What the HELL?

This site put in a PROFANITY FILTER?

They might as well tell us not to write at all! How degrading! How USELESS! How... how...

UGHH!

So this one's for you ff(dot)net:

fuckassbitchcuntslutfacehoebag.

Eat it.

Anti-censorship all the wayyyy, baby.

"Fine! You win! How come you always have to win?"

"Stop being such an angsty bitch, Sharpay. C'mon... it'll be fun..."

And for a split second, I believed Bridgett Oliver. For a moment, I relaxed under her friendly touch, the way her arm was linked in mine as we sauntered down the empty hallway. Just for a nanosecond, I felt like her idea was the more reasonable one, that creating and hosting a dance would be fun...

But only for a moment.

I suddenly yanked away from her. This wasn't about being reasonable, it was about being stubborn. It was about getting what I want, just this once, whereas, Bridgett Oliver had everything. Including that bizarre power of making people feel important. Elevated. Even if it be only for a nanosecond. "Don't touch me, Bridgett Oliver." Never had I sounded so fierce. So icy.

"You know, people say you're a drama queen. I didn't want to believe it, but the more time I spend with you..." And her green eyes shredded into me, trashed me internally, scanning my every secret. I suddenly felt so bare, so exposed, just by her lofty glance. I suddenly knew why she was so loved, all for the wrong reasons. Because she was manipulative, because she was as evil as a fourteen year old girl could be. And I suddenly felt sorry for Troy.

I suddenly realized the weight he was under, the chains he was binded by.

Her delicate hand on her hip, her impatient foot tapping, Bridgett Oliver shook her head disapprovingly and rolled her eyes at me. "Besides, Troy and I need a special night..."

"What a stupid reason!"

"Now, Sharpay, jealousy isn't a good look for you..."

"And a rearranged face wouldn't be a good look for you!" The heat that clouded my judgement, the smug look that overtook her pretty face merely made me clench my fists in anger. Her next words were what set me over the edge, forced me to fulfill my desire to yank on her curtain of brown hair.

"We all know that you're just jealous of me and Troy. You can just admi... hey!" A desperate. Heart-gouging. Shriek. I felt satisfaction flood my conscience at the feel of silky brown hair wrapped tightly in my fist, dragging her down to the school floor, the lowest of lowest. I felt a load spring off of my chest, a burden I had held for the past three years as she desperately jabbed her elbow into my ribs in attempt to break free. This was what I had wanted, since the fifth grade, to finish the job, to have her experience just the tiniest bit of pain.

"Sharpay! Let. Go. Of. My hair!" She screamed. She wailed, and could only be descirbed as a little girl who had innocently been walking out of school with the boy she liked...

Until being disturbed by a little blonde girl that practically beat her up. And the same process was beginning all over again, I realized.

I remembered the frilly dresses. The dirty hands, the cooties. I remembered K-I-S-S-I-N-G. The curtsies, the kiss that he still held to this day. I remembered Troy Bolton, and the person he had turned me into. And I hated that. I hated him. I untwisted her hair from around my hand, those very memories becoming a reality as Troy suddenly emerged from a set of double doors across the hallway. "I was just..." he instantly scrambled to explain himself to his girlfriend, but saw the scene before him. "What happened to you?"

Bridgett Oliver soothingly ran a hand through her hair as she took Troy's arm, leading him down the corridor. And I could only watch as his hand encirled her waist as she whined to him, as she clung to him, as she explained how psychotic I was.

But I realized that I was merely jealous.

And I could only think that their relationship was more concrete than I had given credit.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That same hand that had taken an amount of Bridgett Oliver's hair still trembled as I tried my hardest to focus on the work in front of me. Informational text clashed together, my handwriting was distorted. I brought my pencil to my mouth, nervously biting on its long middle.

Anxiety took over. Was I going to get another week of detention? Was Bridgett Oliver going to avenge herself? What did everyone else think? What did Troy think? I glanced over my shoulder in my seat, brushing bangs out of my eyes. He looked just as dazed as me. But I thought somehow, he was only bored, not in deep angsty thought like me. He dropped his chin into his hand, brown hair dusting over his eyelashes. I sharply turned my attention back to my work.

But just as I turned the page of my text book, a pounding came at the door, one loud enough to grab everyone's attention. I looked to the door, only to see a friendly face. "I need Sharpay." a voice projected. Jason invited himself into the room under the suspicious eye of the teacher.

"May I ask why?"

"It's an emergency, trust me." Jason squeezed past the teacher, my classmates' eyes torn between Jason casually leaning against the teacher's desk and my confused reaction. "Hey, Sharpay." he said from the front of the classroom. He sounded eager. All I could do was tilt my head in confusion and wait for him to continue. "Will you go to that stupid dance with me?"

Whispers ignited, onlooks of envy came from girls, wishing that their crushes would interrupt class just to ask them to the dance. I laughed into my palm, imagining the story I would be able to tell Ryan. "Uhmmm... Sure. I mean... yes!" I smiled, concealing how excited I really was, despite the fact that the entire dance was Bridgett Oliver's idea, and that if it wasn't for her, I wouldn't have been smiling after Jason as he left my classroom under my teacher's scold.

"You're so lucky, Sharpay..."

"That was really cute..."

"What a great idea..."

There was something about Troy Bolton when I turned around to capture his reaction. Maybe it was the expression that overtook his face.

The expression of actually being hurt.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Sharpay! What are you doing?" Ryan slammed our front door behind him and hurried down the steps, attempting to grab my arms and terminate the damage I had caused. But what he couldn't see was the bright, giddy smile on my face.

"It's a revolution Ryan! It's a celebration, it's a fiesta, it's a fantasy..." I wrapped both hands securely around a branch of the dogwood tree in the front yard, dropping all of my weight until the brach snapped, tumbling to the dirt only to be forgotten. "It's a new dawn, it's a new day, it's a new life..." I sang, swinging from a heavier branch.

"Sharpay... what?..."

"It's symbolic. This has always been the tree that represented me and Troy Bolton." I delicately pulled a pink bud off of a leaf, crumpling it into my hand. "But that ship has sailed. Jason asked me to the dance today, Ryan. Jason Cross. In front of everybody." Another branch snapped, another branch fell. Another part of Troy Bolton: removed. My brother looked impressed, whether he be impressed with the fact that Jason mustered up the courage, or with the fact that I was finally moving on, he grabbed hold of the next branch, splitting it, tossing it to the ground.

"Here's to moving on." he toasted.

"Here's to cooties and dirty hands and crazy childhoods." I giggled, another branch, removed from the heart of the tree.

"Here's to stupid basketball boys and phony girls." Ryan laughed under the flurry of pink-and-white petals that came from crumbling branches.

"And here's to Troy Bolton himself." Together we pulled down one last branch, numb from happiness and excitement, numb enough to never feel the pain of the splinters that thrashed at our palms. And we looked to the dogwood tree now, gnarled, naked, rough, and twisted toward the earth.

So thanks for reading this filler chapter.

So thanks for listening to my rant.

More on the way soon, BITCHSLUTSKANKWHORES. (Ugh, I still can't believe it. Curse this administration and all that they stand for.)

Later.