Bribed by her Principal to look after seven transfer students who live up to the reputation of being bad. Derry had no choice but to babysit them if she wanted the bittersweet offer on the table.
But what happens when these seven students happen to...
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EVERYONE WATCHED AS THE GIRLS AND I WALKED IN, their jaws dropping from left to right, their binders dropping, their self–respect levels dropping. The last one, I scowled at the girl who was flirting with a cheap ass jock, who was trying to get with her for the sex.
"You can do soooo much better," is all I say, before my new–found confidence and I strutted down the hallways like the Queen I am. Followed by my other fellow Queens, Daphne and Gilda.
We stopped by my locker, which was at the end of the hallways, surrounded by other lockers which used to be broken—but were being repaired for the "bad transfer students"
"Where's Brooke and the others?" I pull my key out of my minibag front pockets, sighing before popping the key in the hole and turning it ninety degrees.
It clicks open and I take out my other textbooks for my chemistry lesson this morning. The amount of revision that I had missed out on, all because I decided to go home with those weirdos to get drunk—alas leaving my poor homework crying and wating to get a red big fat F on.
Daphne twirls the redhair around her finger, before mumbling. "They wanted to check out the gym and do stuff." Was all she said.
"Do stuff?" Came my immediate response.
"Yeah, just stuff."
The way she said that made my skin crawl. I don't know why. But for some reason, I didn't want the boys doing anything stupid which would link them of those rumours "bad" I don't want anyone to view them more idly than they already were viewed.
Gilda furrows her eyebrows, before grumbling. We all snapped our heads to face her with a "what" type of look. She flashed her phone in our direction.
Brooke sent her a message of him making a nerd hang from his boxer's on a basketball hoop.
Really, Brooke?
"No offense Gil, but Brooke sometimes makes me question what level of sanity he's at, or worse makes me question if he even has some cells up there," Daph points to her head.
"Yeah, I know it's weird—"
She cuts herself of when she notices a person who trips over and their binders flying everywhere.
"Hey, you alright?" Gilda exclaimed at them, she dropped down and held the girl who was aimlessly picking up the white papers and placing them in her binder. She waved Gilda off without looking her way, still facing the papers scattered all over the floor.
When she finally saw who was helping her she gulped and gaped.
"Y–you're G–Gilda W–Westbroom," she stammered.
Gilda chuckled. "Wait, how do you know my name?"
The girl smiled kindly. "How could I not, you're my Chanel icon."
