xoxo

Oh, my God! I'm back! Sorry, I go to a private school on an academic scholarship and that's pretty hard to maintain and then there's the year round soccer so . . . Yeah. Not much free time. But, hey, I'm back now! I'll try to get a new chapter for "Kisses, My Bitches" up in a week-ish though.

xoxo

Chapter 2: To Get What's Mine

In a town like this, where everyone knows everyone, you have to be careful. People can and will start the nastiest rumors. And people will hear, and talk, and judge. Because that's how places like this work. That's how junior high works. Everyone hates everyone. Especially girls. We usually hate each other. A lot.

And that's why I can't help but be suspicious of Charlotte throughout lunch.

I also can't help but notice how Evan is staring at me. Short, secret glances with exhilarated smiles. My lips tug upward slightly as I send him a coy glance. Flirty, but still passable as friendly.

Charlotte, surprisingly, doesn't glare or have a telepathic conversation with me.

Hm . . .

"Lucy, darling, wake up," Mom whispers, shaking me awake. Okay, Mother, how many times are you going to wake me up while I'm trying to enjoy myself?

"What? Why?" I grumble, snuggling into my blanket.

"It's your first day of school, Lucy. Remember? You told me to wake you early?" She says, rapid fire. God. Is she already doped up on those prescription meds?

"At . . ." I grab my broken alarm clock, "5 am?" I snap.

"Yes, you said something about having to look perfect for a boy," she dismisses, waving her hand.

"I did?" I ask, annoyed, then it hits me — "Evan. Oh, my God, I did! Get out of my room!" I exclaim, "I have to get ready!" In my rush, I shove my mom out of my room and slam the door shut behind her, not caring if I wake up Aunt Darlene or my stupid twin brother (what? Did I not mention him? Well, he's an ass). Scurrying around my room, I grab my makeup and flop down in the chair in front of my vanity mirror, brushing my hair out.

I hate my hair right now. I hate it. It's messy and grossly puffy in all the wrong ways — it's not silky at all. I hiss out a swear, the plumbing here is bipolar in the morning so I can't take a shower to fix my hair. It's a good thing I took care of shaving (I know, gross but body hair doesn't disappear on its own and it looks barbaric if you leave it, plus your skin is really soft and — oh, my God, I'm off topic now) last night.

"Where'd I put my dry shampoo and conditioner?" I mutter, panicking as I look around. Wait — okay, thank God. Unruly hair would kill my chances with Evan who is my ticket to popularity. And it doesn't hurt that he's . . . Well, awesome.

Whatever.

I quickly lather my hair the dry shampoo, plotting out solutions to scenarios. Being prepared never killed anyone, did it? No? Thought so.

A slight smile tugs at my lips as I wipe the excess shampoo out, my hair is starting to look pretty okay. I mean, it's still very . . . Clichély (ignore that that isn't a word) bed head but, we're getting there. I just need to use the conditioner and brush it out again.

After maybe 5 minutes, I've finished taming my hair for now, I'll style it after I get my makeup on. Speaking of makeup, this'll take a damn long time. I guess that's the price I have to pay to look amazing. And with what I need to get, I have to look beyond amazing. Which means no breakfast. Hot, popular boys don't go for fat girls.

. . .

And I'm getting fat.

I link arms with Kendra and Charlotte at the school entrance (myself in the center, of course), gossip pouring out of a certain brunette's mouth. Kendra and I are, once again, the perfect audience — gasping and giggling and oohing in all the right places because God, is gossip at Dan Quayle Jr. High good.

A few boys whistle as we walk by; Kendra is timid, blushing and looking flattered, Charlotte bats her eyelashes experimentally, her grip on my arm tightening (mentally, I pick out candidates for her future boyfriend), and I wink coyly with a teasing smile. Maybe girls will hate me but they'll want to be me. And that will take care of half of the "girls want to be her, boys want to be with her" cliché I had in New York. Besides, if boys are whistling at me, then we've got it down.

"See any boys either of you want?" I ask them, keeping my voice low.

Just as Charlotte opens her mouth, a short boy grins at us, "hey, Kendra, Charlotte, you two are looking fine."

"Hi, Eddie!" Charlotte smiles, too wide to just be friends, not wide enough to hate him. Ooh . . .

"Hey," Kendra, blindly perky as ever, waves at him with a sincere smile.

"Whoa, the new girl is hot, can I get a name to remember you by?" God, he's like a dog.

"Her name's Lucy," ooh, Charlotte has a little bite. I like that. You know, when it's not threatening my big plan.

"Well, Lucy, give me a call sometime, sweet stuff," he mimes a phone.

"Eddie, we've gotta go, Evan needs our help," another boy (who looks like a skater in those jeans) says, approaching the speed at which my doped up mother talks at.

"What? Seriously, Malcolm? Well, if the E man needs help," he exclaims, "I'll talk to you girls later, gotta jet."

I wait for him to round the corner before laughing, "God, is he related to a hobbit?" Charlotte and Kendra crack up at this. Good, things are going good.

"Hey, Evan," I smile widely at lunch, hands falling to my hips, "what luck running into you while I look this hot."

He cracks a grin at the joke — it's an inside one. We were texting and the conversation turned to girls who aren't so subtle about liking guys. Obviously, he, as a boy, doesn't get that after awhile of "subtle" not working, we say, "subtlety be damned" and just flirt.

"I'd say lucky me but you always look that hot," he says, his hands in his pockets and a nervousness to his walk. Good. I like knowing I make boys nervous. Even if the boy is one of my new best friend candidates' ex.

It balances out because he's going to help me get everything back. Even if he doesn't know it.

I giggle into my palm like I know I'm supposed to when a cute boy makes a joke. His smile relaxes a little. He takes a few step closer to me, fidgeting with his clothes. I tilt my head, interested. He nervously begins, "so, I was wondering — "

"Evan! Code calculator, Brett needs you for help with his homework!" Eddie. I. Hate. You. So, so much.

"Er, I'm really sorry, Lucy, I've gotta go. Duty calls," he sighs, forcing an apologetic smile. For a second, I think that maybe he's also murdering Eddie in his mind.

"It's okay, I'll . . . Talk to you later," I trail off a little, staring into his big brown eyes. He really is dreamy. I just wish I didn't have to set Kendra and Charlotte up with someone before I could date him.

Stupid girl code.

Kendra and Charlotte beckon me over to their table when I get there. I say "hi" to the girls (Molly and Cassie too, of course) and smile knowingly.

"You'll never guess what I heard," I singsong.

"What? Tell me," Charlotte is the first to respond, followed by murmurs of agreement.

"Well, if you insist," I tease, "someone likes you, he's cute but I can't tell you who he is yet."

She gasps and pleads to know more. They all plead to know more. Alas (oh, God, did I just say "alas?"), I have to spoon feed them right now, let everything settle.

I don't touch my lunch.

It's all part of the plan to get the throne in 4 months.

And being fat isn't in my plan.

xoxo

The favorites be screwed,

and trade 'em for a review,

the follows can fall in a ditch,

they make us want to slap a bitch,

kisses dead bitches 💋

- Lucy & Ari

xoxo