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This diary entry is written by ‹Mad♥Hatter♥Love›. ( View all entries )
Previous entry: For Stars Chapter One in category Chapter One

For Stars Chapter TwoCategory: Chapter Two
Thursday, 25 February 2010
03:51:33 PM (GMT)
Jojo smiled at me, the grin that I knew led to me saying 'Hell yeah, let's do it!'
and then RBDIB (Real Bitches Do It Big) getting into mass trouble later. I associated
that grin with that joke "A redneck's last words--Hey, guys, watch this!" because we
ended up half-way dead, or in enough trouble to make us wish we were dead. And
we didn't have to do much to get expelled from the Hoity-Totiy, Hellish-type High
School. (It had a real name, but what does it matter?)
   "I have an idea," she said, leaned against the newest and unpicked member of
RBDIB, Praxton. He was quite cute--taller than me, which wasn't saying much because I
was 5'3, black, shaggy hair that hung past his eyes and was spiked in the back, along
with a nice six-pack, and pretty gray eyes. He dressed like a little gangster--so
that was his nickname. Wickie. White gangster equals Wangster, which shortened, is
Wang. But that sounds wrong, so we went with Wickie. 
   I pulled my hair back into a ponytail. "Tell it." I smoothed the bumps, tucked the
bang from out of my eye, and glanced at her. Behind her, my other best friends and
group members--Gigi, Lia, and PJ--waited intently, watching the hall. I don't see how
people stayed here. Everything was so normal, so the same. Ugh. It made me cry just
thinking about it. I missed New Orleans.
  "Let's throw a talent show or somethin', Pimmy. Show them how us real bitches do
thangs," Jojo drawled, wiggling her hips. She was my closest friends, my twin sister
(we were bron three hours apart), and the one most like me. She had my attitude, my
spunk, my hot temper, and my bitchiness. 
  "Talent show?" That wouldn't get us in much trouble...and the idea wouldn't hurt.
And it would give me a chance to show my awesome dance moves and singing. "Let's go
for it."
  Wickie nodded. "I can rap for ya'll," he said, easily taking in our favorite
southern slang.
  "What you know 'bout rappin', fool?" I asked, a sparkle in my eyes. "If you rap, I
want real gangsta shit--not Eminem." (Author's Note--I love Eminem! )
   "Alright. Baby, I got you," he said. Wow. He sounded like a real Louisiana thug.
He started rapping to Lil Wayne's 'A Mili.' 
   "Alright, Wickie, you in," I told him. 
   "Aw yeah, baby!"
   "So hood," Gigi said, tossing his long blonde hair over his shoulder. He was gay.
"So, ya'll, like, what's next on our schedule?" 
   "Advanced math with Mr. Krashet," I read. We had the uncanny luck to get itno all
the same classes at the same time. It was luck as much as they were scared to
separate us. We're harmless unless provoked, but people won't see that. Oh well,
can't complain. It gives us edge.
   Praxton led us to our last class before lunch--well, we were Seniors like Praxton
and Braxton, and that lil' skinny, aggravating hoe, Aniya. Braxton...I liked him. In
theory. He was nice to me, but I had sworn off dating until I was done with school
and in college. I had evens worn to my parents because...well, because. 
  Mr. Krashet ended up not liking us when we first came in because I was black, and
he was racist. And we were dressed 'unproper' for him. Plus, I was a Night. Me and
Suns normally didn't get along. It was only by the grace of God that me and Jojo got
along with Gigi and PJ. Lia was a star and they were automatically attracted to the
opposite sex of Nights, unless they were gay.
  I crossed my arms. "Mr. Krashet, um, that's the answer! He got the same da--daaang
answer. His ain't wrong! So why mine gotta be?" This just aint made no damn sense.
Fucking asshole idiot of a teacher. Jeez. He's gonna wake up with snakes in his
mother-loving bed! I sat back down just as the bell rang. Then, without breaking my
stride, thrust my papers at him angrily. I'm NOT taking this class.
Jojo looked at me, eyes wide. "Please, Pimmy? Please?" She was the only one allowed
to call me Pimmy. It was close to the nickname of my little devil of a sister, the
Bitch. Well, her name was Kimberly, but was called Kimmy. Not Kim, Kimmy. And she was
the anit-Christ, I swear. The girl was evil.
  I groaned. "If I say yes, will you leave me alone about it?" I asked. Our first
week at Helity High School was done and over. And we were known as the baddest, most
badical bitches around. You didn't mess with us, cross us, or fuck with us--not if
you wanted to live an extra day. You especially didn't mess with the Terrible Two--me
and Jojo. And you surely didn't fuck around with any guy I had my eyes on, or Wickie.
That was like signing your soul to the devil.
  "Yes, I will! Well, hurry up and get ready! Wickie'll be here in, like, two hours!"
She bounced up and down on her feet, face aglow with excitement, reminding me of
those preppy bitches in the movies. 
  I frowned. "Shut the hell up, hoe! I'm readin'!" 
  She giggled. See, that's the thing about good freindshhip--I call her a hoe or
whore, she's calls me a cock-sucking bitch, I reply 'I don't suck I blow' and she
says 'It's the same thing' and we both collpase into laughter. And, yes, that's
happened before. Or, it will happen. You lose track when you occasionally see the
future.  You know how that is....
  But she didn't leave me alone. Finally, in the last ten minutes before we wer
supposed to leave, I went upstairs and dressed. I put on some black leggings under a
black and hot pink big tee-shirt. I slipped on my high-tops, loving the way my feet
felt when encased in ankle socks and high-tops. Made my fucking day. I tucked my hair
back into a pnytail, leaving only the two tendrils of hair that came lose to frame
the saides of my face, and my ever-present bang. I placed a bit of glitter on my
cheekbones and ran downstairs, tucking my money, phone, and brght orange Ipod Nano
5th generation into my bra, the best compartment ever invented.
  At the door, Wickie was blushing, his eyes glowing as he handed her a bright red
rose and stumbled a greeting. "Uh, hey, hey, look hella good girl," he
finished sounding like the Wickie we knew and Jojo loved.
  "Hey, Wickie," Jojo said, a blush spreading across her face. 
  I pretended to throw up. "Let's go kiddies. Wherever we go, I shall find some poor,
hot guy to make out with while you two try to talk compehendingly to each other." I
started to walk out of the door, but was stopped by another Wickie--his twin brother,
Braxton. "Hey, look, it's Wickie two! Yay! Please don't tell me you're here for me."
  "Okay. I won't tell you."
   He's here for me. Damn. This screws up all my fucking plans on getting me a hot
black boy. No, I'm gunna be stuck with Mr. Skinny-ass white boy. Not that I'm racist.
The race doesn't bother me, but black is my peferable race. I glared at him. "Let's
go, ya'll, before I kill someone."
  "You're gonna kill someone anyway, Pimmy."
  "I know."
  But she was already on to her man.
Last edited: 26 February 2010

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