SOLD! To the Player On the Back Row.

SOLD! To the Player On the Back Row. [#7]

‘Phoebe, time to get up.’

‘Only joking! I’m your mind – that was me speaking just then. Don’t worry about it... go back to sleep.’

‘Hmm... okay.’

‘Phoebe! I’ve told you – come on. Ten minutes late.’

‘Haha! That was me again – your mind. I’m just messin’ witcha.’

‘Oh, mind. You are a cheeky one! I’ll go back to sleep then.’

‘PHOEBE THORNTON – I’VE TOLD YOU THREE TIMES NOW. GET OUT OF BED.’

‘Lulz – it wasn’t me really! Get out of bed, fool.’

‘Screw you, mind!’

Curse my ghetto sounding mind. Always getting me into trouble with my parents in the morning.

The daily routine of hearing their voices and thinking I’m dreaming it.

Grrr. Now I had to rush – again.

Running up the art room stairs is a killer – especially on a Monday morning. With the art room being on the top floor, I have to peg three whole stories of stairs. No, I am not a heffer – I am just severely unfit. My mum was always like ‘You hate sports, don’t you? That’s why you never went on the teams.’ and I’d just reply ‘Nah, I was just shit at them – they didn’t WANT me on the teams.’

Awkward that I do PE for A-Level...

I looked through the window in the door, peeking into the classroom. I couldn’t see Ms. Fiakoftska. She was like Alan Sugar only female. Well, we think she's female. She laughs so much at her own bitter jokes and truly, to the bone, hates you. Let me put it this way – I doubt she nursed baby birds back to health in her spare time. 

But she wasn’t in the room, ready to kill me for being late. Maybe she was in the store cupboard downstairs. Yes! Luck for Phoebe.

I opened the door with confidence and started to stroll over to the table I share with Sophia. She looked up at me and gave her laid-back smile. It was lazy but honest to god, it was so sexy - she made me question my sexuality. She was just this stunning brunette beauty with dark brown eyes and pale skin. She didn’t look real half the time. 

She was way out of my league... Not in a lesbian way (I swear, I’m straight – CHACE CRAWFORD, CHACE CRAWFORD, CHACE CRAWFORD!) but friendship-wise. I’m sure no one in our school knew we even knew each other’s names but art really brought us together – a room full of ‘messed up people’ only choosing the subject to paint their grotty little fake-emo/suicide/eating disorder/alcoholic/drug using masterpieces, to show the world how ‘effed up’ they are – when really, they went home to their middle class houses and ate their dinner happily with their parents. It made me angry – why pretend to be depressed when you’re normal? Well, I guess it made them ‘individual’... NATTTT. 

Me and Fia were the only normal ones in the room – we were drawn to each other in this sea of fake.

But her smile quickly turned into an ‘oh, shit’ face.

“Nice of you to join us, Miss Thornton,” a deep pretentious voice said behind me.

I rolled my eyes, not daring to look at her. “Sorry, Ms. Fiakoftska.” The class were now staring at me, doing little ratty-sniggers with their friends.

What they didn’t know was that I was watching them back intently, mentally writing them all on my list. LETS SEE HOW APPEALING DEATH IS WHEN I KILL YOU IN DA NIGHT.