it, but luckily, it takes
more than just
supernaturally good
looks to win me over.
As far as I’m
concerned, Roman Fiori
is the biggest jerk alive
and as arrogant as
they
come.
The small group made
their way leisurely
towards the school,
Roman at front,
flanked
by Carlo and Parker,
with Zack and Adriana
bringing up the rear.
The crowd on the
stairs
parted like the Red Sea
for Moses.
Roman’s face was
expressionless as he
made his way up the
stairs and inside the
hallway.
Everyone waited until
all
the Scions and Adriana
were safely out of
earshot before they
started buzzing about
the latter’s sudden
appearance.
“Do you think
something happened at
boarding school?”
“Ohmygod, I can’t
believe she’s going here
now!”
“Man, she’s hot!”
It was at that
moment
that the bell finally,
blissfully rang.
I let out a relieved sigh.
“Come on, let’s get to
class or we’ll be late,” I
said, pulling Venice like
she’d pulled me earlier.
“Yeah, I make you
watch the hottest
guys
ever and you make me
go write essays,” she
grumbled. “Some friend
you are.”
I smirked. “You’ll thank
me one day.”
*************
Rrrring! The bell
signaling the end of
third period and the
start of lunch hadn’t
even finished ringing
before the hallways
were filled with hungry
high schoolers
clamoring
for their daily intake of
gourmet sushi and
pastries flown in from
France.
Yes, that is really what
they serve in our Dining
Center, or DC, as
everyone calls it.
Fitting,
considering the politics
in our DC outrivals that
of our nation’s capitol
tenfold.
I sidestepped an overly
PDA-ing couple and
pushed my way into
the girls’ bathroom,
which is all done up
with
Italian marble, sterling-
silver faucets, and
jewel-toned velvet
furniture in the lounge
area, though why a
public bathroom—or
any bathroom, for that
matter—needs a
lounge area is beyond
me. There’s even a
bathroom attendant
presiding over an array
of European toiletries.
There were already
three girls in the
bathroom when I came
in, all stick-thin, whose
green-and-gold plaid
uniform skirts were
shortened to the
skankiest proportions
possible.
They’re the type of
girls
who usually take the
time to shoot me a
disdainful look before
going right back to their
primpfests,
sometimes
throwing in a snide
comment about me
being a Westsider or
something. As the
name implies, a
Westsider is someone
who lives on the west
side of town, which is
dominated by split-level
houses that are large
by normal standards
but minuscule
compared
to the massive
mansions in the rest of
town. Smaller
houses=less money,
and since there is
virtually nothing more
important than money
in Valesca, you can see
where my Westsider
status is a problem. I
don’t really give a poo
what other people
think
of me, but I hate it
when my family gets
looked down on just
because we don’t earn
millions a year.
That’s why I was
more
than a little befuddled
when the girls took one
look at me and scurried
out the door, heads
down. If they had tails,
they’d be tucked
between their legs
right
now.
It didn’t take me long
to
realize what was going
on, though.
To be continue
