That Stupid Little L-Word:

Chapter Eight:

Please ignore any typos or spelling/grammar mistakes in this chapter! I had to write this from my phone :) I hope you enjoy!!

I can feel the blood sizzling inside my veins. It's like working behind one of the deep fryers at the county fair for several hours; the acidic grease works itself into the blood system and burns hotter than the flickering flames in Hell.

Only, this kind of burn is hotter.

It takes everything I have not to turn around and ask kid to shove me into them. It would be the perfect disruption;  the clumsy new cute girl whom Blue-Eyes is supposed to fall in love with accidentally stumbles onto them and they're forced to separate. Then, as Bimbo whirls around to bitch, a teacher will come, and send us all to class. But then I would have to deal with the fact that pizza-face knows the secret, and I don't like to give out blackmail material.

Plus it wouldn't stop them from doing it later on, at their houses, with their clothes splattered about the floor like freaking daisies.

I shudder at the thought.

Sucking in a deep breath --and wincing when it bristles through my lungs like ice, I walk past them. Head up, chin strong; I avoid eye contact. My classroom is the one directly behind the row of lockers they are cornered in, and I duck inside it. Per usual, I linger around the front as the teacher sorts through my information and gives me a run down of the course. The art teacher is a squat fellow, with a round beer-belly and squinting eyes. He has a shock of white hair growing around the edges of his shiny bald head. "Mr. King," he reminds me, as he points to one of the many flimsy-looking tables scattered around the room with the corner of his clip-board.

I nod and make my way over to the table. There are four stools total; each covered in splatters of paint and dried clay. Only one is filled at the moment, by a scary looking girl with several piercings.

She eyes me up and down as I approach the table, blue eyes narrowed. "You new?"

"Alice," I nod.

She nods back, and folds her arms atop the table. Her wrists are covered in bracelets, ranging from heavy chains to thin neon plastic ones. She cracks a small smile, "You can call me Amanda."

Amanda lifts a hand and runs her fingers through her short black hair. Its a long bob; styled extremely short in the back, while the strands that frame her slender face brush against her collar bone. The thin strands waver a bit as her fingers jostle them, before falling right back into their original place. I smile at her in return and claim the seat across from her. "Have you had this guy before?" I jerk my head toward Mr. King, who is slumped behind his desk with a newspaper stretched out in front of him.

"He's alright," Amanda's lips curl, "As long as you're doing something related to art. He doesn't care what it is, as long as its not math homework or catching up on your afternoon nap."

I let out a dreamy sigh, "Rats. I wish I'd known that before I signed up; I need all my beauty sleep."

Amanda snickers. The bell buzzes its annoying little trill and the rest of the seats begin to fill up. I pull out a notebook and begin to do what professional doodlers do best: doodle. I cringe when the two empty chairs at our table are dragged out, and the metal screams against the concrete floor. I glance at the newcomers from the corner of my eye, and then cringe some more when I recognize them. Blue-Eyes sits beside me, his arms stretched high above his head --pulling the thick muscles in his arms taunt enough to make my ovaries explode. But his eyes are on Bimbo, who sits across from him, shooting a disgusted look toward Amanda.

"Great," Bimbo's voice is just as anal and irritating as I thought it would be, "We get the loser table this year." Her elbow is propped against the table, chin resting lazily atop her fist. Silky blond hair falls around her shoulders like a waterfall of gold.

Amanda scoots her stool away from the blond, and then glances up at me. She tilts her head toward Bimbo and makes a face, "Wouldn't want to catch an STD."

"STD's can't be caught unless we were having sex," Bimbo shoots back pointedly,  annoyance flooding her features.

I snort, "You would be the one to know."

Amanda laughs and holds out a fist. I bump my knuckles against hers and she grins at me, "I think I'm going to like you, new girl."

"Ditto," I smirk.

Blue-Eyes speaks up from beside me, "I didn't know you'd be in this class, Llama-voice buddy."

I glance over at him, and feel my eyes widen. He's turned slightly in his seat, chin resting in his palm, angled toward me. He smiles cheekily. I squint at him as my head goes into a daze. "I didn't...either." I blurt out after a few moments of anticipating silence, only my statement sounds more like a question.

Bimbo rolls her eyes, "Babe," she stands and walks over to Blue-Eyes, tugging on his short hair until he glances over his shoulder at her. She pouts, "Come with me. I'm going to ask Mr. King if he'll change our seating assignments."

Blue-Eyes quirks a brow, "You need me for that?"

Bimbo shoots him a glare.

He lets out a sigh, and slides off of his stool. Bimbo flashes her pearly whites at him, pleased, and when he wraps an arm around her shoulders, she glances back behind his back --eyes narrowed at me. She sends a wicked smile my way. I repay her with a friendly flip of the bird. I hear Amanda snicker across from me and Bimbo glares. But before she can say anything, Blue-Eyes ushers her toward the front, where Mr. King has started around the tables with his clip-board in hand. I watch them go begrudgingly and scribble angry circles into my notebook. They get about halfway there before Blue-Eyes stiffens. He doubles back toward the table, leaving Bimbo behind with a confused and miffed expression etched -- in an extremely ugly fashion-- upon her face. He slams his hands down on top of the table mere inches from my spot, making it rattle. The entire classroom falls silent at the startling noise but within seconds the loght chatter picks up again.

Blue-Eyes narrows his eyes at me. "What's the password?" He demands, voice gruff and low, like the bad cop's always is in those funny action movies.

My lips stretch into a grin. I can't help it. "Cereal," I laugh at his silliness --and feel a little buttery inside because he'd ran all the way back here, just for me.

His grin matches mine, "Just wanted to make sure you remembered."

I roll my eyes, "How could I possibly forget?"

His throaty laugh bounces around my head as he leans away from the table and turns back toward Bimbo. I sigh softly, and ignore the questioning look on Amanda's face. My eyes are glued to his back and I realize with a startled, "Fudge," that I forgot to be mad at him for cheating on me with the Bimbo. I scowl.

Then he glances over his shoulder at me, and closes one of those heart-melting baby blues in a wink.

I become a puddle on the floor.