A/n: Dedicated to StopSlutShaming
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"This is impossible."
You looked up to see your friend with an astonished face, watching her and the teacher busily talk with each other. You rolled your eyes and thought it was better to read the obscene words marred on your seat rather than witnessing the development of an illegal student-teacher relationship.
Your friend passed you a glare for showing disinterest and gave you a push.
"What?" you snapped.
Your friend pointed at your A graded mark sheet and hers A+ graded one. You gave her a bitter smile.
"Tactics, sweetheart. Tactics, I knew something like this was going to happen."
Your friend frowned, "So you are telling me that you are not at all bothered that she came in first place."
"Of course not," you added nonchalantly scribbling profanities on the bench, "There is a saying right, for getting something you have to give something." You jutted your chin to her before adding, "I can bet she spread her legs for Mr Rodriguez in exchange for an A+ grade on her answer sheet."
You tightly pressed the tip of the ball pen on the desk surface to give the slanting line of l before the tip broke. Even if you won't admit in front of your friend- it did hurt. It did hurt knowing that you traded the trip to Venice with your parents for investing hours in studying. It did hurt knowing that she might have been kissing the daylights out of him the night before, not at all preparing for the exam ahead and still managed to get a A+ just by spreading her legs for that blasted teacher.
The teacher finally seemed to stop kissing her butt and returned back to the board. You and your friend eyed her warily as she elegantly sat on her seat. All through the class you managed to pass her a glare each time you two accidentally made eye contact.
The slimy whore skillfully managed to tear her eyes away from you and pretended to be writing notes on her notebook. Sometimes she used to tug at her hair band and pretended to think about the answer for the question written on the board.
You inwardly snorted.
Showy bitch.
The bell soon rang and students hurried out of their seats. You managed to stood up from your seat, carrying your undignified test paper on one hand and your other hand clutching the straps of your satchel. Fellow students watched you with pity as you moved. You ignored them. Pity was not what you needed.
She moved past her seat only to halt when one of his friends hollered
"God, Rodriguez is so lucky, man! Who knew hot girls are ready to open their legs for petty grades?"
The corners of your mouth quirked up into a smirk when the entire class hooted and fell into hysterical fits of laughter.
Her face was an impassive mask but you knew she heard that.
She increased her pace and went out of the class not before her eyes fell on your bench top.
There in bold letters were written:
Brittany is a slut.
You patted the scratched area with your forefinger. You thought you have done the right thing. It isn't a lie- its the truth. And like people says, truth is always bitter.
Pretty faces don't have brains.
They only have pretty bodies.
*****
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The Blonde Bitch Syndrome
Teen Fiction[ O N G O I N G ] "They are blondes. They are bound to be bitches. Right? " - Previously known as "Pretty Faces". - Status: Raw Draft
