After two classes, I started to recognize several of the whores in each class. There was always someone braver than the others who would introduce themselves and ask me questions about how I was liking Chopsticks. I tried to be diplomatic, but mostly I just lied and chagrined a lot.
One feminine whore sat next to me in both Stalker-Ed and Noobspeak, and she walked with me to the cafeteria for lunch. She was tiny, several inches shorter than my five feet four inches, but her wildly curly dark hair made up a lot of the difference between our heights. I couldn't bother myself with the whore's name, so I smiled and nodded as she chagrined about teachers and classes. I didn't try to keep up.
We sat at the end of a full table with several of her friends, who she introduced to me. I forgot all their names as soon as she spoke them, because they all epic suck compared to me. The man whore from English, Eric, waved at me from across the room.
It was there, chagrining in the lunchroom, pretending to be trying to make conversation with seven curious whores, that I first saw them.
They were sitting in the corner of the cafeteria, as far away from where I sat as possible in the long room. There were five of them. They weren't talking, and they were probably anorexic because they weren't eating. They weren't gawking at me, which was a little offensive, but it was safe to stare at them without fear of meeting an excessively interested pair of eyes. But it was none of these things that caught, and held, my attention.
They didn't look anything alike. Of the three man whores, one was big – muscled like a serious weight lifter or b***h slapper, with dark, curly hair. Another was taller, leaner, but still muscular, and piss blonde. The last was lanky, less bulky, with untidy, piss-and-s**t colored hair. He was more boyish than the others, who looked like they could be in college, or even teachers here rather than whores.
The feminine whores were opposites. The tall one was statuesque. She had a beautiful figure, the kind you saw on the cover of Playboy, the kind that made every man whore (and un admitting feminine whores) reach orgasm just by looking at it… which was what was happening to me now, ********. Her hair was piss colored, gently waving to the middle of her back. The short girl was pixielike, (Microsoft Word says that's not an adjective) anorexic in the extreme, with small features. Her hair was a deep black, cropped short and pointing in every direction. Somehow, this is attractive.
"Who are they?" I asked the feminine whores from my Noobspeak class, whose name I'd forgotten.
As she looked up to see who I meant – though already knowing, probably, from my tone – suddenly he looked at her, the thinner one, the boyish one, the youngest, perhaps. He looked at my neighbor for just a fraction of a second, and then his dark eyes flickered to mine.
He looked away quickly, more quickly than I could, though in a flush of embarrassment I dropped my eyes at once. In that brief flash of a glance, his face held nothing of interest – it was as if she had called his name, and he'd looked up in involuntary response, already having decided not to answer.
"That's Edward and Emmett Cullen, and Rosalie and Jasper Hale. The one who left was Alice Cullen; they all live together with Dr. Cullen and his b***h." She said this under her breath.
"They are… very nice-looking." I struggled with the conspicuous understatement.
"Yes!" Jessica (whose name I suddenly remember…?) agreed with another giggle and chagrin. "They're all together though – Emmett and Rosalie, and Jasper and Alice, I mean. And they live together." Her voice held all the shock and condemnation of the small town, I thought critically. Of course, this made no sense, as she was going to whore school like everybody else here…
One of my new acquaintances who considerately reminded me that her name was Angela, had Drug Study II with me the next hour. We walked to class together in silence. She was shy, too.
When we entered the classroom, Angela went to sit at a black-topped lab table exactly like the ones I was used to. She already had a neighbor. In fact, all the tables were filled but one. Next to the center aisle, I recognized Edward Cullen by his unusual hair, sitting next to that single open seat.
Just as I passed, he suddenly went rigid in his seat. I wondered if he was having a seizure. He stared at me again, meeting my eyes with the strangest expression on his face – it was hostile, furious, eff-off-b***h. I looked away quickly, shocked, going red again. I stumbled over a book in the walkway and had to catch myself on the edge of a table.
I'd noticed that his eyes were black – coal black, which isn't even black.
He was leaning away from me, sitting on the extreme edge of his chair and averting his face like he smelled something bad. I wondered if I still smelled like that joint I smoked in third period.
Sooner or later, the bell rang, and Edward was out of his seat. I stared after him longingly. Oh, how I longed to take his piss-and-s**t colored hair, take all of him, behind the school. Get high together and… and who knows? Wherever life would take us. Just me, him, a few ecstasy pills… oh, bliss...
Bliss ruined. Some man whore came up.
"Aren't you Isabitcha Swan?" he asked.
"b***h." I corrected with a smile.
"Hi, b***h. I'm Mike."
Through a series of events, we ended up walking to class together, but that's boring. So is the rest of the day. Oh, wait, my heart was broken, I forgot… Yeah, so I walked into the school office, and there was Edward. Fate, ikr? He was screaming at the fugly secretary, something about a transfer. Upon seeing me, he stormed out of the office in that sexy way of his.
I knew right then that I incandescently and irrevocably needed to rape his sparkly a**.
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