A/N: The second update! I tried my best to kinda fill this out a bit better and remove the...more oddly written parts with more descriptive and logical ones. It will be a lot longer than the past version as I add a lot more detail now. So hopefully this chapter's up to standard.
PrincessGumballWaterson777 - As much as I'd love to do a new work, I'm only rewriting this. I'm kinda retired from writing new Total Drama stuff...
Gucci Mane LaFlare - Thanks! I've honestly seen the improvement myself and so I'm glad it's noticed by others. I hope you enjoy the rest :)
Till next time,
D.L.D
Friendships
Heather's P.O.V
First days in one word: Ew. Just ew.
I've always hated September, that one awkward month where summer comes to an end and winter swiftly moves in to reclaim it. September always brings dry leaves, crazy hair-ruining winds and bone-chilling coldness. It's a time when all is changing, when the sun waves goodbye to the earth, and when we're sent back to school. High school...
Sigh. Where do I begin?
Oh yes, at the beginning.
High school has always been that one place on earth that everyone hates. It's that one spot, that one singular building, that everyone can loathe. Whether it's the crappy food, stupid bullies or basic wannabes, high school has always been a pool for hate and desperation. From ex-prom royalty to the most ignored of rejects, high school is that one shared time of awkwardness, transitions and avoidance of the 'uncool'. It was the one place we all had to flit around like bees to serve our queen - but even she had her own avoiding to do.
So, obviously, I was despising my eventual return to crap-school, the fading summer season and eventual return of the geeks, making my mood extremely sour today. It didn't show much as someone shaved off my beloved eyebrows. Yes, some evil witch decided to just shave off my finely primed and styled eyebrows, her pasty, pimply skin and manky breath haunting my nightmares for the rest of the summer.
That idiot, that gothball, was the reason why I had to scurry into the girls' bathroom straight after arriving. It was...embarrassing. Scurrying away like a timid little mouse, an upset basic bitch, was like condemning me to walk a catwalk of shame: I looked glamorous, but the feeling of humiliation was still lurking there. To everyone I passed on my little walk, it was obvious that something was wrong. I never tried to cover my face when nothing was wrong.
As soon as I made it into the sanctuary of the girls' bathroom, I locked the main door and headed towards the mirrors. Like last year, they were murky with leftover condensation, the cheap plastic-like glass clearly not having seen a good polish. That's for at least three years too, by the way. Those cheap mirrors have been here since I was a Freshman, and apparently they were much worse before that.
Releasing a heavy sigh, I rest my hands over the metal tray-like sink. It's cold, but I don't really care. I need the firm edge to keep my arms still, especially when the rage from the eyebrow thing was still fresh. Closing my eyes, I lift my head towards the cloudy mirrors of the bathroom. I can't open them yet. Not yet. I need to gather myself, prepare myself for the horrible sight I'm about to encounter, before opening them.
One. Breathe... Two. It's ok. Three. You are beautiful.
Uncertain, my eyes flutter open to meet their reflections. Grey meets grey, the patterns and swirls of my eyes matching directly as they always do in any mirror. Raven hair frames the sides of my perfect face, long, luxurious and definitely lush. My chosen outfit for the day was arranged similarly to the original, my reflection only having a cloudier version due to the disgusting state of the mirrors.
My eyes widen and my nose crinkles. Did I just see chewing gum stuck to a corner? My eyes flicker back. Yeah, I did. Talk about trashy and disgusting. I bet it was one of those posho snobs who did it too, their idiotic prattling always being a stupid cover up for their lack of manners and basic home training.
Frowning, I try to focus on my reflection once more. She peered back at me, disgusted, her lips puckered and nose wrinkled. But even so, the girl peering back at me was the perfect reflection of what I was - the perfect representation of who I am. She was flawless, beautiful and confident. She knew what was normal and what was not.
But then I see it - I see the stubble of what once was my perfect eyebrows. My hands clench around the sink. I growl.
Gothball.
Oh, she is so gonna pay!
Mumbling to myself, I grab my eyeliner and begin to slowly trace out the shape of my now missing eyebrows. This'll have to do.
After matching my ink-brows to the shape of my shaved eyebrows, I unlock the main door and proudly stroll out of the bathrooms. A few students I pass say hello, many of them shrinking back into their pathetic shells at my appearance. There was one couple, most likely Sophomores, who immediately huddled closer together, hiding their disgusting tongue-wrestling behind a small smile and fearful greeting. Many followed their example.
