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Present. Still Tuesday, 11:18

Maddie

Staring into the deep unknown – lost in thought, in utter disdain.

Everything that people do are mere acts to keep up their self-regard. Although it might not be entirely true, it sure does apply to most. Why else would they strive to be above everybody else if they rightfully could, especially when we live in this hellhole?

You see, this world already is a cruel place, with injustices and all that rot. We demonize vanity and that's fair; people shouldn't be allowed to run away from what they did – that is, if, they're not of importance in seats of power. However, if it's a person's way of not losing their mind in such a world, then a little consideration would be nice as it's basically a defense mechanism. It's better to say that people of my kind are just doing a better job in living in it.

And oh please, don't even act like you won't do the things we did once your future's at stake.

I was gradually sent back to reality as a tiny piece of paper appeared at my desk, passed on by newly manicured fingernails. Snatching it, I threw a quick glance at the neat calligraphy on it. PLS SMILE :), the yellow ink revealed.

"Adela, what is this?" I waved the note at her.

"Ahhh... note, right?"

"Yeah, but what for? I don't need this garbage."

Hemingway slightly leaped as if electrocuted. She proceeded to shrug repeatedly, telling me that she made it because I seemed gloomy in the past few days. She then added, as if confiding, "I honestly thoughts you'd be happey."

My eyebrows stood almost in astonishment. It's incredibly interesting that just when you plan to build your walls again, a mere pebble by the riverbed is thrown and the bricks you so meticulously stacked simply come crashing down. Just so proves that appearing as a god to these people was hard to manage; the paint you soaked yourself in slowly peels off and you'll have to repaint your elf again.

"Is that so?" She happily nodded. I chuckled, unable to stop a smile from forming on my lips. "Well, then I appreciate this."

Appreciative, I opened my arms to invite her for a hug. Adela's strawberry blonde hair bounced as she went to me, and the fruity scent of mango overwhelmed my nostrils. I wrinkled my nose right away.

"What are you two ladies talking about?" someone asked in a sing-song voice.

I freed myself of Adela. "Nothing that concerns you, Chanel." She shifted nervously, the slight tightening of her jaw vivid. I was so not done with her. "But what is it?"

Hearing that, Givens shifted nervously and started toying with her ponytail. "Nothing, really." She then continued to speak slowly, as if unsure whether to say whatever it was that she meant to. "It's Jodi. She's having a bit of a hard time doing what you asked."

"Oh." I squinted my eyes and smacked my lips, pondering what to say, irritation from the name showing. "Chanel, does it look like I care?" I mimicked a gasp of surprise. "Wait, am I supposed to care?"

I shook my head in pretentious sympathy. "Too bad I don't. So, you could just tell Jodi to shove that right up her ass. It's either she kneels at my feet and sees to it that I get whatever I want, or else..." A chuckle. "You know what happens. If she gets in trouble, then so be it."

"But it wouldn't be just her, Maddie!" she burst out.

"How so?"

Adela squealed and settled a hand on my shoulder. "Well, like, shay posted somethin' on Twittah." She pulled out her phone and opened the app. Turns out she'd been observing it for quite a while since the tweet was already there.

"Uhh... Mrs. Powell get your hands off the student's dick smh"

Below, there were a few likes, awfully too many quote retweets, and the new comments varied from "oof- is this the discipline's head" to "owsheeee a whore."

I scoffed, heart drumming loudly, though it seemed as if I lost blood the harder it beat. Nervous, I took Hemingway's phone and clicked on Jodi's username. I pressed "unfollow," but the account was still open for viewing. Did she even know who Janette Powell was?

She muttered an "Uh-oh."

"Muh-Maddie," Chanel's jaw quivered, "she's already at Mrs. Powell's."

"Well, any more bad news, idiot?!" Heads stared our way the moment I yelled, some contemplating – goodness gracious, Gluttonous Willow was among them – most frantically turned back and started whispering.

"They want us there too. She sold, uhh, she sold us out."

A chuckle from me.

Then another.

Then uneasy, bitter laughter.

Well, fuck me gently with a chainsaw! As an iconic character from this movie we saw over the weekends would say.

My anger hadn't subdued but I only huffed once, grabbing my Birkin. I had to appear dignified and collected, to float above it all. God knows the imbeciles in this room needed a great leader, and I, fortunately, was one. Besides, the greatest leaders had the most torturous punishments for disobedience. Jodi Summers was just about to have hers.

"Where do you think you're going, Miss Colt? This is a show of disrespect," Mr. Alan Bowers, our Algebra II professor intoned in his oddly squeaky voice.

"Yeah, sad. As if my parents don't pay your salary. And what are you gonna do anyway?" I stopped at the doorway, my minions echoing my actions. He knew I was flying high through the class and the fact I just slapped in his face was sure to shut him up. "Send us to the Discipline Office?"

Covering my fury was no good, turns out, since my Louboutin against the floor sent magnified clacks throughout the room, traveling its corners. And that would suffice as a warning to them, I suppose. Imposing fear, making them tremble at the fact that I was a threat, was priceless.

"Mad-dhayy, what will we do?" Adela asked in the hallway.

"We'll see, 'Dela. But one thing's for sure," I looked to my right to glare at the shivering Chanel, who didn't do so much as meet my eyes, only steal a glance, "no one crosses me and ever gets away with it."