Trophy Daughter

Chapter 3- You Like Hoes?

Barnabas Dumas. Out of all the fuckers in the universe, it had to be the number one prick on the cactus. A little part of my mind did know it made perfect sense and had some eventuality to it, but still. I had just made a- dare I say it- friend in Belinda, and now I had the tutor of her torments. 

Beautiful. 

"Miss Lux, are you listening?" Schwarzinger harped, little old head wobbling as she spoke. Most of the time I hoped it would wobble right off, so I didn't have to listen to her high voice prattling on about history. History can be applicable now, since humans operate in patterns, but I didn't care. 

At all. This was one of the easier classes to fail. 

"If people say interesting things, I'll listen. Do I look like I'm listening?"

"No."

"Then you have an opinion on your teaching style." 

The witch turned back around and huffed, ignoring the snickers rippling through class. If anything, a small part of me wanted this class to go on for a while, especially since I started tutoring today. 

Fuck my life. But what did my father have- other than obvious wealth- that Dumas could ever possibly want? His parents were almost as rich as mine. My dad couldn't give him a personality- but i don't think Dumas wants one....

And just like that- the bell rang. 

I stood, dusting off my perfectly fine new Adidas joggers and walked out of the class, ignoring Mrs Schwarzinger's enraged shouts. The woman needed a new dayjob if someone like me could piss her off so easily. 

My phone rang, and a new text popped up on my screen. 

If you don't go to the tutoring session, I'm going to sell your cars. 

-Dad

Sell my car? Sell my CAR? That was a bit far, don't you think? My Mercedes Benz was the love of my life, as was my white Jeep- and they wanted to sell them both? Monsters. The lot of them. I groaned and looked to the library on the other side of the school. 

People would see me with Dumas- and my reputation was already lower than low. The rumour mill would love seeing the idiot of the school- and the last of Dumas' conquests- finally be fucked by Golden boy himself. 

But golden boy didn't seem to want to. Ah well, I could do without some Trophy Son dick. 

The librarians were well acquainted with me- especially Geneva, a kind, middle aged lady who sometimes bought me cookies. Ah, the perfect melty goodness of triple chocolate chip cookies. 

"Hey Geneva!" 

She looked up straight away, glasses perched on the end of her nose. "Oh, welcome back Circe! Got another one to torture?" She was probably the only person at the school who knew I was more than the idiot facade I constantly put up. But she didn't question it and let me be, knowing reasons usually mattered more than actions. 

I nodded seriously, throwing my bag on the nearest table. "I take my job very seriously Miss. This might be my hardest yet- throwing off the Golden boy himself, Barny Dumas" 

She chuckled and winked, pulling out a packet from under her desk. "I bought these for you, I knew I'd see you again soon after that snotty nosed boy kept staring at you"

I swear, I nearly cried when I saw those cookies. "Geneva, you are a lifesaver. My guardian angel. The mx+c to my y" 

She waved me off and I started munching, throwing back my hood and running a hand through my hair. Short and black, not for dicks- for hair.