Therefore, it wasn't long before my squad, the most popular girls in the year, noticed me. As always, they were dressed in their bright-coloured clothes and toting expensive designer bags, their high-pitched voices mixing into a dangerous squeal as they gossiped by the main entrance.
"Hey girls!" I flash them all my best smile, making sure to crinkle my eyes to gain a natural-looking effect. That was the key to a fake smile after all, the right amount of eye-crinkle/sparkle. If you lack the smile in your eyes, then we all know you're faking it.
"Hi, Heather!" The group all grin back at me widely, their eyes filled with the fake-joy I've come to recognise as my power. Already, I could tell the main questions and subjects of conversation for today, each of them clutching their mobile phones and swiping through endless pages of social media.
Well, all of them except one...
Anne-Maria, or tan-in-a-can as I call her, was always the odd one out of our group. She joined late, during our second year here are Wawanakwa, and was immediately picked up by the squad. Unlike the rest of the girls, Anne-Maria was highly-influenced by New Jersey. Having grown up there for most of her life, she had the accent, the fashion sense and even some of their more...unpleasant ways. that made her pretty loud, pretty assertive and pretty damn unlikable.
Not many of the girls in the school liked her, mainly for her brash nature and rude attitude. But I chose her because I thought she had the potential to be a good candidate for the squad. It turned out she only got worse after that.
"What happened to your eyebrows!" Anne-Maria cackles, slapping her thigh as a snort escapes her pig-nose. "They look like stickers!"
See? A total pig. She's way too confident for someone who's status relies entirely upon me and my decisions.
"Well, Goth Girl got them shaved off!" I snap, irritated. She should know that. Tan-in-a-can was there that day! In fact, she was the one who recommended drawing them on while I waited for them to grow out again.
"Damn, I coulda sworn you actually did it yourself," Anne-Maria continues, humming. Her thickly lipsticked lips spread into a sly smirk. "Some'n about a wax kit."
Exhaling sharping, I try not to punch her in the face right here and now. I had a feeling that Anne-Maria wouldn't last long this year, last year she was treading on really thin ice, but this morning proves that she just can't be a part of this squad anymore. She was too selfish, too arrogant and definitely too pigheaded. It'd be better for her to go, or she will create an instability in my carefully crafted social pyramid of this school.
"That's it!" I growl, pointing at her. My acrylic nail is sharpened at the end, the blood-red paint making me think of just how much damage I could do with enough anger. "Consider yourself kicked off the cheer-squad, Anne-Maria. Heck, consider your fat ass thrown off all squads!"
For a moment, she stands there, her eyes wide. But then she simply blows a bubble from her chewing gum, pulling out her nail file and popping the bubble right in my face.
"Whatever," Anne-Maria shrugged, spitting out her gum. It landed right in front of my shoes. "I'm way more talented than all of you dolls anyway."
"Believe what you will," I smirk in response, flipping my hair over my shoulder. I then lean closer towards her, raising a brow. "You'll know the truth eventually."
A dry laugh leaves Anne-Maria at that, the fake-tanned female shaking her head. Her shoulders shake as she points her nail file at me, her laugh coming to a dead stop as she glared me. Each of her glue-on eyelashes were inches from my own.
"I was gonna quit anyways," Anne-Maria barks out, poking my collarbone with her nail file. She then turns on her heel, smoothly glancing at me from over her shoulder. "Plus, who says I'm talk'n to you, stick-figure?"
It's now my turn to glare now, my arms folding across my chest as study the Jersey-transfer. She thinks she's hot shit. She thinks that the sun shines out of her ass. Well, Anne-Maria is sure gonna be upset when she finds out that no-one really likes her. Tan-in-a-can is going to break when she learns that her confidence is just as fake as the army of products she puts on every day.
"I believe you did," I answer coolly, smiling despite my glare. "I'm pretty sure, since you responded."
"Nah, I was talk'n to the girls," Anne-Maria responds, already strutting away. She smirks back at the girls, waving each of her fingers. "Speaking of, I better go, lovelies. See ya, girls," She then glared at me. "Heather."
