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Thursday morning, January 2017
"Don't talk to me," I say as soon as I see Dylan's annoying friend, Connor walking to my locker.
"Why you gotta be so cold, Mama?"
He puts his arm on my shoulder.
I shrug it off. "Please don't touch me. And don't call me 'Mama' either."
I swear on my Granny Jojo's grave if he doesn't leave me alone, he will get bitch-slapped back to Dylan.
"I just came because a handsome man wanted to ask something of a beautiful girl." He flashes me a cute smile.
"And what is it? We don't have all day, Connor. I have to get to Homeroom. So cut to the chase, and quit the sweet talk."
I can't help doing it, but I tug at my lip.
At least it's better than biting my nails.
"Would you like to go on a date with Dylan tomorrow night? He'll pick you up at seven thirty-five because your reservation is at eight."
He looks confident.
"Sorry, but I have something to do," I lie, turning back to my locker. "And stop looking at my ass." Connor chuckles, but doesn't deny it.
"Great, you'll see him at seven-forty, at the latest." Connor turns to leave, but pauses and thinks I'll stop him.
Let them think what they want. If he comes to my house tonight, I'll call the Police for 'Attempted-Kidnap.'
Call me 'petty,' but just remember it's my middle name.
I turn to my locker, looking at my magnetic mirror.
I apply two coats on each eyelash with my mascara stick, and apply some strawberry chap stick.
Then, I close my locker and head out to Homeroom, Mrs. Shannon-burger's class.
Ten minutes later, sitting in the middle of homeroom, I pull out my book, City of Bones, by Cassandra Clare.
The Mortal Instruments are my favorite fantasy series, Divergent is my favorite action series, and The Hunger Games are my favorite survival series.
The principle is on the announcements talking about the Spring Formal in three months.
It's late January. Fall is over, in New York.
Winter's coming soon, so I need to buy some Uggs and stop wearing yoga pants.
I sigh, once the announcements are over, we have to sit in Homeroom for about ten more minutes.
Our substitute, Ms. Strobe is a total bitch.
Allow me to explain: when the students walked in, I automatically sat my desk, started reading my book, and responded to attendance.
The 'bad boys' in the back responded to other peoples' names, and hooted with laughter when people shot them dirty looks.
One of those people who glared were me.
"Ms. Strobe, can I get a blow job?"
Let me guess, that comment came from Dylan?
I turn, and see him smirking at me. I flip him off, and mouth: sexual harassment.
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