Alliance

"You don't know me, but you're about to."

"Imogene, get your ass back in this house!"

I ran out the front door, turned towards him, gave that precious little middle finger, and turned back around.

I'll explain. That person yelling at me is my drunken father who doesn't seem to understand that the more you try to force someone to live a life in this solitary confinement called "perfectness" and "happy family" the more they live a life you call "disappointing." 

But, I currently love the life I live.

He had just listened to a voicemail from my school informing him of my recent endeavors and that swearing at a teacher is in fact against school policy.

Who ever actually listened to school policy?

I hopped on my bike and rode of into the street, getting honked at by a few cars. My bike is one of those cliché mint green curvy bikes that you see in adventurous romance movies, or at least read bout in adventurous romance novels. That's why I like it so much.

I let go of the handlebars as I feel the soft sun on my garage sale aviators and the wind against my bare stomach. Yes, I am wearing a crop top, which is another rule I've broken within the first fifteen hours of that swearing crime. Do I care? I think we know the answer to that.

I place my hands back on the handle bars and think. I mean, yes, I am partly the cause of my father's drinking. I fully take responsibility for that.  But, the day that he learns to accept one of his children for who they are is the day that I stop doing what I do.

I mean, not really, but I'll definitely tone it down a bit.

To be honest, I'm not really surprised that my school hasn't expelled me yet. No matter how much hell I raise, my grades never suffer, in fact I'm practically the only kid in that school who's ever maintained a 100% average for an entire semester (damn that chemistry test that brought it down to 96%), and I always do something big at the end of the year that guarantee's my spot.

Last year, the school was in serious need of a cafeteria renovation, so I brought in ten different people who wanted to donate to the school. Free money! And, naturally, like the money hungry and greedy bastards they are, they couldn't say no.

Let's face it. These teachers love to hate me, but they secretly love me.

But, don't ask me how I got those donations, because I may or may not have done some illegal things. I'm not entirely  sure.

Nothing, sexual, for those of you who are thinking I gave free "services" to those wealthy donors. I'm still sexually inexperienced and I'd like to keep it that way for a while.

I turned onto Curtis Avenue, literally two blocks away from my school. In my head, I'm already planning my next excursion and it involves only one thing: revenge.

I arrive and place my bike in the school's bike rack. I chain it twice so no one even things about having the luxury of sitting on my movie cliché bike.

I'm convinced something's wrong with me.

Walking from the parking lot to the school doors, I am not at all nervous about the stares that I'm getting from other students. It gets worse once I enter the building, but I'm used to it by now. It's usually classified like this. 

1) Pervy stares from the football team, and other idiots aspiring to follow in their player ways.

2) Glares from the Queen B's, and I think we all know what "B" stands for.

3) Either worried or amazed stares from the rest of the school population.

Simple mathematics?

I walk to where my best friend is standing. While she's looking through her locker for some textbook that may help her bring her overall average from 97% to 99%, I slam myself into the locker next to hers, not really caring that there's a Queen B wannabe trying so hard to glare at me like she's supposed to in hopes of becoming one of them.