And with that Anne-Maria took down the hall, her shoes clicking against the linoleum. I simply growl at her departure, balling my fists as I already calculate how I will enact my revenge.
That's two people of my list now: Goth Girl and Jersey Shore Reject.
Courtney's P.O.V
Today is the first day of the last year: senior year, day one. Many students look forward to today, to the idea of being one of the big-dogs and having younger years squirming in fear beneath you. Being a Senior is seen as a privilege, a position of power. But when you've really gone through the system, lived through being a Freshman, Sophomore and Junior, you realise that being a Senior isn't really anything special.
You realise that even though you're a Senior, you lack the power that you thought you'd have.
Watching the passing scenery, I release a small sigh. Today is the first day of the last year, Senior year, but it's also the first day towards having the whole school twisted around my finger.
For years, I've dreamed of having the school under my control. For too long, generations of prom queen after prom queen have handed the 'deed' to social control over to their successors, their chosen 'ruler', and I'm tired of it. I'm tired of the endless lists of Heathers and other similar girls taking over the school. It was about time that someone normal, someone who wasn't extremely pretty nor popular, took over.
And I figure that I can do that. This year, in class president elections, I can win control of the school. I always win after all, so it won't be that hard to gain a little more sway. All I have to do is carefully play my cards, that's all.
"What are you thinking?" Duncan asks, his voice low as he raises I brow. I notice the way his hands are tense around the steering wheel, like he's bracing himself for something, and I don't like that. He's always tense when I'm around. Perhaps that was due to what I did last week... I should apologise for that.
"Nothing," I answer gently, trying to smile. My cheeks feel stiff. "Just class president elections."
At this, Duncan visibly relaxes. He grows a smile, although it's small, and I can tell that he's going to tease me about it. He always does.
"Of course," He rolls his eyes, nudging me with his elbow. I fight the urge to nudge him back, knowing very well that with one wrong move we'd both be in a crash. "Do you ever do anything non-boring?"
"Hmm..." I hum, smiling. "Depends."
Duncan only smiles knowingly in response, his form visibly losing tension as we enter the school gates. Within a matter of minutes he's parked and I'm grabbing my satchel, ready to race off and put my plan into action.
"See you later, Duncan," I give him a fleeting kiss on the cheek, already sprinting towards the main building.
Glancing behind me, I spot him following in his usual shuffle-walk, his gaze lingering on my backside. No doubt he was delaying the inevitable and was savouring his last few minutes of freedom before he had to drag himself into eight hours of classes. I don't blame him: school is pretty tiring. But I've learned how to survive it. I've survived school better than even the most studious of students.
But even so, it makes it all the more surprising to myself that I ended up with Duncan. Duncan, the Neanderthal (as I call him when I'm angry), was the complete opposite of myself. Rebellious, rude and just completely arrogant and obnoxious, Mr Neanderthal was someone I vowed to avoid in my first year here. Every day he would pester me, call me names and steal my things, just to get a rise out of me or a 'confession' to my feelings.
The pestering happened for so long that it became normal to answer to his annoying nickname: Princess. But even so, Duncan still surprised me. Despite being a major asshole for the first year we knew each other, the Neanderthal somehow managed to show me that he could be a decent person. And it was that decent person that I fell in love with.
But now... I don't know if Duncan and that decent person are the same anymore.
Decent Duncan was someone I spent my whole Sophomore summer with, the one I fought with constantly, but also made up with too. From him, I learned to loosen the reigns and become a little more tolerant. For me, he changed himself a little. He cleaned up his act. That summer, last year's summer, was the best one I'd ever had.
Now, all Duncan ever wants to do now is 'hang out'. 'Hang out' was his way of disguising our reckless trouble-making.
So you can see why I've chosen to distance myself a little.
Tucking a stray lock behind my ear, I enter the building. Checking my watch, I see that it's 8:25 and that means I have five minutes until the school day officially starts. Great! That gives me enough time to ensure that I'm on top of things. After all, a good leader always makes sure that she's on top of everything. It's a basic 101 of leading.
Straightening out my blouse and getting a checklist from my bag, I head towards the library. Each year, the Seniors receive their timetables in the library. It was a stupid tradition that never changed, our principal stating that since we spent the most time there it only made sense for our year to begin there. As a result, the stupid tradition stuck and every year the Senior years all started their first day in the library.
