Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 100376 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100376 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
He throws back his head and laughs taking the bottle from me. “Is that a yes? That could be a problem tonight.” He snorts and all I visualize is my five-inch spikey heels inserted into his probably small penis.
Again, they laugh and howl, and then my best bitch friend Morgan does it: she becomes the rat.
“Ohhh, Troy.” She reaches for him and he reaches down to caress her ass. “If anyone needs to get laid, it’s our little doll here.” She shimmies away from him almost as if his touch repulses her, which is saying something because she fucked him last year. I back away, but she has long arms and somehow manages to sling one around my shoulder. Looking down at me with an evil glint in her eyes, she says it. “You know she’s a virgin?”
The music is loud. Avril Lavigne’s “Fall to Pieces” thankfully covers up most of her words. Troy looks surprised. Like the weirdo he is, he grabs a hold of me. Even with the peppermint schnapps, his hot breath still smells like onions.
“You fucking kidding me?”
I pull back, mortified and ready to kill Morgan, but that can come later.
“Are you?” His voice goes up two notches as his beady eyes travel up and down my body.
“None of your business.” I spin, then wish I hadn’t as a wave a dizziness takes hold and Christy laughs that I’m wasted.
All of a sudden, Troy is by my side escorting me. His annoying voice is whiny. How have I not noticed this before?
Gone is thinking he’s a good guy, or even cute. He’s a fucking rat, maybe even a super rat.
“Don’t worry, Doll. I knew Edge was a fucking homo. I’ll take care of you.”
And there it is.
I don’t care about me, but I don’t want this for Edge. Even if he is a cheating bastard… he’s my cheating bastard… I think.
“Get the fuck away from me, Troy.” I try to pull away. But all of a sudden a spasm of light from the cheesy light display finds us. I’m assuming they are trying to be cool, yet all it’s doing is making me blink. Honestly, I wish a magical genie would come out and rescue me from this disaster. But that can’t happen. There’s only one person who saves me… and he’s gone.
Troy is bowing like an ass. He grabs my arm again, propelling me up the stairs to the stage.
“I swear to God, let go,” I hiss.
“Shh.”
I do a double take. It has to be alcohol. He did not just shush me. Before I can say anything again, out comes Mr. Holbert our History teacher with a couple of freshmen trailing behind him holding our crowns. I have to blink so as not to roll my eyes.
The cheap decorations make this so much worse. Or, actually, maybe they make it better.
This is my life: nothing but fake, tacky people with fake, stupid decorations. There isn’t even a theme. Unless hanging tissue paper in a variety of colors as a sad excuse for “flowers” counts.
“I know it looks like shit, but what do you expect? This school is trash.” Troy laughs at my fascination with the gym’s décor and does some weird dance step. He must think it’s cool—he did the same one at last night’s game.
I ignore him as they walk over and put the crown on me and then Troy who acts like he’s shocked. Like a jerk, he does Macaulay Culkin’s famous two hands on the cheeks look from Home Alone. Someone releases hundreds of balloons on us. Waving my hand, I try to push them out of the way, but honestly, I’m trying to get his smell out of my nostrils.
“I need to go to the restroom.” I prepare to leave, but again, he’s got a tight grip on my arm.
“Troy.” I use my bitch voice because this whole charade is stupid.
“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for your Homecoming king and queen to have their dance. Please, clear the floor,” Mr. Holbert shouts into the microphone.
“God, Dolly I’m trying to help you not trip.” He smiles and lifts his hand to wave at everyone and for a split second, I almost tell him he’s not actually a king.
Troy puts his hand on my lower back as he guides me to the dance floor. “What is your problem? You look like you ate shit instead of being crowned the most popular girl in school.”
And for the first time all night, I stop and acknowledge that he’s right. I have wanted this moment for as long as I can remember. Shit, I dreamed about this as a kid. I used to sit in the park’s outdoor gym and daydream about getting the crown, and here I am. My head swims but it’s not his fault—I’ve been drinking since early afternoon. And it’s not his fault Morgan is a bitch. The one thing that is his fault is that he wears too much cologne and has ridiculous white teeth. So what if he acts like a douchebag? That’s not any reason to take my five-inch heel and stab him with it. He’s a guy who was raised with money and thinks he’s better than us. Edge is right; he’s a dick.