Author's Note : This chapter contains mild hints of swearing as the characters get into a small quarrel. Reader discretion is advised.
Later when they were seated in the steamy hall of the canteen, Eliza was retelling Rosie about everything that happened in class that morning, with Sam adding in her post-reactions and some thoughts along the way – although Eliza did not seem to appreciate these rude interruptions very much.
The two louder friends carried on about Mrs. Noreen's looks (although they did try to keep it down low) while the quiet one gazed wonderingly at them sharing the morning's report. And her eyes were filled with something more like… terror?
"That is so scary! What do you think you were doing, Sam?"
Poor Miss Morton dared not raise her voice any louder than a whisper in case someone passing by heard their talk. Though, it was not for herself, nor Eliza, that she worried about. Sam already had enough on her plate with a month's detention – it would be disastrous if a teacher or even a staff heard of Sam's descriptions of Mrs. Noreen.
"That… was so fun; I wished you were there to see her bloated face of tomato. But Eliza disagrees," Eliza nodded in eager agreement of the disagreement, before going back to her soup as she had finished her daily duty of informing their friend of the latest news of Room 302 – which never had a day of boredom.
Not with Samantha, never.
"But you should apologize, that's the right thing to do now," Rosie suggested primly, biting into her homemade sandwich gleefully – well, as gleefully as her nature showed.
Sam, however, gave a disappointed scowl as she played around with her lunch of spaghetti. "YOU stop eating sandwich every day, and Miss Eliza here stops having soup in the middle of a freaking summer, that's the right thing to do, I tell you,"
Eliza gently dropped her spoon with a sigh, "We've already been through that, Sam,"
"And you said my sandwiches are good,"
"Yeah, but not when you eat it every single day of the year and I don't get a bite of it,"
"But it's my only lunch!" Rosie whined, not wanting to be cruel on her friend who was unknowingly being cruel on her.
"You can have mine!" Sam replied indignantly, shoving her box readily.
"No, I can't finish both spaghetti and sandwich," Rosie refused jokingly to which Sam's scowl only grew. "Besides, I told you, my ma can make an extra one if you want,"
"It's alright, I was just fooling around," Sam couldn't ask Mrs. Morton to make an extra sandwich when she had to prepare lunch for 6 kids to school every day for more than 5 years. Sam's own mother often opened up about how tiring it was to make lunches for even three school-aged children only, and that was when Lucille was still alive. Of course, the death of a 17-year-old daughter then didn't mean any less painstaking work for a mother.
Only more pain. And what if the same should happen to mother…?
"Were you really?" Her friend's voice filled with concern brought her back to the noisy steamy cafeteria. Sam blinked at Rosie's full rosy face, giving a small smile forced out from severely worrisome thoughts. She didn't know what was wrong with her today, but Eliza came up with a good guess.
"What's wrong with you today, Sam? You seem a bit… out of it. Is it because of your mom?"
"Huh? No, no, of course not," Sam denied at first try without fully comprehending the words – the situation, as many are familiar with, when the brain does not yet synchronize apprehension of the whole subject but only to relieve the companion of any further concern, was the answer produced so speedily without given much thought.
Her friends loyally waited out the silence, and Sam then reluctantly agreed, "Well, yeah… that may be it."
"May be?" Rosie questioned innocently, herself quite taken aback with this vague answer from Samantha who always had her answers final and decided.
"You know, when there's, like, a whole lot of things piling up on you mind," Eliza explained, which she must have been too eager to do, because she gulped down a spoonful of her potato soup to take the chance before Sam could open her mouth.
"No, not like that – well, maybe yes a bit. I mean, I got late to school for the first time in my entire life. I got a month's detention. And there's the looming prospect of me being expelled at the assembly this afternoon. There's also this guy who-"
Not a word came out of Sam's lips which had sealed tightly shut with contempt at herself.
You idiot, if you had half a cell brain as Pitty Parker told you, you wouldn't go blabbering like that!
"Well? Go on, don't stop now," Eliza urged her on, with a smirk on her face which Sam would have gladly slapped at that moment – not out of hate, but out of sisterly affection that meant to express good-naturedly a pretense hurt of betrayal.
"I'm not saying a word, you sly traitor," she smirked back through gritted teeth and took a mouthful of spaghetti noodles, leaving stains of sauce around her lips but that stuff always happened whenever Samantha Pulitzer tried to eat; her two seating companions, nay, the whole school, had become bored of teasing Sam over that matter.
"You don't have to worry about being expelled, though," Rosie assured with her angelic voice, intervening her friends' coy play. "Ms. Jenin told us it's going to be about Remedial classes over the summer,"
This line, no matter how quiet it was, pricked the ears of not only her two friends but also the girls from the other nearby tables who all gave Rosie the most questioning frowns that it made the poor girl fidget in her seat from all the attention and eyes on her.
