Last Friday Night

I

She had hair the color of champagne that fell down to the middle of her back. It was always beautifully coiffed. Her skin was supple and shiny. Her ocean-blue eyes sparkled in the light, it was like staring at a walking beach. She wore a snowy, white crop top, her breasts almost exposed to the public. Her pants were rolled up at the bottom, exposing a fraction of her ankle.

It was Valentina Morrone, the most popular girl in school. She was walking with her boyfriend, Jackson Barlowe. He was the most athletic boy in the district. She strutted through the hallway with a dumb smile on her perfect face. Crowds of students stared at the couple in awe, some in jealousy.

The blondie approached a lonely-looking girl who was standing beside her locker. The girl had bangs that covered her eyes, and chestnut hair that looked like it had been electrocuted. Her shirt was oversized and had a hole near her shoulder blade, and her sweatpants looked unwashed and soiled. The girl was half-slouched staring at the white, grimy tiles beneath her.

"Hey, freak," Valentina announced, waving her hand in front of the girl's face.

The girl slowly lifted her head halfway so that she was staring at her chest.

"What do you want, Valentina?" she mumbled.

Valentina had a disgusted look in her eyes like she just saw a dead rat. There was a nauseating smell lingering. Valentina pinched her nostrils tightly while glaring at the lonely girl.

"Ew, what is that horrifying smell?"

"It's probably coming from Deirdre!" Jackson assumed, covering his nose with his football jersey.

Deirdre's cold, pale face suddenly turned bright red. She felt humiliated. She heard the roar of laughter coming from nearby students.

She stormed off, tears building up in her hazel eyes.

Deirdre entered the women's restroom.
She stared at her reflection, still crying with embarrassment. Mold surrounded the frame of the mirror, and there was a light crack forming in the top left corner.

"Is everything okay in there?" A passing teacher yelled into the bathroom. She had heard Deirdre's faint sobbing.

Deirdre responded, trying to conceal her tears;

"Yes."

Her high-pitched, shaky tone caught the passing teacher's attention.

"Here, let's go for a walk," She advised.

The mysterious teacher reached for Deirdre's hand. Her sharp diamond ring made a small cut on the top of Deirdre's index finger.

The stinging sensation shot through her arm.

Deirdre approached the principal's office when she was interrupted by a tall, mysterious man in a black trench coat.

The man held his wrinkled hand out for a handshake. He had a faint smile on his crooked face. Deirdre reached out her hand, trying to hide the small cut that was leaking blood.

The man had a dark look in his eyes, but Deirdre paid no attention. She entered the principal's office with a distressed look. The principal was staring at his computer, signaling to Deirdre to have a seat.

"So, what seems to be the problem today?" the absent-minded principal asked.

He continued to type on his computer. Click. Clack. Deirdre's head was flooded with clicking and clacking from the loud mechanical keyboard. The unknown teacher answered with an awkward tone:

"There was a bullying incident today. Students were laughing at her scent."

"Mrs. Jackson, there is nothing I can do about her body odor, give her perfume... or something," the principal said, feeling annoyed and distracted.

Deirdre stared at her shoes feeling discomforted. She rapidly bounced her leg up and down. Her breathing became heavy, and her face became a light shade of red. She sprang up from the seat and left the room in a hurry.

The anxious girl ran out of the building and entered a yellow car with NYC TAXI on the side. The driver peeked over his shoulder and asked:

"Where to?"

"1738 2nd Avenue" she replied, taking her checkered backpack off her lap and moving it to the side.

After 20 minutes, the driver finally arrived at her apartment complex.

"That'll be $39.75," The driver said, reaching out his hand to Deirdre.

She checked her pockets and only found $15.45.

"This is all I have.."

The driver looked at the girl in pity.

"Free of charge."

Deirdre's face lit up and a faint smile formed on her face.

She exited the taxi and signaled "thank you" to the polite driver.

She approached the old, raggedy building. She opened the door labeled 67 and entered.

Empty beer bottles surrounded the dirty couch. The rotting wood made a creaking noise after every other step. There was a half dead looking adult resting on the sofa, one leg falling off the side. They were drunk.

"Wake up!" Deirdre shouted, shaking the intoxicated woman awake.

The woman sprung awake, her eyes were red and teary. She furrowed her eyebrows and shouted at Deirdre:

"What the hell, Deirdre! I was sleepin'!"

The woman was her foster mother. She had a hard southern accent, beer-stained clothing, and gray, wavy hair that touched her elbows.

Deirdre apologized and went to her room.
A few minutes later, her foster mother entered the room holding a black leather belt and her face was bright red in anger. Drops of sweat rolled down her uneven face.

Deirdre froze in shock, and her eyes widened. She fell to the ground and started to back away from her raging mother. Swipe, Swipe. Two swipes missed Deirdre, but the third swipe had hit her on the arm. Deirdre grunted in pain as she kept getting beaten. Parts of her body were black and blue, some red. The foster mother had a wicked smile on her twisted face.

She stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Deirdre was huddled up in the corner shaking and sobbing. She felt weak and cold.

Her facial expression changed from pure sadness to extreme anger. She wiped her tears and stood up, her fists clenched. On the floor there were shards of a broken vase.

She picked up the sharpest piece and stared at it.

It had blue floral print and could cut like a knife.

She opened her bedroom door and approached her drunk foster mother. The shard was hidden behind her back.

"What the hell are you lookin' at, creep?" Her foster mother said, giving her a nasty glare.

Deirdre inched closer towards the woman. An evil smirk appeared on her face.

The foster mother's emotionless face quickly changed into panic and fear.

"What the hell are you doin'?"

Deirdre sliced her neck open like a fruit. Blood flowed out like a waterfall, covering her clothes and the wooden floor beneath. The woman started to choke and gasp for air. Her eyes widened, then slowly closed. Deirdre cleaned off the glass shard with her hand. Her evil smirk soon became a mischievous cackle.

Her foster mother was dead.