Текст книги "Painless"

Автор книги: Devon Hartford

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Текущая страница: 21 (всего у книги 32 страниц)

I realized my T shirt was destroyed, but I managed to knot the ends together at my waist, over my bra. “You like?” I asked.

“You sort of look like Mary Ann from Gilligan’s Island. But blonde and hotter. And after what we did on the bench, way dirtier.”

I almost asked him uncertainly if that was good. But that was the old me. The new me chuckled confidently, “And you loved it.”

“I did. And I love you, agápi mou.” He leaned over and kissed me.

“And if you want any more of my dirty, you’re gonna have to catch me!” I turned and ran down the hill in the darkness.

I could feel Christos’ cum dripping into my panties as I ran. I didn’t care. I still felt like some primal woman from pre-history. I didn’t care about things like dirty underwear or doing laundry. All I cared about in that moment was the perfect specimen of manhood chasing after me, the one who had just mated with me. I felt so alive, I wanted him to take me again and prove his manliness.

The trail was rough and uneven, and I felt gravity pulling me faster than I was comfortable running, especially considering how dark it was.

But Christos’ boots were pounding right behind me.

I didn’t want him to catch me so easily.

I sped up my pace, focusing on where my feet fell and keeping my center of gravity low and balanced.

A thread of my old insecurity knitted my brows and a string of my ingrained civilized sanity spooled through my thoughts. I realized that my desire for Christos had me so turned on, I was being stupid. I mean, I was barreling downhill in the darkness. I could easily break an ankle or a leg. It scared me. I wondered if Christos might destroy me with his unrelenting abandon someday. I expected my old friend fear to snatch my confidence and devour me at any moment.

But I wasn’t that frightened girl any longer. I wasn’t going to let fear run my life.

I was a woman, and I was strong.

A powerful feminine force reared up inside me like a champion mare or a lioness on the tundra and it stomped out my fear decisively. Adrenalin and excitement poured into my veins and swam through my body.

Christos could only have me if he was strong enough to catch me.

I ran as fast as I could down the trail. I jumped over rocks and divots like an experienced huntress in her element until I was on the street below. Then I sprinted toward the house, Christos close behind.

* * *

We pounded up the stairs of our home together.

I knew Spiridon was out, so I wasn’t worried about the noise bothering him.

I stumbled into the bedroom and crashed onto the bed. We stripped our clothes off while giggling at each other and dove onto the bed, heedless of the dirt from the trail.

We knelt on the bed together, facing each other. I was brimming over with confidence because I was thrilled that I hadn’t tripped on the trail. I had navigated the rugged terrain in the darkness like a master. My success fueled my throbbing excitement.

I traced the script of the Fearless tattoo on Christos’ chest with my fingertip. “Maybe I should get a tattoo across my chest that says Fearless,” I grinned.

“What, and mar those perfect breasts? Nothing made by the hand of man could ever compare to your breasts, agápi mou. To tell you the truth, I’m a bit worried about capturing their perfection when I paint them.”

“You can totally do it,” I said dismissively. When I’d first met Christos, I would’ve cringed at his words and asked for reassurance he wasn’t lying. Now I took it in stride. But the truth was, I wasn’t really into tattoos for myself. I joked, “Okay, how about I get a tramp stamp that says Fearless instead?”

He chuckled, “Definitely go with the tramp stamp. That way, when I’m taking you from behind, I’ll be reminded how badass you are.”

“Because we both know I have a bad ass,” I quipped, “in a good way.”

“The best way. You have an ass that launched a thousand ships.”

I frowned, “Wait, that sounds like something having to do with farts. Like my ass shoots cannon ball farts or rocket fart blasts that blow the sails that power the ships.”

“All thousand of them,” Christos grinned and shook his head. “Your imagination knows no bounds, agápi mou. Neither of limits nor of propriety.”

“And you love it,” I laughed.

“I do,” he smiled.

