Confessions of the Popular Girl

Chapter Two: This means War

Chapter Two of Confessions of the Popular Girl

Sliding into my chair that connected to a desk, my skirt rises to my thigh. Revealing a little skin didn't bother me, but I didn't want to pursue any guys. At least any guys who wasn't that one that had caught my eye in the hallway.

Glancing around, I apparently caught someone's eye. The guy leaned on his hand, with his elbow on the desk. Trying to wink at me, I chuckled at his twitching eye. my eyebrow rose, do guys really think that makes a girl have whatever those "bubbly" feelings are?/Ugh./ He had caterpillar eyebrows. Big turn off. Also the twitching eye looked retarded.

Turning to face the front, a female teacher had a chalk in her hand and was making the most utterly screeching noise with it. Was she trying to murder me? Kill me, not him. The words didn't exactly frightened me, but more of a surprising feeling. She turned around and smiled at me. Blinking, I look to the board again, seeing if the words were still there. They were. Was this a dream? She didn't know. She couldn't. she couldn't know I was a scortcher.

She wore a black pencil skirt and a eggplant sort of purple, low cut blouse. And flip flops. Maybe the disgusting neon shoes disgusted me more than my murdering. It was hard to choose.

Yes, I'm bit of a fashionista. Who would of thought with being also a murderer?

I had probably looked a little skeptical and sort of frightened all at the same time. The teacher was still starring at me. Biting my lip, tasting a blast of strawberry, I didn't know what to do. It caught me off guard. Usually nothing does. She was still starring. She knows. She defiantly knows.

Sliding down my chair and messing with my fingertips, I obviously felt uncomfortable. A type of feeling I've never felt before. It was a strange in a sense, and I'm pretty tough in situations like these.

I blinked a couple times more, not believing my eyes. They were deceiving. I rubbed my eyes hoping they would go away, because I wanted to kill him. It was my desire.

But on the last glance, the words weren't there. I mean there were words, but not the same ones I had seen before. The letters were swarming around, forming new words. Some were taken away. Others were added. Reading, melting

Kill was now visible. /Melting kill? What on earth was that?/

My eyes straying up and down of the teacher, maybe it was possible she was one of us. Us meaning scrotchers. each one of us deadly and having a secret power to smell the frightened. Frightening blood tasted amazing. But watching them cry out in pain, blood trickling out of their mouth and sliding down their chin's, screaming "help" and really expecting me to have a change of heart, was wonderful.

We're sick and twisted animals. We knew it. There wasn't a cure. We were born this way. How we came about the Earth, I have no idea. But I am what I am, and there wasn't an antidote for it.

The teacher couldn't be a scortcher, though. She had written kill me, not him. Maybe she was a protector of some sort? A mortal enemy? No words were traveled to each other, and we have already started hating each other. Ablest I think she hates me. She keeps giving me the same sly look that I gave, probably meaning to mimic me.

Glancing nervously to the clock, we had an hour left of class. I don't know why I was sort of scared, but her prescience felt threatening to me. Tingling chills ran through my body. Starting at my fingertips, to my arm, and then it had spread like a disease over my body. Microscopic red dots spring out on my arm. Looking like a rash, but from what?

Catching a stare from the teacher, she smiled. She had put this on me. So she wasn't a mortal. But this means war.