Can you blame me?

Ice Cold to The Touch

Here and there, mean, nice, solid, hurtful, cheerful, graceful. "Everyone at this damn school has a place where they belong, a name." I muttered to myself. I'm very absorbent, and my hearing well let's just say I know your secrets by hearing them a mile away. My hair was blue with white lines belened in, and no I wasn't born that way, any way I have pale skin, and icy blue eyes that are shielded with glasses. At my school we wear uniforms. Black skirts and white shirts with a black tie to tie it off. The boys wear white shirts, black pants, and a black tie. I always sit at the back of the class, I don't talk much, sorry I don't talk at all. I hate people. To noisy. Not for me. I'm a A plus student, but do I care? Ha! No. All the girls here except me are all: "OMG! pink! Bows! Nail polish! Lip gloss!" Me? Hell no. I hate pink, nail polish, lip gloss, and I never say omg. What do you expect? I don't talk and I'm sure as hell not going to say omg in the few words I speak. Not worth my time to add stuff to my words. I'm down to the point, chop chop, hurry before I get board. Some people call me Ice Queen. I like it, because it describes me. "Oh look here come Ice Queen! Look who it is Ice Queen. Ice Queen is so...icy!" That's all I hear. Or even care to hear. Some people bump into me on purpose just so they can say: "Damn she's cold to the touch!" Ha, I guess that's the best way you could put it.