no feelings. What has my life come to?

Beck and I dated for three months. Three months, I called it quits. I fell so in love with him. I'm still in love with him. It was going so well, but I couldn't do it anymore. I was pulled away. But not for the reasons that you would think. Which leads me to…

Tori Vega blackmailed me. She got me. She won. I can't fight her anymore. I can't do this to myself. I can't do this to Beck. Tori is better off for him anyway. Any girl is. I'm a struggle, a challenge, a horrible, cold-hearted bitch. He's too good for me. Tori and Beck belong together.

I'll start from the beginning. That'll help. Because I totally want to relive all this shit. Whatever. I guess I just start writing?

Last year, I was failing. Failing really badly. Like, my grades were sucking so badly that I was on academic probation. So I tried harder and got all my grades up. All of them except my stupid grade in scriptwriting. My fuck-tard teacher told me that my ideas were unoriginal and totally cliché. Nobody calls Jade West unoriginal and cliché. But he did. And I fought back, but he didn't care. He fought back harder. So I figured I needed a new approach.

My teacher was named Jeremy Tuckerfield. Mr. Tuckerfield. That's what we were supposed to call him. Mr. Tuckerfield. He was about 28 and a total hard-ass, especially for a young guy. Well, word got around that he was in a serious relationship for ten years and it turns out that the girl was sleeping with his best friend the whole time. Is that not fucking hilarious? I laughed when I found out.

Anyway, it was after school one Friday and I was pleading with Mr. Tuckerfield to raise my grade to a C or even a D. I needed something to raise me from the gutter. He knew that he was the string keeping me back from returning to Hollywood Arts next year. I begged and begged but he didn't care. He didn't budge one bit. So I took off my jacket, just to show a bit of cleavage, and bent down a little. I got his attention, that's for sure. Then I leaned in and whispered something I shouldn't have:

"I'd do anything for an A."

He started sweating and I knew what he was thinking. But it wasn't new to me. He rubbed his palms together a few times and I know he was nervous.

"Don't worry," I smirked. "I wouldn't tell a soul."

I really don't think he trusted me, and he got even more nervous, his face flushed a pink color, and he kept his eyes focused on me, but he kept looking around quickly. But it was a Friday and no one was still there.

I grabbed him suddenly and he moaned. Loudly. I smirked.

"Mr. Tuckerfield…"

"Call me Jeremy. For right now. Jeremy."

"Alright Jeremy."

I needed this grade. I'd do anything for it. I'd do anything to stay at Hollywood Arts. So I did what any girl would do in the circumstance; I performed a strip tease. For my scriptwriting teacher. And in my bra and panties [I fucking HATE that world], I gave my teacher a lap dance. He figured at that point, no one else would be bothering us, and closed the blinds. We had sex on his desk. I'll leave it at that.

I got the A that I rightfully deserved. And to be honest, I felt like shit afterwards. I always do. But this time, I felt better than I usually did; I still felt like shit, but shit that got finally what she deserved. I knew I deserved that A. I know that stupid Tori got a stupid A on her ridiculous script on a monkey who got lost from the zoo. Gag. How pathetic. My script, about a deaf girl who does not hear two men break into her house who gets gang-raped and then all her hair hacked off, got a fucking F. That's pretty fucking creative if you fucking ask me.

But it's not like anything I do compares to Tori and her squeaky-clean Ms. Perfect reputation. Everything that I work my fucking ass off for, she gets easily. I guess some people are born with luck and some people are born and have to fucking work their asses off for the rest of their lives. I'm in the latter group.

Back to my story: I was blackmailed by that stupid bitch. Somehow, this crazy bitch got evidence that I slept with the little fucker. I am not sure if she is my fucking stalker and filmed me somehow or if she is totally making it up and it happens to be true or what, but I really can't afford to take chances on this. Because if somehow its true and I downplay it, I get kicked out of Hollywood Arts. This place is my life.

I got to school to find a stupid note on my locker, like she is such an official little prick. It's one of those ridiculous notes that you only see in movies. You know, the ones that have all the words spelt out in various magazine letters. Fucking ridiculous. I actually burst out laughing. It said: I KNOW WHAT YOU DID WITH YOU KNOW WHO JADE! I THINK YOU KNOW WHAT YOU SHOULD DO! FROM YOU KNOW WHO.

