Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Danielle
Normal pov
"Hey, slut!
I was 99% sure that "slut" was a universal greeting for teenage girls and I had no idea how to respond. I am Andy Hills and I am a failure of my own gender.
I froze at my locker, shoulders stiffening, and turned to the ever-flippant eyes of one Danielle Jones.
If we were running on cliques here, now is when I would say that Danielle was the bitch of the school, the most popular and the densest. None of this was true; well, not completely. She was a cheerleader, track runner, athletic A-grade student who was rumoured to have whored around with everything containing a pulse. We had been best friends, and down the track there had been some form of a falling out between us. She'd been the first to learn I was gay and I'd been the first to learn that she had supposedly slept with our English teacher. It was ironic how she called me the slut- I was under the impression that, somehow, for crazy reasons, it was because I was a flirt, and a lot of the guys seemed to be drawn ultimately to me before her. It wasn't a self aggrandizing factor in which I was saying this, it was an honest one. Maybe I was just "mysterious" or something. I could definitely dig some hardcore poetry about that. My red hair hides the secrets of a thousand summers and my lips and the rain and the blah blah blah. Danielle was staring. I hoped to God I hadn't been speaking out loud.
"Hey, um. Whore," I decided, smiling sweetly and putting my books away, making a show of her insignificance to me. That was how highschool worked, right?
I saw her scowl out the corner of my eye, and beamed in satisfaction when her simper dropped to nonexistant. I was winning. This was what winning tasted like. Fuck Charlie Sheen, I was going to write my name on a goddamn skyscraper later, this was the highschool equivalent of being elected president.
"Don't flatter yourself, bitch, I didn't come over here just to stare at your skanky outfit, I need to talk to you."
I sighed and turned to her. "Yes, Danielle?"
"I want you to keep your slutty hands off of Damien, okay?"
Of all the crazy shit in the entirety of the world.
I frowned. "What."
"You heard me. Off. Damien's a nice boy, and I don't even know why he hangs around with a slut like you, anyway."
14:59
Vo) 4G LTE1 ll ll 47%
I sighed. "You know, Danielle, I think it's logistically impossible for me to be both a slut and a virgin. Have you ever thought of that?"
She turned her nose up. "Of course I've thought of it, I just find it hard to believe."
I rolled my eyes. This was so immature. She was so immature. "Fuck off, Danielle. Jesus, and you wonder why I hate you."
She glared at me, but her expression seemed to soften just a little, for a second, anyway. "Do you really hate me?"
I narrowed my eyes. Huh? Alarm bells were going off in my head, and I was suddenly stark naked with a lack of resources. I was sure that somewhere down the road, I'd been provided with intricately designed pop magazines with articles about what to do in situations like this. If Mean Girls had taught me anything, it was that I should never be sincere. Also, if I had the choice, I should always be Tina Fey. Always.
"Ah... is that a trick question?" I asked.
"Answer it."
"Alright. Sure? Do you want me to say no? If I say no, I'm a big dyke, right? And if I say yes I'm a bitch. So... yes? I do hate you? You seem hell bent on making my life as such, anyway." If that's not incentive for highschool hate then I don't know what is. Back to my skyscraper fantasies.
Her expression hardened again. "Whatever, and you are a dyke. Later loser."
My locker was shut before she was gone, the click of her heels really out of place. I was so done with highschool and everything in it. I needed to lie down.