We began kissing, naked on our knees, chest to chest on our bed. The passion from the mountain top erupted once again, having never completely cooled. But this time it was sweetly, silkily different. Our love making was quiet and intimate in contrast to the savage intensity and wild abandon before. This time, not just our bodies, but our hearts beat together in that timeless, ancient rhythm of man and woman in perfect union.

The bonding of our hearts brought a powerful immediacy. I was intimately aware of Christos as he thrust tenderly into me over and over again. His heat, his scent, his weight. But also his compassion, his tenderness, and his love. I felt our souls joining as our bodies came together. I could tell he felt it too. Our eyes were locked as pleasure swept through us in a shower of orgasmic release.

We lay in each other’s arms on our bed as the embers of our fire cooled and the bond between our hearts strengthened, much like bedrock after the erupted volcano finally comes to rest. Our ritual of love was complete, body and soul.

Together, Christos and I had laid the foundation for our renewal and rebirth. Like Adam and Eve, we were Man and Woman.

We were Creation.

We were Love.

Love.

Chapter 20

SAMANTHA

“Do you think pirates ever used their peg legs as dildos?” Romeo asked thoughtfully.

I gawked at him.

An old guy with grizzled white stubble who was dressed in a pirate costume stood on the dais in the center of the room. He struck a classic pirate pose: hands on hips, one pirate boot up on a box, like he was at the front of a pirate ship. A cutlass hung in a scabbard from his belt and he had one of those black pirate hats and a fancy captain’s coat with hundreds of buttons.

The students were all circled around the dais, drawing the pirate, sitting on these cute little benches called drawing horses, which you straddled long-ways like a horse, hence the name. A vertical plank stuck up on the front end, much like the neck of a horse, and you leaned your drawing clipboard on it. I didn’t think they were big enough to be called horses, so I dubbed them drawing ponies. I would need to get a saddle for mine and properly bedazzle it with glitter and silver buckles in my spare time.

The class was Drawing The Costumed Figure. Professor Walt Childress, who had taught Life Drawing last fall, was our professor once again.

“I totally think pirates used their peg legs as dildos,” Romeo whispered as he sketched on the big drawing pad in his lap with his charcoal stick.

“He doesn’t have a peg leg!” Kamiko hiss-whispered while she sketched her own pirate drawing.

“But if he did,” Romeo muttered thoughtfully, “he would use it as a dildo.”

The old guy in the pirate costume suddenly coughed. Or was it a laugh? I wasn’t sure. But I did know that he was facing us and stood close enough to overhear Romeo.

 Kamiko dropped her charcoal dusted hands in her lap, confused, and gaped at Romeo. “What?”

“I mean, seriously,” Romeo whispered, “pirates are gay. All of them.”

This time, the old pirate made a pfft! noise like he was trying to get Romeo’s attention, like maybe he wanted Romeo to stop talking. I couldn’t blame him. It was hard to concentrate once Romeo got going on a tangent.

Romeo was, of course, oblivious. He was totally going to get busted at the rate he was going.

I glanced around the classroom, trying to determine if we were bothering the other students or not, or if the professor had noticed we were talking when we were supposed to be drawing. Luckily, the professor was sitting at a drawing horse on the far side of the room with two students leaning over his shoulder while he explained how to draw the wrinkles of the captain’s coat just right.

Kamiko whispered, “That makes zero sense, Romeo. Pirates aren’t all gay.”

Romeo rolled his eyes, “Oh yeah? Why would any straight man lock himself away on a ship for months at a time with nothing but guys? Sounds gay to me.”

“What does that have to do with dildos?” Kamiko whispered, frustrated. “With all those dicks around, why would a bunch of gay pirates need any dildos? Duh!”

Romeo titter whispered, “When it comes to an orgy, you can never have too many dicks, darling. Wooden or otherwise.”

Kamiko grimaced and shook her head. “I’ve found that one is usually plenty.”

“I concur,” I grinned.

Our old pirate model cleared his throat. His face was turning red. He was totally listening and I think embarrassed. He probably thought our immature banter was offensive.

