Playing The Player

:Chapter Fourteen:

It was like déjà vu; I was reliving the cafeteria scene, the awful lunch where I had gotten a drink spilled on me and pushed Jenna over so she broke her ankle. I only hoped nothing bad would come out of this awkward scene. I munched on the pizza, but I could barely taste the pineapples and pepperoni as I tried not to choke at the sight of Whitney practically shoving her boobs in Colt's face and the little knowing smirk that Liam wore.

I wondered if cute, definitely hot smirks were something delinquents were trained to perfect. I mean, Blake, Colt and Liam all knew how to do it perfectly, while when I tried it, it was like... No.

"If it makes you feel better, he doesn't want her," Liam said to me in a low voice so neither Colt nor Whitney could hear us.

I looked up from my pizza. "What?"

Liam smirked again - what was up with that?! "Colt doesn't like Whitney. Nor does Blake, just so you know. We've all been with her, she's nothing interesting."

We've all been with her... I suddenly got the real meaning of that, and I made a face immediately. "Gross. That's too much information."

Liam laughed, resting his arms behind his head as he relaxed; apparently my response was funny.

What really was funny, however, was the fact that all three of them, Blake, Colt and Liam, the three people that practically everyone at school seemed to be afraid of were actually really nice. They were definitely not what I had thought they were. Truthfully, I had thought they were idiots who got mixed up in drugs, sex and alcohol just for the fun of it. I thought they would be incredibly stupid, not be able to string a sentence together, act like they were better than everyone else, and not care about anyone else.

But I was wrong, and yes, I, Hayleigh Grace, Teacher's Pet, known to never get a mark under 97%, yes, I had to admit that I was wrong. Appearances weren't everything, and the only thing that I had gotten right was that they were massive players. No, that hadn't changed.

I took a sip of my drink just as I started to tune in to the conversation, wanting to make an effort. I mean, I was here, right?

"... After the boob job Daddy says I'll be able to pleasure men like, ten times better," Whitney was saying.

I spat my drink out all over Whitney.

I spat my drink out all over Whitney.

I spat my drink out all over Whitney!

Before I had a chance to say anything, Whitney screamed. And no, it wasn't a small yelp of surprise, it was one of those freakin' screams that you let out when a murderer burst into your house in the middle of the night or something. It was one of those screams little children let out when they didn't know where their mother was. It was one of those screams that you only let out in a case of a real emergency.

Well according to Whitney, getting a few drops of Sprite on your hair counted as an emergency.

"Ohmigod! My hair! You bitch!" Whitney screeched at me.

I backed up. "Whoa - I'm sorry."

Apparently my apology wasn't heartfelt or good enough, because the next thing I knew, Whitney was picking up her cup of Diet Coke and throwing it over me. Yes ladies and gentlemen, I had gotten a drink spilled on me for the second time in a week. In the split second I had before the drink was flung on me, I wondered when my life had gotten so complicated. I definitely hadn't gotten this much attention at my last school - far from it, in fact. But now I happened to be talking to people like Blake and getting low or no fat drinks flung onto me like I was Rachel Berry from Glee or something.