bathroom? Talk about stalkerrific ."
Mike nervously looked around at the crowd who were whispering amongst themselves and clearly waiting for a face-saving comeback. He huffed a few times and all he could manage was a benign sounding " What ?"
"Listen, Mike… it's totally cool if you're into Marcus, okay? I mean, it's gotta be the reason for why he's always on your radar. I guess you stuffed him in the trash because Marcus doesn't feel the same way? Look, nobody is going to judge you – we're all about being supportive of alternative lifestyles here at Crescent Ridge."
Mike was speechless. His face had turned near crimson and he clenched his fists together so hard that his knuckles turned white. Had it been a guy who'd pushed his buttons about Marcus, there would have been an all-out bone-shattering scrap of epic proportions, but I'm a five-foot-two redhead with a short temper. He wasn't about to take a swing at me, and both he and I knew it.
"Get away from me, freak !" he roared, as he brushed my hand aside and pushed through the crowd of onlookers.
I unclenched my fists and was just about to help Marcus collect his textbooks from the floor when I saw that I'd been beaten to it by Marla.
What can I say about Marla Lavik? Well, being a Goth, she makes it well known that she has a pretty depressing take on life. I don't entirely understand the Goth culture or the need to dress like a vampire, but I do know one thing about her: Marla has a body that basically every girl at school would kill for. Sometimes I think that's why she dresses the way she does – to get the boys looking and to get their girlfriends fuming.
Today Marla was clad in a tight-fitting, long-sleeve black latex top with laces in the front, and around her neck she wore a spiked choker. There was a thin silver chain that stretched from the piercing in her left nostril to the black stud in her right earlobe and she had bitch boots that came up to her knees complete with six inch spiked heels. She calmly piled the textbooks in her arms and handed them to Marcus.
"Thanks, Marla," he said quietly.
"Don't sweat it," she said, adjusting a bat-shaped comb in her inky black hair. "You know, I totally get what it feels like to be the target of harassment. I mean, at least I used to. I took some steps to keep it from happening in the future and after today, I think that you should too."
"Hey, Marla," I said, purposefully butting in on their conversation. "Nice outfit?"
I felt the tiniest twinge of her spirit flickering to life as she cocked her head and threw me a thin smile.
"Jules," she purred, eyeballing me from head to toe. She reached over and snagged a single strand of my hair from my blouse, examined it and then rolled her eyes. "You know, we really should hit up the mall sometime… there's nothing wrong with a little shock and awe in your choice of hairdos, not to mention your wardrobe. Did you um… address that thing we talked about?"
I threw Marcus a nervous look and then I turned my eyes to Marla's killer boots. "I'm still working it out. Where the hell did you get those?"
She waved a hand. "The boots? I used the power of parental guilt on my dad. They cost like five hundred bucks. Having divorced parents who hate each other can do wonders for a girl's walk-in closet."
"I can't afford to even look in your closet," I said sourly. "So, you used to have close encounters with morons like Mike Olsen?"
"Once upon a time I did," she said, with a slight edge in her voice. "But I learned how to manage the assholes of the world. Marcus, you really should learn to take matters into your own hands, otherwise idiots like Mike Olsen are going to keep pushing you."
He stuffed his textbooks into his backpack. "I'll take that under advisement, Marla. I think the safest bet for me is to sharpen my efforts at remaining an anonymous entity at school."
She scribbled into a notepad with a
Mike nervously looked around at the crowd who were whispering amongst themselves and clearly waiting for a face-saving comeback. He huffed a few times and all he could manage was a benign sounding " What ?"
"Listen, Mike… it's totally cool if you're into Marcus, okay? I mean, it's gotta be the reason for why he's always on your radar. I guess you stuffed him in the trash because Marcus doesn't feel the same way? Look, nobody is going to judge you – we're all about being supportive of alternative lifestyles here at Crescent Ridge."
Mike was speechless. His face had turned near crimson and he clenched his fists together so hard that his knuckles turned white. Had it been a guy who'd pushed his buttons about Marcus, there would have been an all-out bone-shattering scrap of epic proportions, but I'm a five-foot-two redhead with a short temper. He wasn't about to take a swing at me, and both he and I knew it.
"Get away from me, freak !" he roared, as he brushed my hand aside and pushed through the crowd of onlookers.
I unclenched my fists and was just about to help Marcus collect his textbooks from the floor when I saw that I'd been beaten to it by Marla.
What can I say about Marla Lavik? Well, being a Goth, she makes it well known that she has a pretty depressing take on life. I don't entirely understand the Goth culture or the need to dress like a vampire, but I do know one thing about her: Marla has a body that basically every girl at school would kill for. Sometimes I think that's why she dresses the way she does – to get the boys looking and to get their girlfriends fuming.
Today Marla was clad in a tight-fitting, long-sleeve black latex top with laces in the front, and around her neck she wore a spiked choker. There was a thin silver chain that stretched from the piercing in her left nostril to the black stud in her right earlobe and she had bitch boots that came up to her knees complete with six inch spiked heels. She calmly piled the textbooks in her arms and handed them to Marcus.
"Thanks, Marla," he said quietly.
"Don't sweat it," she said, adjusting a bat-shaped comb in her inky black hair. "You know, I totally get what it feels like to be the target of harassment. I mean, at least I used to. I took some steps to keep it from happening in the future and after today, I think that you should too."
"Hey, Marla," I said, purposefully butting in on their conversation. "Nice outfit?"
I felt the tiniest twinge of her spirit flickering to life as she cocked her head and threw me a thin smile.
"Jules," she purred, eyeballing me from head to toe. She reached over and snagged a single strand of my hair from my blouse, examined it and then rolled her eyes. "You know, we really should hit up the mall sometime… there's nothing wrong with a little shock and awe in your choice of hairdos, not to mention your wardrobe. Did you um… address that thing we talked about?"
I threw Marcus a nervous look and then I turned my eyes to Marla's killer boots. "I'm still working it out. Where the hell did you get those?"
She waved a hand. "The boots? I used the power of parental guilt on my dad. They cost like five hundred bucks. Having divorced parents who hate each other can do wonders for a girl's walk-in closet."
"I can't afford to even look in your closet," I said sourly. "So, you used to have close encounters with morons like Mike Olsen?"
"Once upon a time I did," she said, with a slight edge in her voice. "But I learned how to manage the assholes of the world. Marcus, you really should learn to take matters into your own hands, otherwise idiots like Mike Olsen are going to keep pushing you."
He stuffed his textbooks into his backpack. "I'll take that under advisement, Marla. I think the safest bet for me is to sharpen my efforts at remaining an anonymous entity at school."
She scribbled into a notepad with a
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