The young guy sitting and drawing next to me smirked and shook his head at Romeo and Kamiko’s running pirate commentary.

Yes, their commentary was slightly embarrassing. For now. But I trusted Romeo to take it from slightly to extremely in no time. He was the embarrassment express train, and once he got up to speed, there was no stopping him until everybody arrived at the humiliation station. Picture a giant steam train barreling along the tracks with Romeo’s face filling up the big circle on the front of the locomotive, his monocle in place while he smiled maniacally with his mouth wide open. His tongue would be dangling out the side and whipping in the wind while drool droplets flicked off. Smoke would be blurting from his smokestack in clouds shaped like letters that spelled out offensive comments.

Yes.

Romeo, The Loco Locomotive.

“TOOT! TOOT!” blows his whistle.

And we all knew how much Romeo liked to blow things.

I did my best to repress my snicker at the thought. I just hoped Romeo didn’t go off the tracks and kill everybody onboard his shame train.

“Wait,” Romeo said to Kamiko, “I thought your only dick experience was with cartoon penises. Have you finally taken the plunge? Walked a man’s fleshy gang plank?”

The young guy beside me snickered, but did his best to repress it and keep drawing.

“Fleshy gang plank?” Kamiko scoffed. “Only a man could draw a connection between a pirate ship gang plank and a penis.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Romeo frowned. “Gang planks are long, stiff and they stick straight out from the hull of the ship. How is that in any way unlike a dick?”

“But gang planks are made of wood,” Kamiko protested.

“Where do you think the term ‘woody’ came from?” Romeo whispered. “Or ‘morning wood’?”

“Not from gang planks,” she scoffed.

The pirate model blurted out a grunty, “Ahem!” He sounded like he could be clearing his throat or trying to get Romeo to shut up.

“Are you okay, Mr. Underwood?” Professor Childress asked the model from the other side of the room. “Do you need a glass of water? Or perhaps a break?” The professor sounded sincere. The model was an old guy, after all, and he could be overheating from embarrassment in that big pirate coat of his.

“I’m fine,” Mr. Underwood, the pirate model, said.

The professor returned his focus to the students beside him.

Romeo whispered, “See? The pirate’s name is Underwood! That proves my theory! Every man keeps wood under his pants!”

I repressed a titter as I glanced at Mr. Underwood to see if he was offended by Romeo’s comment. I couldn’t tell. He stared straight ahead, eyes locked in the distance. He was probably doing his best to block out Romeo. Poor Mr. Underwood. This was his job after all. He was paid to hold still and pose. He shouldn’t have to endure Romeo’s shenanigans.

“We were talking about gang planks,” Kamiko hissed at Romeo. “Gang planks have nothing to do with sex. People are forced onto them at sword point and ordered to jump to a watery death in shark infested waters.”

“Sounds like my last blind date,” Romeo grinned casually while he continued to draw his costumed pirate on his drawing pad. “But I wasn’t forced. And it wasn’t sharks. It was crabs. Good thing they aren’t fatal. But hey, I’m always looking for a good reason to shave my pubes.”

Kamiko gagged. “OMG! TMI! I think I’m going to be sick.”

The model held in one of those clicking laughs that people do when they want to explode with laughter but are forced to sneeze it out instead.

“Do you need a tissue, Mr. Underwood?” Professor Childress asked.

“I’m—” Mr. Underwood said, red faced and doing his best not to laugh, “—fine. I’m fine.” He shook his head, smiling big, like he was trying to shake away his remaining laughter. He screwed his face into a serious look. But his cheeks still quivered with repressed laughter.

The professor nodded, then went back to helping the students.

Well, at least Mr. Underwood wasn’t offended. I felt a little better, but I tossed Romeo a shocked look over Kamiko, who was folded over, clutching her stomach. If Romeo didn’t stop, we were going to get busted.

Romeo winked at me and whispered, “I’m kidding, Kamiko. It wasn’t crabs. It was barnacles. I had no idea that barnacles were a sexually transmittable disease. Lesson learned. Don’t have sex with crusty old pirate ship captains. Butt barnacles are the worst. Do you have any idea how hard it is to wipe when your butt is covered with barnacles? Barnacles shred toilet paper like nobody’s business.”