By the library, outside the girls' bathroom, Lindsay, Dakota and Anne-Maria are stood waiting. Dakota is decked out in her signature pink, her beach blonde hair styled and primed with her expensive products. Lindsay adorns her usual headband, matching it with a preppy-ish pencil skirt, bow and blouse. Anne-Maria is the one who sticks out, her heavily tanned, makeup-covered skin and tacky poof making her look like an eighties hooker instead of a glamorous and glittery teen.
Ironic really. Those girls looked like they were main characters in a movie, the most important people in this school's mini-world; but in reality they all played the backups to Heather. Heather, their queen and squad leader, was the true main character of our school, and she always took centre stage.
"What are you all doing here?" I raise a brow, highly wary of their sudden appearance. I hang out with these girls every day, so I know their typical habits and tricks. From that, I know that I don't like these girls. Even though I hang out with them more or less every day, I don't like them. I'd never really like them. They're all too fake and glittery for my tastes, to easily deceitful, especially Anne-Maria.
"Well, Heather's fixin' her brows," Anne-Maria chuckles, nudging me in the ribs. Sharply, her elbow connects right into my stomach, making me wince.
"I see," I attempt to hide my reaction behind a wide smile.
Anne-Maria's definitely one to talk about beauty standards - she breathes more fake tan and hairspray than oxygen. If anything I think it's damaged her brain, because she's way too cocky for her own good. Everything she does is like stacking yet another block onto an already wobbling tower: eventually it will topple. Yet I'm surprised that Heather hasn't toppled it yet - kicked Anne-Maria out yet. But it's only a matter of time...
Anne-Maria was always the most annoying of the Squad. She was the one who was most likely to deceive, turn her back on someone, just so she could benefit off it in the end. Due to her lack of loyalty, Anne-Maria was a prime example of a high school snake. Without so much as a heartbeat, she would turn her back on you if it meant that she could take what you had. You could be her best friend, her most loyal devotee, and she would still betray you. That meant I always had to be on guard with her.
Plus Heather didn't like snakes; she always made sure to pluck them out of her garden of Eden.
"It's kinda tragic that Gwenda did that to Helia..." Lindsay sighed sympathetically, her blue eyes seeming droopy. Of course she's sympathetic towards Heather; Lindsay was the definition of a barbie doll: attractive and blonde, but no brain at all. It's surprising that she wasn't held back a year.
"Whatever," Dakota exhaled, shaking her head. She was the only one who didn't seem amused nor sympathetic. "It's her fault for doing that to Gwen anyway."
Humming, we all nod in agreement.
Dakota's the nice, rich, daddy's girl of the group. She was the closest one to normal, and definitely the one I trusted most. Like Lindsay, she was a blonde, but thankfully she owned a brain beneath that head of golden hair. In fact, Dakota had the most potential to be a fantastic replacement for Heather - the only problem was she was too nice. Dakota wouldn't hurt a fly, even if she would die instead in its place.
"Hi, Heather!"
Instinctively, my spine straightens and a heavy smile is forced onto my face. My cheeks hurt with the expression, but I keep them in that position. If I make one wrong move and I'll be forgotten. Kicked out. I can't have that happening now. Not now.
Slowly, my gaze lifts to stare directly at the new arrival to the impromptu Squad meeting. They widen as they spot the slim and skinny form of their leader, not mine, her long raven hair swaying with each step she took. Her mouth set into a deep scowl and each brow bent at a sharp angle, a stormy expression was fixed upon her face. At her side, each fist is loosely clenched, a sign of a her bad mood, but Anne-Maria seems to take no notice as she begins to snicker.
"What happened to your eyebrows?!" Anne-Maria cackles, slapping her thigh as a snort escapes her pig-nose. Her smile grows larger as she points at Heather's face, her acrylic nails looking like the tips of freshly-sharpened pencils. "They look like stickers!"
"Well, Goth Girl got them shaved off!" Heather snaps, irritated. I find myself flinching from the harness of her voice, my brain already expecting the wrath that would follow. Heather was always formidable on a good day, but on a day like this - a day where she's missing her eyebrows - this could only end in social suicide.
"Damn, I coulda sworn you actually did it yourself," Anne-Maria eyes sparkle as she hums. Her thickly lipsticked lips spread into a sly smirk. "Some'n about a wax kit."
