Cheerleaders are not so nice... [open] THNM (Monday at school)
Angela walked down the hallways of school, happy to be back at school. She'd been so bored at home, and she was glad for something to do and somewhere else to be besides home.
She was cheerfully oblivious to the fact that there were three cheerleaders following her, until they pulled on her braids.
"Ow!" Angela exclaimed, dissolving into a hacking cough. Despite insisting that she was well enough to go back to school and being backed up by the doctor, she still looked very tired and a little peaky from not eating enough.
The three cheerleaders almost looked like clones: All nice and petite, all with perfect skins, perfect bodies, perfect hair. "Aww, lookit her, soo sick, poooor baby. Good thing we didn't let her into the squad, isn't it? She'd have just left us high and dry at the end of the school year."
"Can you believe it? She's even skinnier than in September--and flatter. Are you sure you're in tenth grade?"
Angela turned away and began walking again, still coughing.
"I've seen your Dad," the third one says, jumping into her path. "He's the one with the fake leg, right?"
Angela froze and didn't answer.
"Saw him going into the liquor store. He was buying enough vodka to poison a bear." The girl grinned wickedly, liking the effect that her words were having.
Angela still didn't say anything, but her hands bunched into fists, and she went pale.
"In fact," the girl went on, enjoying herself, "I think he was drunk when he went in. Or maybe that was the gimpy leg making him wobble."
The girls all laughed.
"That's not true," Angela said, softly, angrily. Unfortunately, it sounded more like she was on the edge of tears. Which she was.
"Oooooh, looks like the prude has a soft spot." The head of the cheerleading squad has a voice built for a natural taunt, and it goes right into the part of Angela's brain that deals with mind numbing anger. "My grandmother says her family have all been alcoholics for like, ever. Shifty and lazy, my grandmother says."
"Shut up," Angela says. She still hasn't turned around. Mostly because there are tears filling her eyes.
The other girl turned to her friend, as if confiding a secret. "Her grandmother was knocked up when her Dad was born. And then her own mother couldn't stand her, dumped her on her father's doorstep. Looks like her own mother didn't want her."
How do they know all these things? Her fists bunch tighter, and she just wants to hit...but then she'll get expelled, or worse. And she's missed too much school already.
Mechanically, Angela began walking, trying not to hear the laughter behind her as she pushed through the other girls (and boys, since the cheerleaders were involved), yet hearing every single taunt and giggle. She doesn't turn around to look back at them. She doesn't want them to see the tears flooding down her face, and she bows her head, trying to hide.
She doesn't want to know. She doesn't want to know anything. She just wants to be a regular kid and not know, not worry. So she stumbles blindly down the hall, not really looking where she is going.
She was cheerfully oblivious to the fact that there were three cheerleaders following her, until they pulled on her braids.
"Ow!" Angela exclaimed, dissolving into a hacking cough. Despite insisting that she was well enough to go back to school and being backed up by the doctor, she still looked very tired and a little peaky from not eating enough.
The three cheerleaders almost looked like clones: All nice and petite, all with perfect skins, perfect bodies, perfect hair. "Aww, lookit her, soo sick, poooor baby. Good thing we didn't let her into the squad, isn't it? She'd have just left us high and dry at the end of the school year."
"Can you believe it? She's even skinnier than in September--and flatter. Are you sure you're in tenth grade?"
Angela turned away and began walking again, still coughing.
"I've seen your Dad," the third one says, jumping into her path. "He's the one with the fake leg, right?"
Angela froze and didn't answer.
"Saw him going into the liquor store. He was buying enough vodka to poison a bear." The girl grinned wickedly, liking the effect that her words were having.
Angela still didn't say anything, but her hands bunched into fists, and she went pale.
"In fact," the girl went on, enjoying herself, "I think he was drunk when he went in. Or maybe that was the gimpy leg making him wobble."
The girls all laughed.
"That's not true," Angela said, softly, angrily. Unfortunately, it sounded more like she was on the edge of tears. Which she was.
"Oooooh, looks like the prude has a soft spot." The head of the cheerleading squad has a voice built for a natural taunt, and it goes right into the part of Angela's brain that deals with mind numbing anger. "My grandmother says her family have all been alcoholics for like, ever. Shifty and lazy, my grandmother says."
"Shut up," Angela says. She still hasn't turned around. Mostly because there are tears filling her eyes.
The other girl turned to her friend, as if confiding a secret. "Her grandmother was knocked up when her Dad was born. And then her own mother couldn't stand her, dumped her on her father's doorstep. Looks like her own mother didn't want her."
How do they know all these things? Her fists bunch tighter, and she just wants to hit...but then she'll get expelled, or worse. And she's missed too much school already.
Mechanically, Angela began walking, trying not to hear the laughter behind her as she pushed through the other girls (and boys, since the cheerleaders were involved), yet hearing every single taunt and giggle. She doesn't turn around to look back at them. She doesn't want them to see the tears flooding down her face, and she bows her head, trying to hide.
She doesn't want to know. She doesn't want to know anything. She just wants to be a regular kid and not know, not worry. So she stumbles blindly down the hall, not really looking where she is going.