1 Chapter 1

Fingers crossed. This is an amazing story idea (like me, lol). Hope I can put it in words that well.

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Chapter One

Hailey

Sitting in an air-conditioned room with glass windows, I think about the bad symptoms of suffering from 'Stay Away From Bootlickers' disorder. Here it is. I don't think anybody else has ever had this very disadvantageous disease. You'll be tempted to like punching the person whose smiling sweetly at you to a pulp. Or maybe it'll be asymptomatic, and you'll just feel like scowling. At any rate, this is what I want to do sitting on the chair in front of the secretary. She's smiling sweetly, or what she thinks is sweet-looking, at me at the opposite end of the table. God, she looks so fake, I think. An observant look at her face tells me she had had plastic surgery done. Her eyebrows are painted on and the plastic doesn't even let her smile like a normal human being, so the smile kinda looks like a grimace.

Nevertheless, she keeps up the effort. She hands me my schedule and a map. I avoid looking at her by focus on the room. It is painted a shade of sky blue with black roses which looks very odd, but not unlike the person working there. "Your locker number is 777 and its password is 7575. Anything else, Miss Jones?" She blinks at me in a way that I gather as a flirty look.

"No, sorry," I emphasize the word. "I'm not lesbian." I grab the schedule and stuff it into my backpack.

That wipes the smile/grimace (whatever you want to call it) cleanly off her face. She glares at me murderously. She pointedly looks down at her computer and starts typing something. Midway she looks up, glaring and says "Why are you still standing here? I thought I gave you your schedule already?"

I raise an amused eyebrow and walk out of the office. Now to find my locker.

I walk down the hallway, my head held high. In no way am I going to let it show that I am a new girl. I don't really care if anybody recognises me.

The walls are painted a bright shade of yellow almost completely hidden by the floor-to-ceiling lockers. I resist the urge to vandalise the whole school and walk on. The hallway is full of people. Whores, sluts, dorks, nerds, players and whatnot. I note the numbers on the lockers. Most of the lockers can't be seen, covered by teens who are grossly making out. Ew. Poor lockers.

I find my locker on turning a right. I open it and sigh. Here's the hard part. Unpacking.

I open my backpack and pile in all the books. My belongings lay at the end of the backpack.

First, I put my laptop in. Then all the makeup and extra clothes. Then the photos.

There are fifteen photos in total, pictures of me and my best friends, me and my mom, me and my little brother, and me and my father.

Oh God, how I miss you Dad.

I look down at a picture of Dad and myself, him holding me in his arms, my arms around his neck holding him tightly. Both of us are beaming at the camera, Dad's red eye twinkling brightly. I smile faintly and keep it hurriedly at the back to keep my tears from falling.

But the moment the photograph left my touch, the sorrow turned to determination.

Fuck you, Russell.

Determination that might kill me one day and that of bringing about a change that might endanger the lives of everyone around associated with me.

That is why, I remind myself to stay away from everyone this year. No mistakes. For real. No mistakes like him, for example.

And lastly, a photo of me and the said devil. Him.

Him.

The guy who officially messed my life up. Who became the dark sun of my life. Who made me lose track of my life missions. Who tried to manipulate me into being plain evil, made me regret being born and almost, almost got me into drugs.

Drugs. Imagine. I am a bad girl but not that bad.

But then, why should I have a picture of this asshole douchebag? There are two answers to this question. First is that, even though he was the worst influence any teen could get cursed with, I did love him. Which, unfortunately, he returns. Even now.

The second answer is to make sure to not fall in love with anyone. Especially if I have even the slightest bit of feeling for someone who's anything like him.

Staring hard at this and recalling the negativity ought to do the job.

I sigh and look down at the picture. Both of us smiling like we were on cloud nine. Far from it.

Just then, a shock spreads through my body, beginning in my back. The cold feeling leaves me numb. I whip my head around and see a distinct liquid dripping off it. Soda.

Blood rushes to my face. I slowly lift my head in a death glare at the guy who did it, furious. He's smirking, looking at me over his shoulder. The two other guys walking behind him are laughing, looking at me like I'm a clown. I wish I could wipe the amused expressions off their faces.

That was my favourite shirt!

The guy who started all of this looks pretty hot, what with heterochromatic eyes like mine and golden hair. He has one golden-brown eye and the other green and his light skin tone make them seem unusual but enticing. His messy golden hair makes him look hotter than an Armani model. His toned body and tee make sure to reveal his defined abs. Clad in a black leather jacket and black tee shirt and black trousers, everything about him screams, "BAD BOY!". The others are hot but ordinary-looking and so not as hot as him.