Heather's angry. I can feel it, see it, as the steam more or less pours out of her ears and her hands ball into tighter and more definitive fists. Hardening, her grey eyes gain a spiteful glint, and I'm sure even her lips her twisted to form the monstrous snarl of a beast. However when she opens her mouth, no jagged teeth nor pointed horns sprout from her - what a shame.
"That's it!" Heather growls, her shoe connecting harshly with the ground. Once again, I wince, imagining just how powerful that stomp must've been. "Consider yourself kicked off the cheer-squad, Anne-Maria. Heck, consider your fat ass thrown off all squads!"
She's been kicked out... Finally. I can't say I didn't see it happening. I really can't. It was inevitable by now.
But to everyone else, to Anne-Maria it seems like something that just come out of the blue. From nowhere. For a moment, the eighties hooker just stands there, her eyes wide and jaw slack. But then, just as quickly, her brows pull into a furrow and she harshly blows a bubble from her chewing gum, pulling out her nail file and popping the bubble right in Heather's face.
My gut swims. She's declaring war.
"Whatever," Anne-Maria shrugged, spitting out her gum. It landed right in front of Heather - right near her shoes. "I'm way more talented than all of you dolls anyway."
Despite looking like she wanted to scream, Heather grows a smirk at this. Her shoulders shrug and her hips adjust themselves, her arms folding over her skinny frame as she glances at Anne-Maria.
"Believe what you will," Heather flips her hair over her shoulder before leaning closer towards Anne-Maria. "You'll know the truth eventually."
A dry laugh leaves Anne-Maria, the fake-tanned female shaking her head. Her shoulders shake as she threateningly points her nail file at Heather, her laugh coming to a dead stop as she glared the Squad leader. I'm pretty sure she was glaring at me too, seeing past my 'shocked' expression.
"I was gonna quit anyways," Anne-Maria finally barks out, sharply poking Heather's collarbone with her nail file. She then turns on her heel, smoothly glancing back over her shoulder. "Plus, who says I'm talk'n to you, stick-figure?"
It's now Heather's turn to glare once more, her thin arms folding across her chest as she studies the Jersey-transfer. I know this look - the one stare that Heather gives before she makes someone's life a living hell on earth. Heather always gave this look, this glare, when she was planning something. She always gave this look when she had special plans for you. When she wanted you to learn your lesson in a slow and excruciating way.
Gulping, I adjust the straps of my bag. It seems Heather is on high alert this year, even if she's comfortably seated on her throne.
"I believe you did," Heather answers sweetly, smiling despite her killer glare. She even clasps her hands. "I'm pretty sure, since you responded."
Caught off guard, Anne-Maria bristled at Heather's response and loosely places a hand on her hip. Her eyes glide over to meet mine, her dark irises unsettling mine as something crafty appears to flash within them. Something I don't like.
I frown. Anne-Maria better not ruin my plans for this year. If she does, I'll make sure to ruin her.
I'll ruin her so badly that even Heather wouldn't fix her reputation.
"Nah, I was talk'n to mah girls," Anne-Maria speaks coolly, already strutting away. She smirks back at the Squad, me, waggling each of her fat fingers. "Speaking of, I better go, lovelies. See ya, girls," She then glared at Heather. "Heather."
Soon, she was gone, the echoing clicks of her heels being the only evidence left of the Jersey Shore Reject.
Leshawna's P.O.V
The Gang, or my friendship group as others know it as, arrived at the library around 8:30 exactly. We're not the type to arrive on time, to be honest I'm not that fussed about stupid timetables and expectations, but we got here a little early because a certain someone thought there'd be some drama before school. They did not disappoint.
As my source had said, there was a small piece of juicy drama just outside the girls' potty. Naturally, it was to do with Heather (when does it ever not involve Heather?) and tanny Anne-Maria had decided to take her on this time. When I saw the two, I immediately pulled out my phone and urged Gwen and Bridgette to do the same. If there was gonna be a showdown between itty-bitty Prom Queen and Tan-in-a-can then I wanted to be the one to record and report it.
But sadly the conflict didn't end in a fight - which I was really rooting for - but it did contain some rather good pieces of info to hold over Heather. You know, the whole missing eyebrows thing? I can't wait to dangle it over her head like a carrot being dangled in front of a mule!