“HA!” the model shouted. Then he started coughing elaborately. But I could tell he was just trying to maintain a professional demeanor by hiding his laughter.

Romeo was going to get poor Mr. Underwood fired at this rate.

The professor stood up from his drawing horse and said to Mr. Underwood, “Let me get you some water.” He walked to the corner sink and filled a clean styrofoam cup from the tap.

Kamiko suddenly sat up, her face red, looking like she had diarrhea or was ready to barf after hearing Romeo’s barnacle comments. She turned to Romeo and mimed projectile vomiting in his lap with her hands, cupping them and moving them up and down in front of her mouth repeatedly. She made a choked sound, “Gack!”

“Are you sucking off a giant dick?” Romeo whisper tittered. “Or is it a giant wooden dildo?”

The young guy next to me blurted a restrained, whispery laugh.

The professor walked past us and handed the cup of water to Mr. Underwood, who thanked him and drank the water down in several swallows before resuming his pose.

Kamiko dropped her hands in her lap and looked at me, shocked with embarrassment. She was even redder than before.

“Ahem,” Professor Childress said as he turned around, standing right in front of us with a frown on his face and holding his arms behind his back in a teacherly pose. “Would it be possible for the three of you to focus your energies on your drawings rather than socializing during class? You’re distracting the model. And your classmates.”

“Geez, Sam!” Romeo growled, “I’m trying to draw! Stop distracting me!” He hunched over his pad and frantically shaded in his drawing of the pirate’s jacket with his charcoal stick like he was innocent.

“Me?” I squeaked. “You were the one who—!”

Professor Childress stared at me and arched his eyebrows expectantly.

I winced and smiled back at him. I’m sure I looked like a guilty idiot. I wanted to explain it was the Loco Locomotive’s fault, not mine.

The professor flicked his gaze from me to my drawing pad, hinting I should get back to work. I nodded and started sketching out the lines of my pirate’s hat like a good girl. My face broiled with embarrassment. I think I was now redder than Kamiko.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Kamiko was biting her lip, looking terribly frightened, like she was going to get detention, or maybe even expelled. She was drawing so furiously she was tearing holes in her paper. She folded back the torn sheet with shaky hands and started a new drawing. She whimpered while she worked.

The professor stepped around behind us. For the next two minutes, he loomed over us, making sure we were working diligently.

I was pretty sure his glare was burning holes in our backs.

After another minute, the professor leaned forward so that his face was right beside Romeo’s ear. In a low voice, he muttered, “Next time, young man,” he said to Romeo ominously, “I suggest you choose your pirate lovers more carefully.”

Romeo’s eyes goggled.

“But,” the professor quipped, “from what I’ve heard, the best way to remove butt barnacles is to chip them off with a pickaxe. Just be careful of your nuts, young man,” he said seriously, “I wouldn’t want you chipping them off in the process.” He straightened up and smiled at us. “You didn’t hear it from me,” he winked.

I glanced from Romeo to Kamiko and the three of us burst out laughing.

Professor Childress was awesome.

Mr. Underwood snickered without restraint, his face turning beet red.

The professor chuckled and winked at Mr. Underwood, “Keep up the good work, Dick.” Then the professor walked away to circulate amongst the other students.

Old Dick Underwood, I mean regular Dick Underwood, nodded and smiled at the Professor.

“The model’s name is Dick!” Romeo hissed. “Dick Underwood! I told you! I was right! His middle name is probably Wooden Dildo!”

Kamiko gawked, “Dick Wooden Dildo Underwood?”

Romeo, the Loco Locomotive, had finally gone off the tracks.

The young guy next to me let out a long, loud laugh.

Professor Childress stood on the other side of the room. He shook his head at us and chuckled before helping another student with their drawing.

I loved this class!

