A Bad Girl's Guide to Murder [AGGGTM]

Prolouge

This was the worst thing possible. Nothing could beat it.

Brooklyn Effie was 100% sure. Not possible anything could be worse than the time her parents had kicked her out for a bit, she had assured herself. But as she heard the last syllable of her teacher's sentence, she wasn't so sure. 

To get this show on the road, it was your average horrible Monday. 

God had conjured the worst teachers and the worst classes. Math period was suprisingly the best (if one could count sleeping as being present) class that day. A science project with goody-two shoes Lilac and the loner Gwen was certainly a 'coopertive and fun' project. And eventually, English to end the amazing day. 

In that dark brown door was a place far too disgusting to be a classroom. The floors looked as if they had once been home to an ant pile, and it's dusty, outdated books complimented with the musty smell were horrible. As if the room was a repelent to all human kind. And the teacher centainly seemed to be a 'everyone should suffer' kind of gal.

With her greying hair, natrually frowning face and long, pointy nose, she looked like the bitch she was. After a squalking, long lecture, they had moved onto the lesson, and from there the moutain of homework.

It wasn't the loud bell that woke her up, or even her stuff accidently getting dumped onto the floor, it's contents spilling out like water from a barrel. But it was the high pitched voice, echoing through the room as soon as she realized that she was in her classroom, sleeping.

"Ms. Effie, come here!"

Her voice was sharp, like a snake's fangs coated in venom. Bit by bit, consciousness sank in, and she lifted her head, the world too bright and too busy for her liking.

 "Fuck," she mumbled, looking up with a crack in her neck. As her vision swiftly got better, she hastily threw her hand up to cover her nose from the attack on her sense of smell.

A barely visible Ms. Archer, sitting crossed-armed in her messy desk, greeted her back.

"Oh," Brooklyn said raspily, eyes half-open as she kicked back her chair and finally witnessed her backpack gutted on the floor. Clicking her tounge with disappointment, she kneeled down and picked up her few things, one by one. Mainly wrappers and trash, a few school books here and there. Hearing the zipper click at the edge of the backpack, she threw it over one shoulder.

She heard the small sqeauk of her shoes as she turned on her heel, heading for the rotting brown door. Somehow, it had yet to been pointed out by school faculity or the district. Perhaps because of the amount of fake reports on her and whatnot, they don't know if it's real or not.

The whole senior class hope she would get fired, end of story.  And she was the biggest supporter of that. She reminded herself as the bottum of her sneakers creaked against the dry floor as she stopped at the door, pulling the circular knob open, nearly stepping into the thinning crowd in the hallway.