Enamoured《 Neymar Jr

twenty nine

"Well, I guess the slut has finally managed to gather enough courage to walk into the cafeteria!" Alissa sneered.

'Funny that she called me a slut,' I thought to myself, 'She's the one who I bet has had sex with at least three quarters of the school's male population'. I almost burst out laughing but I thankfully managed to compose myself. Even so, a smirk was etched onto my face.

"What are you smiling at, loser?" One of her cronies asked. Her worshippers were practically just a bunch of girls with no personality whatsoever. Whatever Alissa felt, they felt. Whatever she ate, they ate too.

This school honestly reminded me of Mean Girls.

"Nothing," I said, still smiling.

"Stop smiling," she snapped,"It sickens me."

I smiled wider, "Well we don't want you throwing up anymore, do we? I bet your throat is already sore from all the dicks that you've deep throated today."

Oops. Big mistake.

Her face glowed a frightening red and her mouth almost fully disappeared; classic signs of her deadly fury. Moments like these almost made me totally positive that she was the reincarnation of Satan.

Her preferable choice of clothing was also red. Coincidence? I think not! School required full uniform, although after it finished, we were permitted to change into everyday clothing. Alissa used that to her advantage, spending most of her evenings dressed in skanky outfits that should in no way even be considered as clothing. Hell! She even made our prestigious school uniform appear to be the dress code at some prostitution agency.

Of course, the teachers did not approve of her and her group's atrocious behaviour. But there was little I could do. Alissa's father was headmaster of the school, so they were all far too terrified to report her. The funny thing is, if her family knew of all the atrocities, her father would probably expell her himself.

"Jason," she yelled in a shrill manner. Honestly, if you were to use a decibel meter to measure her voice, it would be somewhere extremely close to the statistics of ultrasound. That's how unbelievably shrill her voice was.

Whenever I hear her speaking, I just feel like ramming a cactus up my ass. That would probably hurt less.

Don't even get me started on her singing; even my grandfather would be able to ruthlessly beat her in any singing competition. Despite that, she still auditions for roles in plays or musicals and gets rejected every time. Some people just never learn, do they?

Jason Trent walks over to us and drapes an arm around Alissa's waist. I wouldn't be surprised if he was touching her butt (which I would bet money that it surgically enhanced). Jason Trent was basically Alissa's boyfriend. He knew that she slept around with other boys constantly, but he did not care because to be frank, so did he. He was one of those affluent British teenagers that attempted (and failed miserably) to act like a gangster.

I've wondered time and time again why kids like them had not been disowned by their parents.

"What babe?" Jason asks Alissa while glaring at me murderously.

"Deal with this bitch after school," she snarled.

Her 'worshippers' (Emily, Eve and Millie) chant and nod in assent.

"Meet me after school at 4. Sharp," he threatens.

All my bravado finally died down and I nod, not daring to meet any of their eyes. I knew what was coming...