Bad Boy Central, Good Girl Kennedy

"I'll Do It" - Edited

"So what're you doing this weekend?" Phoebe asks, picking at her soggy salad. She's one of the only people I hang out with and she's as close as I'll ever get to a best friend. We don't usually eat lunch together because she sits at the table filled with steriod infused jocks and pep filled cheerleaders.

Either today is a special day or she got kicked out of her group. Either way I'm glad to eat lunch with someone for a change.

"Nothing. Probably going to babysit Jackson," I say as my teeth pierce my burger. Thick red tomato ketchup rolls onto my chin and as I reach for a napkin, I see Phoebe's nose scrunched in disgust.

"What?" I ask furrowing my brow.

She squints her eyes and replies. "You know what." Sometimes I forget that Phoebe's as rich and entitled as everyone else here. And then she reminds me.

I roll my eyes and take another bite purposely adding to the pile of ketchup sliding down my chin.

Her eyes widen, appalled, "Kennedy! I know your mother taught you better!" You couldn't say it any louder, Phoebe, could you? Every head in the cafeteria turns and stares at our table. Phobe notices and turns crimson. She's not embarrassed because she embarrassed me. She's embarrassed because everyone's looking at her talking to me.

Ignoring her embarrasment, I pretend to not notice as her fingers circle her ear in a 'Cuckoo!' motion. My mother always told me that anyone is better than no one. She's never met Phoebe.

Phoebe doesn't know about my mom. No one knows about her. If anyone did I would be kicked out of Prep School, and custody would be given my dad.

Three slaps of trays collide with the marble table Phoebe and I are sitting at and I immediately whip my head up. Blake Cameron, Eric Giovanni, and Monroe Richards sit down casually picking at their food.

While butterflies devour my stomach I glance at Phoebe, who's busy trying to make her boobs look bigger. She's a laid-back person, but when it comes to popularity or boys she goes crazy. I can't blame her with this lot. They're gorgeous.

Eric could be Michelangelo's cousin. Chiseled cheeks and deep, Hershey's chocolate skin make up up his distinctive look. He has about the same build as Monroe who's vanilla skin radiates off of his dark brown eyes.

And then there's Blake, the leader of the group. His dewy tan complexion compliments his pink lips and mouth permanently in a smirk. His deep, midnight hair curves into a quiff and compliments his light blue eyes.

"Hey boys," Phobe greets while lightly puncturing her lips with her teeth.

If that was an attempt to look sexy---

Eric opens his mouth to speak and stops when I glance at him. He smiles at me and his perfectly curved dimples flex in his cheek. My heart lurches. I must have died and went into the afterlife. Heaven, or hell, it doesn't matter as long as there are more smiles where that came from.

He tears his eyes away from mine and grins at Phobe, "Hey beautiful."

I've been through the "I don't really like you I just want your friend" phase before and I am in no hurry to go back. Eventually I tune their conversation out and replay my plans in my head.

Out of the corner of my eye I catch Blake laughing and nodding towards me. Monroe looks at me and covers his laughter by coughing. Laughter must be new approach in plan "befriend the creep to bang her friend." They must not know that Phobe is like a momma wolf when it comes to protecting her friends and in this case I'm her friend. The snickers go on for few more seconds and I'm stuck wondering if my momma wolf has put me up for adoption---