I'm holding the bad boy's boxers

Put it like this the language had enough colour to paint a rainbow.

Hey, there guys, I originally wrote this chapter in Chad's POV, but I didn't like the style or direction it was heading in. So as I can't show what Chad is thinking I just wanted to make something clear, this is not a story where the guy has been desperately in love with her from the moment she fell out of her mother's vagina. He has never met her before yesterday, and is attracted to her yes, but not in a cute cliched way. Any questions just ask comment, vote and whatever I'm meant to beg you to do.

This chapter was hard to write, and it's slightly more dramatic. I wanted to start to add clues as to why Lexi is such a bitch.

Without further ado here's another chapter, in my book with a very long name...

~•~

I walked into Lunch with my friends Meg and Trish. We were an interesting mix of awesomeness, polar opposites in both appearance and personality, well we would be if there were three poles, as it stands the West and East poles are non-existent.

We'd been friends since year five; our teacher had put us in groups and asked us to write a letter of complaint to someone of importance, as part of our persuasive writing task.

Most kids, of course, had written to their parents or another authority figure complaining that "all the other kids are allowed to stay up until 8:30 on school days." We three wrote a letter to the registry office stating that "they had not been acting responsibly, or had considered the consequences of their actions, when they had allowed in the year of 1997 three hormonal women, who had given birth in the past 72 hours, too, in this day and age, name their children, Alexandria, Megeline and Patricia."

Our 8-year-old selves had been over the moon at the product of our combined efforts, the school less so. Especially once the headmistress read the letter and discovered that half of it was composed of direct quotes from Megan's father, who had dropped a half tonne, stone slab on his foot, earlier that week.

Put it like this, the language had enough colour to paint a rainbow.

Anyway, the girls and I walked into the dining hall, taking a seat at our usual table. It was as far away from Carly and her cheerleaders from hell as we could manage. I did not need their incessant whining about the number of carbs in a piece of bread, assaulting my ears throughout my meal, and believe me, you can hear them a mile off at the pitch they squeal.

I recall the days when me, Meg and Trish used to sit at the wannabe weight watchers table, *insert mental shudder*, I'm embarrassed I was ever that naive.

I was momentarily confused when the room silenced upon our entry, but then a remembered my conversation with Barbie the Bimbo, and it clicked.

I sat down with my food and began to eat, I had been chatting for a good ten minutes before I realised something was up. People hadn't stopped staring, usually, they got bored after two minutes of death stares. So what? I snapped at a bitch, I am a bitch. Cry me a river, build me a bridge, and get over it, that's what normally happened after a few minutes of whispers.

Confused, I examined the room in greater detail. To my surprise I found it was mostly the guys staring, that was odd, it tended to be the girls who were gossip-hungry. Attracting so many male stares had me worried my trousers had ripped. I was slowly becoming more and more self-conscious, receiving winks and smirks from whichever guys gaze I happened to meet. I wished someone would tell me what the hell was going on, curiosity was gnawing at me and I was becoming agitated.

My curiosity was sedated when a guy walked past me a smirked, whispering "Chad tells us you look good in red lace."

He then winked and walked on.