The Ivy League

The Ivy League Part 42

          She ignored that. “Well I was right – you are the biggest freak, and the lowest loser. Because I’m still here.”

          “Then leave,” I said rudely.

          “Even if I did, it wouldn’t change the truth, Courtney,” she protested, widening her eyes in fake innocence.

          I bit back a scowl. “Well, whatever your opinion of me, it doesn’t change the fact that you’re no longer Queen of this school. Because I’m here,” I mimicked.

          Irritation flashed dangerously in her stone-gray eyes. “I’m still better than you,” she hissed. “Nothing you do will ever change that. You’ll never win.”

          “Wanna bet?” I grinned evilly down at her. And I promptly flipped over a bucket of water directly on top of her, soaking her to the bone.

          Before she could scream, Jake was at the bottom of the stairs, next to Ellen, holding the bag of flour. Good timing.

          “Hey baby,” he said sarcastically. “Miss me?”

          And then he dumped the entire thing on top of her. An enormous billow of white flour erupted from the center of where Ellen must’ve been standing. When the air cleared, Ellen’s face was barely seen.

          I observed her in enormous satisfaction. The water and flour together had been a good idea. Oh, it had been my idea, that’s why it was so good.

          The water had mixed with the flour to form a wet paste all over Ellen’s body. Her face was caked in a thick layer so that she could barely open her eyes, and her hair was one large chunk of white glue which was solidifying by the second.

          “Are you happy, Courtney?” Jake grinned up at me.

          I smiled down in response. “Tremendously.”

          Ellen still hadn’t said anything yet, but I suspected that had something to do with the fact that her mouth had been practically cemented shut. Oh, I liked this a lot. I can’t wait to see what she does when she sees her car.

          “Awesome,” a kid beside me breathed, looking in fascination at Ellen, too.

          It was the same kid that had given me his bag of flour. “Do you approve? I think I put your flour to good use.”

          The kid looked at me. “Oh, yeah, I was meaning to tell you. That’s not flour; it’s bleach.”

          All of a sudden, Ellen found her voice. “WHAT?” she shrieked shrilly.

          The kid looked placidly unconcerned. He shrugged. “Yeah, I don’t think mixing it with water was such a good idea.”

          I, however, grinned. “I think it was an excellent idea. This just keeps getting better and better.”

          I hope her hair gets bleached to an awful colour, and so does her face.

          Ellen gave one high-pitched scream of pure rage – it was a really familiar one, because I’ve had reason to hear it quite often. The spray paint, the food fight, getting her kicked out of the play and distributing fliers about her nose job. Yep. Good times.

          “I hate you!” she screamed at me furiously.

          I rolled my eyes. “Really? I never would’ve guessed.”