"What do you mean remedial?" Sam's loud voice boomed over the room after the silence that followed the school's interest.
"It's improving a bad situation," Pitty's annoying voice interrupted from the table behind. Sam found herself closing her eyes as she exhaled a deep breath in a sigh.
"I know what it means, Parker,"
"Oh, sorry, I didn't know that. Thought you'd like to know for a certain, since you're probably the one who needs it most at this school," Pitty's little friend group snickered girlishly following their leader's example.
Sam faked a sarcastic chuckle, "Don't worry about me. You should take care of yourself first; your brain seems to need it more,"
"My brain is perfectly fine unlike some trouble-making pest here,"
"Perfectly fine as in stuffed with cotton candy,"
"With extra sugar," Eliza added in delightedly, not wanting her friend to combat alone against four air-headed dummies. This was a rare act of kindness from her part, and Sam gave her a smug grin at her, her previous grudge completely forgotten.
Pitty scoffed after viewing at the two, and rolled her eyes before saying, "And your brain's covered with horse manure," making everyone gasp in surprise at the drama queen's overt talk. Everyone knew she had pulled the line, well, everyone except Pitty, it seemed.
Sam's eyes were ablaze with fire, and she gripped her fork so tightly that her hands were turning red. Eliza, who sat face to face with Sam, could already hear the steam escaping from Sam's both ears like an angry train or volcano about to erupt into a disaster.
"Sounds a bit rich coming from someone whose house looks like a cow dung,"
Pitty narrowed her eyes suspiciously, slowly spelling out her sentence, "You don't know about it, how…?"
It was true that Pitty Parker had not had the chance to rant about the disgusting vandalism on her house last night, given the circumstances of the morning. Not even her closest girlfriends had any idea of it yet.
Sam coolly replied, "Take a while to guess,"
A sharp gleam reflected from Sam's chocolate brown eyes, and that was all her nemesis needed to confirm her suspicions.
"Why, you stupid –" And with that the small figure of Miss Parker lunged at Miss Pulitzer who saw her coming in a slow motion of cameo. Sam turned round and at the approach of this assault, she pushed away roughly with both arms. Pitty was caught off-guard from her motive, falling back onto the floor and her back hit hard with the bench.
After a shrill scream of agonizing pain, Pitty stood up again – her features completely overcame by a ruthless fury. "You filthy, slutty worm from hell! Do you know how worked up my mother was with cleaning the mess? I hope you don't, your own mother would probably kill herself out of shame!"
The irritating voice seethed Sam with a feeling of the strangest form of vengeance, and her hands instantly threw her box of spaghetti across the way to land flat on Pitty Parker's pretty face. Before Sam could even triumph over what she had done, Pitty once again lunged at her with the wrath of a Fury from the Underworld. Sam stood up on her bench and moved backwards, and then she ran across the bench to another table where the neutral girls like Debbie and Lauren were staring at the scene with dropped jaws that would not be closed.
Sam laughed out at her nemesis, "Oops, sorry but I don't want my shirt to get ruined with spaghetti sauce, anyways who's the worm now?"
Pitty screamed at the highest pitch of her lungs and the girls near her actually had to cover their ears up to prevent from being deafened. A rumor later was spread that Gabriella's glass of water actually broke into pieces due to Pitty's deafening scream.
"Girls, what is going on here? And Miss Pulitzer, please come down from there," Ms. Peters soft voice cut through the eerie silence as she carefully tread her steps from the spaghetti lying a mess on the floor. Her eyes fell on Pitty, and they inevitably grew as large as saucers at the sight of a red-drenched student, "Miss Parker! How…"
Pitty ran past her out of the hall. The young teacher heaved a sigh, "I trust you know something of this, Miss Pulitzer?"
Sam just gave a collected shrug although her face was far from calm.
Sam stood in front of the Principal, hands tucked behind as she stared uncertainly at her shuffling feet. Beside her was Pitty in a new school uniform, but it was too big for her as were all the spare uniforms that the school administration office kept. They were all either too big or too small, and the only person who had fitted perfectly in these was Janice from Room 305.
It was with great difficulty that Sam tried not to glance as much as possible in Pitty Parker's direction, or else her tongue might have betrayed her a few snickers. But it was hard, difficult indeed, to not spot a heavily sticking out piece of large cloth from the white blouse out of the corner of her eyes, or the amount of skirts tucked with a pin together to fit Pitty's small waist.
All she has to boast of is her waist.
That, Sam would readily agree. Pitty's waist was of the smallest possible inch of 17 … maybe a 0.5 too. But, hey, she could be wearing a corset – although it had become quite unpopular during the late years. But Sam also supposed Pitty Parker would do anything to become famously known in one category or another. And it was typical she had chosen her waist.
And I chose wits.