First of all, that must have taken that crazy bitch forever to cut out. Who has that kind of time? So I cackled loudly and ripped it down. I had no fucking clue what she was talking about, but I did know who it was from.

I tossed that horrid note into the trashcan before Beck could see it and then went over to the psychopath.

"Oh. Hello Jade," she grinned at me like the buffoon she is. "What could this be about?"

"Are you fucking stupid?" I snapped at her, not in the mood for formalities or small talk. "It's about that fucking note you left on my fucking locker!"

"Who me?" she asked innocently, cocking her stupid, ugly head to the side and opening her stupid eyes widely. I fucking hate her.

Before I could respond with one of my super awesome comebacks, that freak grabbed my bag and yanked me into the janitor's closet.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM?" I sceamed at her.

She blinked a few times at me. "I haven't the slightly clue."

"Cut the crap. We're in this fucking closet."

"Oh. You're talking about the note I left you!"

"Yeah," I rolled my eyes. Even in a closet, I notice her stupidity.

"I know what you did."

That didn't make me nervous. I do tons of shit, stupid shit, every day. Maybe she saw me punch a hobo or trip an old lady. Maybe she was making it all up. I didn't know and I didn't care. Tori Vega doesn't scare me.

So I yawned. "Good for you, stalker."

She cackled a little bit, kind of like the wicked with of the west. Thinking about it, that's exactly how she cackled. That's exactly how she is. "I mean I know what you did with him."

I assumed she meant Beck. "I know. You came over to Beck's RV and fucking saw us."

She cackled again. Shit, this girl never stops. "No, I mean with him with him."

"Just tell me what you're trying to say before I punch you."

"You shouldn't punch the girl who holds your future in her hand."

I gave her a look, urging her to continue. She did.

"I saw what you did with Mr. Tuckerfield."

"And what was that?" I knew she hadn't seen. She couldn't have. She must've been talking about something else.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," she raised an eyebrow at me. I kept my cool, though.

"I do tons of things with tons of different guys."

"Isn't that the truth?"

"You'll have to remind me."

For a brief second, she made a weird face, like she was disgusted. Then she said, "You slept with him for a better grade."

I gasped. "I did nothing of the sort."

"Yes you did. I saw you."

"And do you have any proof of this alleged sexual encounter? These things need proof. It's kind of horrible to point fingers, isn't it, Tori Vega?"

"I have all the proof I need."

So no proof. "Well, that's great, but according to me and to him, it didn't happen. Good luck proving us wrong." I turned away from her with a wicked grin.

"I have proof!" she stomped her foot, causing me to turn back around.

"Where?"

She whipped out her phone. "Here."

"I don't believe you."

But she played it. She played it for me, the whole entire thing.

"Oh, Jeremy," recording Jade sighed, her acting spot-on. If I didn't know I was faking, I'd buy that I was actually having good sex on my teacher's desk. "This is so much fun."

"This is so wrong," recording Jeremy said. "But so right!"

He moaned again, and Tori clenches. I don't. I'm used to the sound. I've gotten pretty good at making guys moan that I hardly notice it anymore.

"What do you want?" I asked Tori, afraid of what she'd say. But I had a feeling that I knew exactly what she would want.

"Well, nothing really, just one specific thing."

"And what's that?"

"Dump Beck."

[Ahhh! Well, what do you think? I know it took me FOREVER to update, but I am almost out of ideas and well, it's almost summer. I have all this stuff to do these days. I'm sorry! Once summer hits, I'll be updating more. Maybe I'll finish, maybe I'll never finish. I don't know. But pleaseeee send me ideas! And review! I love when you guys review! Even the one worded ones, the paragraph long ones… If you don't review, I'll think you don't like it. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW! Am I pathetic for begging? Probably! But REVIEW! I love you all! I hope you like this chapter – it took me seriously two weeks to finally type up. And isn't the teacher's name so weird? Sorry to anyone with that last name, but thinking it over, that's such a weird last name. Oh well. He's diiiirty. Love you still and I'm sorry I'm a crazy random-head!]