* * *

After class that afternoon, Romeo and I sat at one of the tables outside Toasted Roast, brainstorming ideas for comic strips for The Wombat. We still hadn’t come up with much since going to The Wombat staff meeting weeks ago.

“How about Gay vs. Gay?” Romeo asked, tapping his pen against his lips. “It’ll be a parody of the classic Spy vs. Spy comics from Mad Magazine.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen that one,” I said as I sipped my coffee. “What’s it about?”

“It’s these two spies, one wears black, the other wears white, and they’re always trying to kill each other with clever booby traps. And I think they’re birds because they have these long pointy triangle noses.”

I doodled in my sketch pad as I asked, “How would it work if it was Gay vs. Gay?”

“They’d always be trying to sleep with each other?” he suggested.

“I’m confused. Wouldn’t they want to sleep with each other, if they were gay? What would be the challenge?”

“Maybe they hate each other?”

“Then why would they be trying to sleep with each other?”

“Hmm. Maybe you’re right. How about Peabutts, a gay parody of Charles Schultz’ classic Peanuts? Or we could call it Peanis.”

“That sounds horribly wrong,” I chuckled. “We’d probably get sued.”

“How about Dickey Mouse?”

“Same problem,” I said, taking another sip of coffee.

“Daffy Dick?”

I rolled my eyes.

“What? All cartoon birds are gay. Why do you think Daffy was so angry? He wasn’t getting laid. And you know Tweety Bird was gay.”

I shook my head.

“Gayfield the Cat?”

“No.”

"Come on! Cats are totally gay man’s best friend.”

I arched an eyebrow doubtfully. “Do all gays loves cats?”

“I don’t know about the rest of us, but I sure do. They’re the only kind of pussy I really like,” he snickered. He paused in thought, drumming his pen against his notebook. “How about Queer Family Circus?”

“I’m sensing a theme here,” I sighed.

Romeo’s monocle fell from his eye in disappointment. “I’m trying to be contemporary, Sam. There’s tons of TV shows with gay couples in them. Why not gay comic strips?”

“Okay. But Queer Family Circus sounds way too pedo. With clowns,” I shuddered.

“Clowns are funny.”

“Clowns are scary,” I insisted.

“All that garish makeup is pretty creepy,” Romeo grimaced, squinching his monocle back into his eye. “Maybe you’re right. How about Penis the Menace?”

“That sounds like porn.”

“Family Gay?”

“Like Family Guy?” I asked skeptically.

“Why not? Gays have families too.”

I sighed. “Do we have any other ideas?”

Romeo’s eyes lit up and his monocle popped out again. “I know! Jugs Bunny! It wouldn’t be gay. Jugs Bunny is a college coed with huge boobs. She’s always getting into trouble because they’re so large.”

“You know, that comment proves that gay men are men, not women trapped in men’s bodies.”

Romeo looked confused. “What do you mean? Huge boobs are hilarious.”

I shook my head dismissively. “Exactly.”

“All right, Debbie Downer. Why don’t you come up with something? You’re shooting down everything I’ve got.”

I smirked, “What, aren’t you going to suggest a comic strip about a college coed who gives lots of head, and her name is Debbie Downer?”

Romeo’s eyes lit up again. “That’s genius, Sam! I love it!” He scribbled down some notes in his notebook. “Can you start drawing sketches of her? What would she look like? Does she have a huge mouth? A really long neck? Muscular lips? Maybe she has a sideways mouth that looks like a vajay-jay?”

I rolled my eyes and my head in unison. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No!” he said, smiling from ear to ear. “Does she have to shave? Have a curly beard? A clit for a nose and only one nostril that she can pee out of? The comedic potential is infinite!” Romeo pounded his fist on the table, his eyes gleaming with excitement. He looked ready to take over the world with his comedy mastermind.

I grimaced. “That all sounds like a bit much. Couldn’t you just make her a regular girl with an animal friend, like Calvin and Hobbes, or maybe Snoopy and Woodstock?”

