Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛
Umbrella: Rihanna, Jay-Z
I groan at the sound of my alarm clock which is Coach Sue's voice, which just consists of her screaming in my ear to get up or she'll tell everyone that I've been living in the school's basement. Yeah, long story about that, I'll tell you later, don't really feel like getting into that right now.
I shut my alarm clock off and sigh. I pull the blanket off me and fix myself since I showered and did my hair and got dressed last night. At the end of the day, when the school is locked, I always shower and put on my outfit for the coming day.
Which, for today, is black ripped jeans, a band t-shirt of My Chemical Romance, of course, that I have the bottom of it tucked in a little bit, my high top Converse and my silky and smooth straightened hair. And since the school has unlimited electrical and water supply, or so it seems, it all kinda just works out.
Except for my so called foster mom. All she cares about is her monthly checks, but anyway, like I said, I don't really wanna get into it right now. So, one day, about, I'd say, last week, Coach Sue caught me packing clothes in my bag during last period and then ended up following me.
She maced me on accident because she thought I was a drug lord or a child trafficker, which is completely understandable since I am living in the school's basement. So after she helped me rinse my eyes out so I can see again, I just kinda told her everything, I guess. She even offered to let me stay with her, but I didn't wanna be a bother and I assured her that it wasn't her problem. And that I didn't want any special treatment.
So, she settled for letting me stay where I am and she gave me a key to her office if I ever wanna sleep there. She also said I could use the gym to practice my dance numbers. I also told her not to kill my foster mom because that would be very bad for me and I'd probably go to jail with her for aiding and abetting.
"Oh." I grab my bag and sling it over my shoulders.
I take the megaphone off the floor and open the door. I look both ways and make my way out of the basement. I now enter the school hallway and make my way down. I check the time on my watch and make a left, avoiding Quinn and the jocks who slushee literally anyone at any chance they get, especially at the start of the day. I know that because Coach Sue told me and she also told me to take a left and go straight down as an alternative.
Okay, I know what you're thinking: she's getting all the special treatment cause she's got no one to look after her and she's a woman. And you know what? You're damn right I am. If us girls have to dress ourselves down because you guys can't control yourselves, then you should know what it feels like to get a taste of your own medicine. And besides, all the jocks and Cheerios have special treatment. It's highschool 101, the social ladder. The jocks are the kings and the Cheerios are the queens, or whichever they prefer, I mean, it's 2009, I'm trying to be as inclusive as I can these days.