What the hell, Hailey? Snap out of it!

I take all of this in in a second. I hide my unveiled rage and keep my face emotionless, cocking to the side as if observing them, narrowing my eyes slightly.

Not receiving the reaction they wanted, the boys continue walking down the hallway, still laughing. Douchebags.

Wait for it, dickbag. Your reign is over. Now I'm the boss.

The soda drips off my shirt onto the floor. Nobody is in the hallway anymore, thank goodness. I don't mind being late to class anyway. It comes as a package deal with me being a bad girl.

I see the girl's washroom at the end of the hallway. I grab an extra shirt from my locker and drag myself there, pinching the back of my shirt.

After changing, I go to the basins and wash my hands. I look into the mirror and stare at the person in front of me.

Unique heterochromatic eyes stare back at me, one red and one silver. They are not contacts, as some people might assume. I inherited them from my father.

My amazing and unique father.

Stop.

My eyes move downwards. I see a pale white face with a cute perky nose and full, bulging lips which are naturally matte-coloured. My cheeks have the usual blush in them. My silvery blond hair is tied back in a messy bun. No make-up whatsoever, except if you count some lotion. I look amazing just the way I am.

For the first day, I had chosen a normal shirt and leather jeans. Since that just got wet, I had to choose a provocative top that is black and sleeveless, showing a lot of skin, including that of the top of my breasts. As for that back, well, let's just say the fabric covers the very end of my back. Sheesh. I feel like a slut.

Though I look very sexy.

Also, plus point, all my clothes are black.

Regained confidence makes me reckless. After a quick trip to the locker, I stride along the corridor and to the class assigned to me. The teacher glares at me but doesn't say anything. I sit down at the very back.

And I find no sign of the dickbag I 'met' in the morning.

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The bell for lunch rings. I cringe at it high-pitchiness.

People had been whispering and staring at me since the morning. Each class I went, people stared continuously at my eyes and admired them. Nobody had the courage to ask me if they were contacts or not though. Good for them. They would've been lying on the floor in a pool of their own blood if they did.

I stretch. Now for the confrontation.

Just then the sicko douchebags in the classroom whistle at me. I ignore them and focus on my plan for the idiot who dared cross me on a Monday morning.

I had been planning for this throughout the morning. I'm pretty sure that the asswipe did that to everyone. It's definitely time to give the douchebag a taste of his own medicine.

My mind waves red flags at me but I ignored them. I am not one to stand down.

I walk down the hallway to the "cafeteria" and look around. It was a big room with a great many long tables, also sorted out with the students sitting there. The walls here were also yellow, except that there are bars of black oak instilled in specific places.

Nerds sit in the isolated regions at the back of the room with their glasses perched on their noses. The slutty whores in their very short and tight clothes try to seduce the hotties that sit in behind the table in the very middle of the room.

That's where I find him.

With messy hair resembling a pigeon's nest, Mr Asswipe stares at nothing, in particular, zoned out. The bitches, surprisingly stay away from him, though stare earnestly, trying to catch his attention but failing miserably.

My blood boils at the sight of him. I'm kind of amazed, I should actually be mildly annoyed at such a small thing. But I guess I just got pissed off at his perfect face.

Perfect?! Really, Sca-

No.

Don't say that name.

I clench my teeth and get going, walking towards the counter, my beautiful plan to ruin the asshole's reputation moving in sync. I buy a glass bottle of the same liquid he threw on my shirt. It is freezing. After paying for it, I towards the popular table, my heels clip-clopping.

People notice me immediately and start whispering. I mean, my eyes are attractive! Also, they probably thought I am a slut and am going to seduce hot 'bad boy'.

Like that's ever going to happen.

That thought angers me. I walk faster to stand behind him. I think of how he just ruined my favourite shirt. Just imagine, how difficult it will be to get the marks off the shirt. Just as he turns around, I dump the contents of the bottle on his head.

It visibly sends a shock through his body. His body goes completely rigid. I hear a loud gasp go through the whole cafeteria. The other occupants of the table stare at me wide-eyed.

I turn my attention to Mr Asswipe himself. He is slowly turning towards me, his face slowly twisting into a look of pure rage.

I keep my cocky attitude. Instead of lowering the soda bottle, I raise it even higher and let it go.

A nanosecond before it hit his head, I flick it out of the way. It falls on the ground and a shattering sound fills the room.

I cock my head to the side and smile at him cockily. My voice is a lilting melody as I say, "Imagine if that was your...head."

Then I turn my back on him and walk out of the cafeteria.