Ha! Who's pathetic now, bitch?
Even so, though, I gotta say I have some respect for Anne-Maria. Even if she's a bit too big for her boots, and needs a whole lotta advice on her fashion sense, she has guts. Standing up to Heather like she did and laughing at her, that takes a whole lotta guts. It takes more than a lot of people would actually think. Trust me, I've used 'em to stand up to Heather before, and it did not end pretty.
Searching for an empty table, I absentmindedly check off every familiar face from last year. No-one's dropped out: now that's a surprise. Usually, you'd get the odd dropout or person who decided to transfer or ditch, but this year it seems everyone's here. Even those who didn't come on first days, Barfy Beth and Cody, had come in. If I had a guess, I'd say it's because it's the last year of high school.
But I know better than that.
Heading through an aisle of bookcases, the Gang and I head towards a table situated at the back of the library. The back of the library, or the social hub, was the only place where you could really talk without the annoying librarian telling you to shut up. Hidden behind all the massive ass bookcases and stupid posters, the back of the library was a blind spot to all staff working in the library. You only had to be on guard when they were heading towards you.
But in the front of the library... Well, you'd better pray you don't get a Saturday detention.
Once we're all comfortably seated at a table by the windows, each of us begin to unwind and relax: Bridgette and Geoff immediately snuggle up to each other, Gwen rests her face on a propped up arm and DJ pulls out a cooking magazine. I'm the only one who pulls out my phone, already sending the videos of Heather and Anne-Maria to my source and backing up my versions on the cloud. As I do this, Gwen nudges me, a small smile playing on her tired face.
"You still planning to get back at Heather this year?" Her voice comes out in a croak, always being a naturally low one. It's because she doesn't eat right. Gwen's always skinny and pale due to her own deprivation towards food and sleep. The girl just couldn't priorities her own health and well-being over everyone else's. That's why she looks like a walking skeleton - she barely eats, sleeps or even rests. She needs some meat on her bones.
"Doubt it," I shrug a little, waiting for my source to respond. Oddly, he doesn't. "But...I do give her several doses in a day alone. I'd be surprised if we don't brawl today."
"I don't know why you two just don't become friends," Bridgette sighed, comfortably situated upon Geoff's lap. Ok, it's cute and all that they're together, but these two seriously need to get a room. I'm tired of having yack-attacks all because of their smooching and cuddling. I have rights to not puke all the time.
"Are you crazy!" Gwen, DJ and I yell in unison.
Obviously, the noise attracts the attention of the librarian, who grumpily signals for us to 'shut the fuck up'. I frown at her slight glare, disdaining her messy hair, boring ass glasses and wrinkly-looking skin. When she joined the school, the librarian was an ok lady. Now she was just a grouchy old shrew. All she ever did was frown at kids and tell them to stop running about and making noise. Chris, our Principal, really changed her.
"Oh yeah, I forgot..." Bridgette trailed off, her voice apologetic. Her hazel eyes drift to her lap, focusing on her fidgeting hands. "I just thought it'd be great, but I forgot you two were friends..."
Late as usual, Duncan chooses to arrive at this moment. Slamming open the library doors, he ignores the librarian's scolding and stalks right towards the back of the room. One strap of his backpack is secured over his shoulder, making his bag hang loose behind him, and oddly his hair is wet. Green strands fall into his teal eyes, obviously gaining extra attention from many of the female occupants of the room.
As they ogle, I scoff, rolling my eyes. For some reason, I'm tempted to say that String Bean's late because he chose to have a small water fight. It wouldn't be the first time Duncan's done something like this. He was always doing some sorta dumb shit during school hours.
"What are you guys talking about?" Duncan asks, easily sliding into the only empty seat left. One of his piercings catch the light, sparkling in the fluorescent rays. It takes a moment, but soon realisation is filling his features and he rolls his eyes. "Oh....some deep girl shit."
Everyone knew not to bring the past into conversation - they knew not to mention mine. Cause every damn time, it reminded me of what happened...
*8 years ago*
"So Heather what ya got planned for tonight?" I say, ecstatic.
Today was Heather's birthday and due to her mega-rich parents, she usually threw huge birthday parties. As one of her best friends, I easily made the cut for her 'exclusive' list, each year's party never failing to excite nor surprise me. So naturally, I expected a lot this year.
