Vendetta

Chapter Ten: Partying For Brain Stimulation

'You still smell of latte.'

I put on my sugary smile. 'Gee, thanks for reminding.'

Rachel puts down a sandwich before me. 'Sorry. Leigh is the complete Queen Bitch. I don't know what made her target you, anyway.'

I have dyed my hair back to strawberry blonde, but I am still known as the Pink in the Latte.

People point at me and giggle. Leigh Adams was one famous chick. From what Rachel told me, my pick-hair and latte covered look needs only a couple more retweets to surpass the guy who wanted free chicken nuggets.

Since last week, I have been shooting death glares left and right. I haven't had more run-ins with Leigh the Great, but I have had Christian giving me the cold-shoulder. He stares straight ahead during all of our classes, not even sparing a glance. I pester him for the time, for a spare pen, for misplaced notes: but, I must admit, the guy can really ignore you if he wants to. After my initial attempts to arouse even the tiniest of reactions from him resulted in back-to-back failures, I learned to shut my trap.

Even if Christian and I weren't on speaking terms anymore, he still manages to keep up the prank war. Here's an overview:

Monday, I spent four hours ripping cling film off my entire bed. I spent another two hours at the Baristas, waiting for Christian to fall asleep (Rachel informed me about the habit!) and drawing quite an art on a sleeping Christian. It was worth watching him parade around with Elvis-inspired side burns and, uh, couple of other nice things on his face.

Tuesday, I opened the door to Law class only to have a bucket full of water emptied on my hand. Apparently, my wet, shivered self has faster thinking capabilities – I managed to switch the crème of his Oreos with Colgate. It was, according to Rachel, something only a spawn of Satan would do. Ha.

Wednesday, I struck first. It wasn't my idea, though, it was Sean's. I brought paper the color of our chairs in Law class and wrote Kiss My Ass on it. I flipped it over and applied some gum on it, and placed it on Christian's chair. He had no idea why the ladies were actually kissing his butt. And I ended up eating a mayonnaise donut.

Thursday had me fishing maggots out of my soup and Christian face –planting the floor after I tied his right and left shoelaces together, when I went under the table on the pretense of having lost my spoon, with which I was fishing maggots.

Friday came by with me scratching my skull off due to Christian's itching powder debacle. I showered, got hold of Christian's phone number from Rachel and printed fliers advertising about a male stripper and had Zach distribute it in the whole of New York. It was funny watching Christian exasperatedly telling potent customers that he was not a stripper by profession.

'There's going to be a party tonight.'

I munch on the sandwich, after making sure that there are no creepy-crawlies on them.

'Who's is it?'

Rachel waves an ignorant hand. 'Not important. The thing is; it's going to be wild.'

I drape my bag across my shoulders as I spot Christian and Jared coming in. I am not in the mood for a show-down.

'Have a great time, then.'

Rachel clamps down on my wrist before I can get away.

'Not so fast, mouse. You are going with us.'

I shake my head. 'Nope. Not a chance.'

'According to a survey, parties provide 90% positive stimulation to the brain.'

I raise an eyebrow. 'You made that stat up.'

She lets out a whining sound. 'Oh, come on, Cor. It's the weekend, anyways. Don't tell me you are going to stay in and study for that seminar thingy you have next week.'