Just an fyi I'm probs never gonna finish this
A SWEETER POISON:
Who are you when no one is watching?
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How do you destroy a monster, without becoming a monster yourself?
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All her life, Maya has been fighting to keep her head above the surfac...
Song: Houdini by Eminem (guys this song is just such a banger I couldn't not put it)
Bitchilante (n.) ; only a bitch to people who deserve it
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My eyes swept the classroom of unfamiliar faces. I knew it would be natural to be scared, but instead I was filled with anticipation. These bitches didn't know what the fuck was about to hit them. I felt Clarice jam her shoulder into mine as she passed me, though I didn't stumble. I smirked slightly, watching her shriek as she greeted her friends with a series of 'oh my god's and general screaming. Wincing at their seagull-like behaviour, I spotted a seat near the back between some guy wearing a varsity jacket, throwing a paper ball to and fro with his friends, and a girl who had her feet on the desk and was texting away. She had a lip piercing and wore a red bandeau top with a pair of black baggy cargo jeans which sat on her low waist, which made way for her g-string to be visible at her hips.
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I slid into the desk beside her and she didn't look up, only said, "If you're a snitch or a suck up go sit in another fucking seat,"
I found myself smirking at her forwardness, and dumped my bag on the floor, "Well unless you eat tuna or bite into kitkats whole, this is my new seat," I replied with a smirk, and the girl paused typing and looked up at me, her face stoney.
I raised an eyebrow at her, and the corners of her lips inched upward slightly, which I interpreted as her version of friendliness, "You're funny," she said.
I shrugged, "Hey, I'll take it - better than funny looking, right,"
She gave a scoff of laughter, putting down her phone, "You new? I haven't seen you around,"
"Yeah, I just uh... moved here from the UK," I said, pausing to consider how to introduce myself. It seemed being a Rodrigues around here was either the holy grail or suicide.
"You got names in the UK?" the girl asked sarcastically.
"I'm Maya," I said carefully, and as I watched her narrow her eyes at my name to squint at me, I knew the charade was up.
"Maya?" she repeated, "As in Maya Rodrigues,"
I shrugged in assent, and she gave a low whistle, rocking back in her chair, hands behind her head, "Maya Rodrigues," she hummed to herself, "Fancy a Rodrigues talking to little ol' me," she seemed to be talking more to herself to me, and I wondered whether she talked to herself often and if I had picked the wrong seat.