“That’s perfect! But the bird’s name will be Woodcock! And Woodcock would, of course, be gay! Because he’s a cartoon bird! You’re a genius, Sam!”

I groaned. We had a ways to go with our comic strip idea.

* * *

I pulled the mail out of the mail box at the Manos house the next day. I had been bringing in the mail and doing lots of little things around the Manos house to show my appreciation to Spiridon and Christos. It was my house too. So I did my part to take care of it.

I sorted through the stack of mail and one letter jumped out at me.

San Diego University Cashier’s Office.

Oh shit.

I tore the letter open.

I’d forgotten to make my monthly tuition payment! I’d been so crazy busy lately, the deadline had slipped right out of my mind. My first thought was that I was going to get booted from school. With Tiffany’s accusation about me stealing her credit card hanging over my head already, I was skating on thin ice. The last thing I needed was a late payment weighing me down. Now I was on the verge of cracking through the ice and sinking into the freezing water.

I needed to take care of this immediately. Maybe I could put some of my tuition payment on my credit card? It was the last thing I wanted to do, but I was desperate.

Out of habit, I reached into the mailbox, making sure I hadn’t missed anything. I suddenly had the idea that the mailbox would clamp shut on my fingers like a greedy maw, and chew them off. With my other problems mounting, it seemed a likely scenario.

“Did the mail come?” Christos asked as he walked outside.

“Oh!” I jumped.

“Something wrong?”

“Uh, no?” Guilty question mark. “I mean, no! Everything’s fine!” And the exclamation points too. “I mean fine. Everything is fine.” I didn’t want to tell him about my money problems. I’d vowed to take care of them myself, and I was going to follow through. It was all part of proving to my parents and myself that I wasn’t foolish for choosing art.

“All right,” Christos said. “I’m going to run to the art supply store. I need some new sable brushes. Do you need anything while I’m there?”

Not that I could afford anything. I was beyond broke. And Christos had already spent a ton of money setting up my drawing table with supplies in our studio. I couldn’t ask for more. “No, thanks,” I sighed.

“Do you want to come with, anyway?”

“No, I have to go to campus.”

“You were just there. I thought your classes were done for the day.”

“I have to take care of something with my, uh, financial aid! Some new loan papers!” I lied. I hoped Christos didn’t know the first thing about how financial aid and loans worked, or he’d start asking questions and find out real quick.

“That’s cool. Do you want a ride? We could go to Blick Art down in Little Italy after.”

“No! That’s okay!”

He frowned. “You sure?”

“Yes!”

“All right. In that case, I’m taking the Duke. The weather’s so nice, I feel like a ride.”

I was about to ask if he’d been drinking, because I didn’t want him riding his motorcycle if he’d had even a sip. But ever since that visit with his dad, I don’t think Christos had been drinking much at all. “Okay,” I said.

He pushed his Ducati out of the garage and put his helmet on. “Wanna have dinner when I get home?”

“That would be awesome.”

“And don’t forget, we need to start your painting soon.”

Oh, that. Me, nude. For everyone to see. Naked on a mountain top at night was one thing. A well lit portrait hanging in a crowded gallery was another. “Sure!” Notice the exclamation point.

“Maybe we can start tonight,” he suggested.

“Maybe?” Notice the question mark.

He nodded and smiled his dimpled grin. “Later,” he said as he revved the bike and rode off.

I envied that Christos was back to his usual carefree self. It had happened almost overnight, like all his troubles had vanished. He’d returned to being the Christos I’d fallen in love with. It was amazing what the love of a supportive parent could do for one’s confidence and self esteem.

(Subtle jab at my own parents)

Sigh.

I wished my troubles would vanish like Christos’, so I could be carefree too. Unfortunately, mine weren’t even close to free. They cost thousands of dollars that I didn’t have.

At least I had my credit card. I could now begin the time honored American tradition of sinking into a pit of debt I might never be able to climb out of.

* * *

“What do you mean I can’t pay my tuition by credit card?” I asked in horror.