Although it wasn't still confirmed whether Sam was particularly known for her wits or wrongs, one thing was certainly known to all students – boys and girls alike – Pulitzer was a prankster. Queen or not, that still has yet to be decided.
Ms. Coulomb just stared at them two with eyes of disappointment but there was no surprise whatsoever. This kind of accident had become too common in the late years since Samantha turned 11 for middle-school and there were no longer boys to hang around like the primary grades.
At last, the principal heaved a sigh and broke the silence. "Miss Pulitzer, Miss Parker, what happened this time?" She asked directly, if the two weren't going to start explaining, there was one way but to interrogate them in detail.
"Pulitzer threw her lunch at me, Ms. Coulomb, and it was her who threw eggs and tissues and paint on my house last night, and she also talked back to Ms. Noreen this morning and… and…"
The principal gestured Pitty to slow down and take a breath from her non-stop rant – the usual habit of hers whenever she got angry and insecure about something. They then turned towards the other girl who was staring at the floor beneath, and trying to conceal her rage again.
And you don't remember saying how my ma would kill herself, do you?
She knew the silence was awaiting her answer, and in a deathly whisper she spat out her side of the story, "She bugged me."
Sam didn't want to go into the depths of what had happened; knowing the lump from earlier would come back to her throat again if she thought about her mother, it was best to avoid the subject. She didn't care if the Principal never knew about what happened. Nobody in the world knew anything about anyone, did they?
"And that is your vindication?"
"For Washington's sake, she called me a slut!" Sam burst out in fury. Her hands were getting numb from scrunching into fists all this time, if she didn't do this, she was pretty sure they would end up knocking someone's teeth or table, or whatever was nearby.
Ms. Coulomb's gaze shifted to Pitty with a cool look that asked the girl to explain.
"I- she called me a worm!"
"Not before you did!"
"You called my house a cow dung!"
"And you said my brain was covered with poop!"
"LADIES!"
Their hands were inches away from each other's throat, teeth barred and eyes furious. The authoritative command from the usually feminine principal managed to quiet their anger for a moment as shock replaced them – shock of discovering the fact that coolly collected Ms. Coulomb possessed such a strong voice of bellow.
"I am disappointed in you both, disgusted at your outrageous behavior!"
She then pinched her forehead which showed signs of a headache, and sighing, she continued, "You've caused a scandal not only for yourselves, but also your families – and the school! – over a ridiculous little dispute!"
Sam couldn't see in what way this was all ridiculous – it wasn't, was it? Or maybe the Principal just had a different sense of humor from her, she may never know.
"Miss Parker, you will join your friend –" the girls both tensed at the forbidden f word which was never allowed to describe the two of them, and Ms. Coulomb noticed it well. However, she paid no heed as she knew they must learn to get used to each other by now – for god's sake, it's been over 12 years since they both started nursery school. "You will join your friend in your Physical Education class for extra curriculum,"
Pitty let out a whiny groan at this – she knew very well what the extra curriculum meant. But it had always been Samantha's life to spend P.E class with Mr. Herbert for extra sessions since primary school – she never thought a day would come when she, Pitty Parker, would have to join puking Pulitzer.
Literally puking, that is.
"But-"
Ms. Coulomb stared back through her half-moon glasses as if she was interested in what Pitty had more to say, or argue, against her judgment.
"I'm the Mayor's daughter!"
And I'm Pulitzer's.
"We know that very well, Miss Parker."
Sam couldn't help laughing out at Ms. Coulomb's beautiful response. She also couldn't believe Pitty could be this silly – like, how silly can a silly person get? All these years at the Sachs School and it was a wonder Pitty still did not know how things revolved round here.
If the Principal had been scared of men of power, she wouldn't be a principal herself – much less any teachers would never give detentions to any girl. Especially Sam. Almost everyone at school had some kind of background, and Pitty must have forgotten that to use her trump card.
Take Eliza for example. Her father was practically the head of the most successful car factory in New York. And Rosie's was an architect in the South [or was it an archaeologist?]. Even Pitty's close friends, Jessica and Stephanie, had one or two family members in the Congress.
And here Pitty was, threatening their Principal with the title.
Once they were dismissed, they headed towards the door where they again got into a quarrel over who was to leave first. It was actually Pitty who first showed signs of superiority to go out the door first, and Sam, who never really liked to be topped by anyone, fought back as she tried to take hold of the doorknob.
"Ladies."
The Principal's exhausted reminder from the center of the room made Pitty back down a bit, and Sam successfully walked out the door with full grace of triumph unlike her life before. When they were heading down the corridor back to class, Sam made sure her strides were long and luxurious so that Pitty would have a hard time trying to outrun her. Not once did she look back, for why should she?
As they got to their classroom door, Sam remarked extra loudly, "Oh Parker, your father's term is about to end, isn't it?"
Pitty's hands clenched on the knob as she jerked the door open and enter without a word. Sam smirked at herself, knowing she had won. Again.