"Oh, nothing special," Heather shrugged, humming. Lengthy and thick, her raven hair flipped over her shoulder. "It's only one of the biggest parties ever."
'Yes!' I silently rejoice, pumping a fist in the air. Wide and permanent, my smile can't be hidden as I glance at her and begin to formulate my plan for asking about my invite. With Heather, you never wanted to appear too desperate or entitled. If she thought you were desperate, she'd toss you away like a week old banana peel; if you were entitled, then she'd need to get rid of you even faster. That meant I had to be the perfect in between - the perfect blend.
"So..." I trail off casually, my innocent smile still in place. I had to double check - she wasn't always too reliable. "I'll see you after school at five, right?"
"Definitely," A catlike smile. Her grey eyes flash in the classroom's lights. "I'll pick you up with my friends."
Already, my brain is bursting with excitement and anticipation, plans and images filling my mind with the endless possibilities of Heather's latest grand gig. Would there be a chocolate fountain? A statue made of ice that was carved like some sorta animal? Would she have expensive gifts that lined the tables as well as designer gift bags and trinkets? Would a celebrity perform on stage for us?! God, with Heather anything was possible. Anything!
"And," Heather places a hand on my shoulder. My insides squirmed - that meant she had something for me! Something great. "I have a special surprise for you, Leshawna."
Now, I should've known from the delivery of that line that something bad was about to happen. No-one, especially Heather just says 'surprise' like that for no reason. The execution of a line, of words, is important. It can be a warning sign, a red flag to signal for you to turn back before you fuck up massively, but of course I didn't see it. At the time, I was too naive - too blinded by rose tinted glasses to even think my 'best friend' would betray me.
So five o'clock came by and I got dressed up for Heather's party. Attempting to look my best, I chose a beige party dress my Auntie got me from overseas and paired it with some sandals. My hair was in a puff-ball, Mama telling me I couldn't straighten my hair just yet. I was that tiny bit too young. But I didn't mind. I thought I looked good enough, glittery enough, to run with the big dogs. After all, Heather never made fun of me at school.
A few minutes after five, a long sleek limo pulls up outside my house. Exactly like Heather. Booming music was already escaping the vehicle, one of the tinted windows winding down to reveal plush leather seats and a haggle of girls that were sharing candy and throwing confetti.
"Get in," Heather rolls her eyes, looking at my house. Disgust was in her eyes. "We're going to my house."
Nodding, I gave a final wave to Mama and clambered into the limo. For most of the journey, I was seated between Courtney and Dakota, both girls being a lot calmer than the others. They both spoke to me a little, but were pretty distant. That left an odd feeling in the pit of my stomach, the sorta feeling that comes with dread. Because of that dread, I spent most of the journey eating some candy and staring out a tinted window. I didn't really feel like talking much; I didn't really feel like I fit in.
When we got to Heather's grand family home, my suspicious and growing dread were assured. At first, it had been amazing, movie-like. Silent and smooth, the limo had pulled into the large, paved driveway and the chauffeur easily opened the door to let us all out. Heather led the way into her expansive mansion of a home, the black glass doors opening in a seamless motion as she strutted in. Immediately, Heather's mother greeted us, brandishing makeup kits and announcing that the party this year was based on spa retreats.
That led to us all getting primped and pampered, the hired beauty technicians and spa-workers transforming Heather's living room into one giant spa. My nails were painted with fancy polish, my hair was teased into a straightened ponytail and my face was covered in expensive glittery makeup. All the other girls were the same, sipping away at mocktails and flicking through pre-teen magazines.
But soon, Heather paused the events to call our attention towards her surprise. Smiling widely, she brandished a video camera and plugged the extension lead into the wide-screen TV. Sinking dread returned to my gut, my mind noticing the way Heather's eyes met mine. This time, I noticed the malicious curve to her smile and the glint in her eyes. I noticed the paused frame of the video.
"Now here's a video dedicated to my best friend, Leshawna," Heather smirked at the crowd of excited girls, casually grasping onto the video camera. Once again, her eyes scanned over us and rested on me.
She was going to do it. She was going to play the goddamn clip.
