My Girlfriend's a Stripper

My Girlfriends a Stripper-- Prologue

Will wiped the blood away from his nose with the sleeve of his jacket. "Man, they took my lunch!" he whined, ever so slowly getting out of the locker. His body ached from the rough beating it took, the fist after fist that had rolled over his gut. He limped over to his back-pack that had been thrown half-way across the floor, all of it's condense spread every which way. He picked up his glasses with the small crack, and pushed them up the bridge of his nose. Will grunted as he shoved his papers and other school supplies in.

"I hate my life."

He slipped his pack onto his thin shoulders, dusting his pants off, and when bending over started to hurt, he straightened his plaid shirt up.

"I would hate my life too," said a voice.

He jumped, to meet eyes with Emma Winter. Her short self barely reached his shoulders. And, Will was no giant, I mean, dude, why would you think that? He just got beat to a pulp?

Emma's bob shaped her small face. "Who beat you up?"

"The jocks," he winced, as he breathed. His ribs hurt.

"Well, what's-your-face, can I have your lunch money?"

"My names Will," he scuffed. "And, that's the only thing I have to get lunch with, they stole my Lunchable."

She kicked him in the shin, he jerked back. "Ow, what the hell?"

"I said give me your lunch money, nerd. Or I'll do it again." She stared up at him with fierce eyes, dragging her foot back.

"No, don't kick me again."

"What you scared, Will? Hmm? Give your lunch money and I won't."

"Okay, Jesus." He was scared. Will Robertson was scared of everything. "here," he handed over the five. "Just take in and leave."

She smiled her million-dollar smile, brushing past him. "Thanks!"

"Yeah, welcome," he muttered, annoyed.

He trudged down the empty hallway to his class. His hair a mess, and his too-big glasses started falling, and he pushed them up again. He walked into his biology class. Good thing he liked biology, all the kids in here didn't care about a damn thing. No one looked at him, as he slowly made his way to his seat in the very back. The plastic creaked as he sat, which made Mrs. Gregory turn from writing quickly on the board with her little piece of chalk.

"Now, where were you, Mr. Robertson?" Her head cocked to the side as she waited for an answer, her hands fiddled with the piece of chalk between her fingers, turning her skirt cloth white. "I, uh, was, getting my medication from the nurse," he lied, stumbling.

The class cackled, and little comments were made, especially by the joker Derek Hammy. "Yeah, probably for his rash."

Acting on the comment, Will defended, "it's a serious condition for some people, stupid."  If anything could get worse for the poor guy? Oh, yeah, and he sucks at comebacks.

In an up-roar of laughter, all appointed at poor little Will, the teacher screamed, "shut up! All of y'all! Book work tonight, yeah how do you kids feel about laughing now?"

The whole class groaned, and one student mumbled, "damn Derek, you mess everything up."

"Shut up, Harry, you said the same thing when your girl fuc-"

"I said be quiet, class. Is that talking I hear," the teacher cut in abruptly, "I better not have"

Thank the Lord to Mrs. Gregory, thought Will, and turned to the page she had written on the board.