The cashier, a middle aged guy with a pepper gray beard and glasses, stood behind the counter at the SDU Central Cashier’s Office. He said, “We can only accept payment by cash, check, money order, or student loan checks.”

“But I’m out of student loan money and I don’t have any cash,” I groused. “The bank won’t give me a loan because I don’t have a cosigner.” I was ready to cry and plead for mercy. I think it showed on my face and desperate tone of voice.

The cashier smiled sympathetically. “I’m sorry, there’s nothing I can do. Have you spoken with someone at Financial Aid? They can help you explore all of your aid options in depth.”

“I have,” I sighed. “I can’t get any more loan money until next year.”

“That’s a problem,” he nodded sympathetically.

“What happens if I don’t pay?”

“There is a grace period. You have another week to pay before you incur a late fee of fifty dollars.”

Shit, I didn’t have fifty dollars to spare, let alone thousands. “What happens if I don’t pay by then?”

“You’ll incur a hold on your account.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you’ll have to pay a $35 fee to clear the hold and make your payment.”

“You mean I’ll have to pay $35 so I can pay the $50 late fee AND my tuition?”

“Yes,” he said somewhat sheepishly.

I shook my head. Great. More money I didn’t have. “What happens if I don’t clear the hold?”

“Eventually, you’ll be subject to cancellation of your classes.”

“What do you mean? Like, permanently? I don’t want to get kicked out of SDU,” I said with feeble dread.

“No,” he smiled. “It’s not that dire. But you won’t be able to receive any credit for this term. You’ll have to retake all the classes you’re enrolled in now.”

“But they don’t offer History 3 and Sociology 3 again until next Spring! That’ll totally screw up my schedule next year!”

He spread his hands apart. “I’m sorry.”

“What can I do?” I said, panicked.

“I know this sounds harsh, but if you can find a way to cover your monthly installment payment, you won’t have anything to worry about. Try talking to your parents.”

Them. Yeah, right. They weren’t going to do shit.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” he asked, glancing over my shoulder at the people waiting in line behind me.

“No, thanks.”

My shoulders slumped as I trudged out of the Cashier’s Office.

I was going to find the nearest lamppost outside and wait until dark so I could start turning tricks. I was pretty sure one trick would cover my late fee and my hold fee.

I walked down the stairs outside the Cashier’s Office right as Tiffany Cum-dumb Butt-spouse walked by with a pair of her sorority hobots flanking her.

Great.

As always, she was dressed in new clothes, her platinum blonde hair was perfectly arranged, and I expected paparazzi to jump out of the bushes and start snapping photos of her any second. She exuded celebrity, even though I think the only thing she was famous for was being a bitch.

I ducked my head, hoping she wouldn’t notice me.

“Well, if it isn’t little miss Scumantha Banana Shit,” she sneered.

I wondered for the second time how she’d found out my full name was Samantha Anna Smith. She probably had spies everywhere. I had no doubt she could afford to hire the very best.

We were walking in the same direction, so I walked quickly, hoping to put some distance between us. I heard her tittering with her two minions behind me.

“Having a bad day, Scumantha?” she sneered at my back.

I rolled my eyes to myself and kept walking, doing my best to ignore her.

“Find any good jobs lately?” she jabbed.

What a bitch. She had totally gotten me fired out of spite, and we both knew it.

I turned and glared at her, “Shut up, Tiffany.”

She and her hobot friends cackled at me.

The thing that pissed me off more than anything was that Tiffany never had to worry about money, she never had to work for anything, and she was still the biggest bitch on the planet.

“Oh,” she cooed in baby talk, “did I hurt widdle Scumantha’s feewings?”

Her friends laughed heartily.

I pivoted on my heel and marched right up to Tiffany and her friends. The three of them stopped short, eyes bugging out.

“Hey,” one of the hobots muttered.

Tiffany frowned at me, “Hey, back off—”

SLAP!!

I smacked her right across the face. Her cheek was white where I’d hit it. I’d learned that trick from my mom. At least she was good for something.

“Oh my god!” one of the hobots gasped, covering her lips with her fingers.