A few months back, someone stuck gum in my hair. Yep, the idiot actually put gum into my thick and wonderful hair. Naturally, I had freaked out and ran to the teacher, crying and pleading for her to remove the gum without chopping off my hair. Sadly, I wasn't spared the shame of having an uneven patch of hair. In fact, the teacher made it worse by snipping off majority of my hair. That left me with an area of long, thick, kinky hair and a patch of short, stubble-like strands.
As you can imagine, I cried even more.
Conveniently, Heather had caught it all on tape. Being the friend she was, she promised to never show the clip to anyone. But of course, I made a mistake trusting a snake like her with something some private. I should've known that she would've never deleted it. She would've always dangled that thing in front of me like a carrot dangled before a mule.
"Excuse me," Breathing shakily, I roughly put down my glass and storm out of the room. The next thing I knew, I was dialing Mama's number into the house-phone and crying through the speaker to go home. I spent the next hour on the cold front steps, wiping away a few stray tears and sniffing when snot threatened to pour from my nose.
When Mama arrived and asked me what happened, I simply shrugged and said there was pineapple. I always hated pineapples - my allergies to them made me flare up all the goddamn time. But I don't think Mama truly believed me. She knew me too well. Had grown me too well to have me throw a strop over pineapples. So the conversation of the car ride changed topic towards my hair and now Mama expressively told me not to straighten it.
Oh well. What's done is done.
As soon as we got home, I scurried to my room before she could even attempt to stop me. Coming down thickly, my tears were made worse by the pulsing anger in my veins. I trusted her! She said I was her best friend, yet she still humiliated me! She still chose to be a mega bitch instead of a normal, nice person!
Growling, I throw off my party dress and replace it with my pajamas. Firmly, I scrubbed away at my freshly painted nails and makeup-covered face. Even my hair hadn't been saved from my rage, my fit making me cover it all up with my bonnet. I'll wash it tomorrow and erase the smooth locks - I prefer my natural hair anyway. Plus, I'm getting old enough to get weave or something. I don't need to straighten it.
After I was done with myself, my focus shifted to my room. My room filled with reminders of everything.
Roughly, I ripped away pictures, stuffed stupid, old trinkets and outfits into a box, and shoved it all into my closet. My dark, dank closet. If I ever were to want to dig the box up, find it, the effort of moving all my clothes and shoe boxes should make me rethink it. The memory of stuffing it all there should make me want to burn the box.
Till this day, I haven't even dared to move the box. It remains in my closet, collecting dust bunny after dust bunny, and will stay that way until I want to burn it. When I do burn it, when I do erase all proof of Heather ever being my friend, I'll remember the lesson she taught me.
I'll remember to be careful of who I trust.
*present day*
"We're now giving out timetables," The librarian called over the microphone, her voice soft and silken. It appears that she has brightened up a little, or maybe her voice had never really changed. I hadn't really noticed cause she was always yelling at me most of the time. "All surnames from A - D please come and collect your timetable."
Rolling my eyes, a small sigh escapes me. I hate the alphabetical system: it takes too damn long. Gwen, Geoff and Duncan are the first to get up, all of them having a shared expression that only first-letter surname students have. They were always one of the first on the register and therefore always in the front row when seating plans were made. They only got lucky when they had a teacher for two years in a row.
Once everyone comes up for A - D, the system naturally moves onto E - H, and so on and so forth. My surname was situated right near the end, the infamous 'S' section being my own. That meant I watch more or less everyone else get up to collect their schedules before my own category was even called. However once I am called, I make sure to rush right back to the table. I needed to make sure that my classes matched up with someone else's. I can't take another year of being by myself.
"Anyone got Trig for period three?" I ask, breathy, the mini-sprint from the front desk actually wearing me out.
"Nope."
"Sorry not this year."
"I think I do," DJ smiled a little and I smiled back. Thank god he had a class with me. Trig was the most annoying class to be alone in. Last year, I had to deal through the last semester sitting next to Barfy Beth.
After a little more comparing, we all find that we have pretty similar classes. Bridgette shares majority of her timetable with me, while DJ shares his chunk with Duncan. Gwen and Geoff had the most similar classes, only really differing in the non-core subjects. But it was pretty good to know that I wouldn't be as isolated as I was last year. My cramming and studying for last year's end of year tests had actually worked off.
Not too long after we finished comparing, the bell rings. Oddly, I find myself smiling at the sound. Here's the start to a great last year.
