Status: Edited
My long, faded-lavender hair swings as I walk to my pale yellow, dingy and just plain ugly locker. Inside, it's plastered with pictures of myself and my best friend, of memories I'd hate to forget. I smile a smile that's one part sad, one part happy and two part vulnerable, but it's gone as quickly as it came, and the wall that I've built in the last three months gets checked for cracks.
The burly jocks huddle around the giant bulletin board that's always littered with bright, sunshine-like posters as an attempt to make the school seem less like a prison and more like a school. It doesn't work. The tall fools look to see who made the rugby team, and judging by the muffled screams and yelps for excitement, most of them made the cut. The man sliding down the opposite wall with tears in his eyes may not have.
It doesn't seem that hard to get in, if I'm being honest with myself. I would have made the team, but I'm lacking something: a p.enis.
Across the corridor, dressed in an extremely short mini skirt I'm sure violates our dress code and an equally tight fitting shirt, stands Missy Hall, the President of literally everything in the school. Not that hard to do when Daddy's money grows on trees. Literally.
Missy's dad is the CEO of a paper company, and from what I can tell (a.k.a. the cherry red Mustang Missy drives every day), Mr. Hall brings in the dough.
The four "bad boys" of the school, and I use this term loosely- Michael, Ashton, Luke and Calum- mimic the shrieks of the newly added rugby players from the corner of the stretch, earning dirty looks, but I doubt they could see over their ego.
Sometimes, they look almost... nice. Then they snap out of whatever trance they're in and basically growl at anyone within arm distance. It's guys like these that make me want to stay in bed until late afternoon, but no, I get up, drag myself to school and get foul language directed at me for coming too close to their "territory".
Fingering a picture that was taken last year- could it really be last year?-, I sigh sadly and shut my locker harshly, causing it to slam shut, and, of course, echo in the now silent hallway. Everyone stopped to stare at the culprit- me.
Even Ashton stops banging on the lockers with his drumsticks to look at me as if I'd just kicked a puppy.
Heat rises into my cheeks, and I'm sure I look like a ripe tomato. I sling my leather bag on my shoulder and look around at everyone. It's still silent, and it stays that way as I walk out of the school, black converse squeaking along the way.
YOU ARE READING
Gamble a.i
Fanfiction"The problem is," he said as he leaned in, "if I kissed you, I don't think I'd be able to stop."
