I'm a stripper, doesn't mean I'm a slut

Being a professional slut

"Kales, you need to get going now, or you'll miss the bus!" Lois says, as she bounces Freddie on her hip, pouring a cup of coffee with her free hand.

"Urrgh, do I have to?" I mumble through a mouthful of cornflakes. "I don't want to go to school."

I had already procrastinated as long as humanly possible; having an extra long shower, taking time to blow dry my hair and smear concealer under my eyes in a poor attempt cover my dark purple bags.

Then I changed my outfit three times (consisted of swapping to a different shade of sweatshirt each time), brushing my teeth with painstaking care, feeding my cat, Ollie, playing with Ollie, playing with Freddie, watching Ollie and Freddie play together and now I was eating a bowl of cereal one soggy piece at a time.

"Come on, Kales it won't be that bad." Lois says, as she pulls up a chair next to me at the small kitchen table, and sits Freddie in her lap.

Last night, when I had come home I had immediately spilled everything that had happened at the nightclub to Lois, depicting my unpleasant encounter with James in vivid detail. She already knew all about my "situation" at school, with James and the other "populars", so she had a pretty good idea about the dire seriousness of the situation.

I mean seriously, what are the chances of James, one of the few people in this town that had a serious grudge against me, coming to Stargirls of all places. Of all the strip clubs in town, why mine? Why? And besides, what on earth was he doing a strip club on a school night? Punk ass kid. He should be studying or something (that's what normal kids who don't have to take off their clothes for money do, right?).

I shake my head. "You don't know that. You don't have to go to high school, you don't know what it's like. It's like living in a freakin' beehive . You give 'em a little incentive, they'll swarm. If they find out that I'm ... an exotic dancer ... they'll kill me."

"Well, first of all, bees don't like 'incentive', they like honey." Lois says.

I huff. "You know what I mean."

Lois ignored me. "And second, how do you know that James will tell? He can't be that bad. I mean he's a human, he must have a sense of compassion right?"

"You'd think so, wouldn't you?" I grumble, mushing my cereal around my bowl. "He's gonna spill my secret faster than a chipmunk on weed."

"But you don't know that for certain, do you? Give him the benefit of the doubt."

"Look, I don't have time for your Confucius crap. Gimme some advice I can work with - like 'kick him in the balls' or 'when he goes up to you, scream "pedophile" and run through the hallways'."

Lois gave me a withering look. "Aren't you late for school?"

I glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. 8:27.

"Shit. Shit shit shitty shit shit." I shove the rest of my cereal in my mouth and pick up my backpack, while Lois scolds me for my language and attempts to cover a wriggling Freddie's ears.

"Bye!" I call, swinging my backpack onto my shoulder as I slammed the door shut.

"Don't slam the door! If you break it, we gotta pay the landlord!" Lois' voice calls from behind the door.

"Whatever!" I'm late! Bye!" I yell down the corridor, running towards the elevator.

---

I poke my head around the corner of the hallway and check to see if the coast is clear. No James. Good. I make my way down the hallway as close to the walls as possible, glancing around every so often, walking in small steps. I'm being so badass - I feel like a ninja or something, I think to myself. The 'Mission Impossible' theme song should be playing in the background.