Friday, 19 February 2010
07:47:23 PM (GMT)
CHAPTER ONE--Alison Reed
Pain, power, breaking, winning, being willing...to do anything.
That's how you win, babe.
I throw back my drink, gasping as it hit my throats. Then I start laughing. I
own this game. After all, I invented it, I should rule at it. The top dog always
comes out on top, you know? You don't? Well the top dog is me, and I'm telling you, I
always, always, come out on top. At least, I always have in the past.
The game is nothing. It's not real. It's all in my mind. Who lasts the longest?
Who has the guts in the pack?
I do, that's who.
"Go Alis, go Alis!" Beatrice cheers. "Oh, girl, I'm going to miss you. You and
your random crazy talk about games!" She leaps across the table to hug me.
"Oh, yes baby, that's right." Tyrone circles us, wielding his camera by his eye.
"Hug nice and tight girls. Don't be afraid to kiss. Mac and I won't judge you,
Mac hit at Tyrone's hand. "Shut it, that's my Alis you're talking to." Then he
turned to me and smiled. "I still can't believe you have to go to school in Baton
Rouge. Can't you catch an early bus down here to New Orleans with us?" He slid closer
to me, trapping me with his arm. "C'mon, Alison Jane, don't you love me?" I push him
away, rolling my eyes against the colorful stobe lights at the venue.
"Oh yes, Mac, you are so damn sexy, I think I'll die without you. But seeing as
Mom's already giving me hell about the gas money to come visit y'all, it looks like
we're shit out of luck. Our romance will just have to wait until your hotness decides
to come and move with me. You can live in my closet."
He flinched as if frightened. "With the sock trolls and evil elves?"
I grinned at him. "It's either that or under the bed with the egg monsters."
"I'll take in the bed for 500, please."
"Are you saying I'm a prostitute?"
We burst out laughing. "Okay, I had that coming. Really, Mac, I wish I could
stay, but alas..." I trailed off.
He stopped smiling and hugged me, taking his dear sweet time pulling away. "I
Beatrice leaned forward. "We are going to miss you so much, Alis."
Two days later, I'm strutting out of the office to Ontmat Bavpm High School (btw,
just saying, seeing as 'Ontmat Bavpm' is Arctic Night, y'all can guess it isn't real)
in Baton Rouge, wearing black jeans, tight, a black blouse, cotton with sexy lace
around the sleeves, black Rebox sneakers, and a black spray-painted backpack--the
kind with one strap that hangs like a duffel bag. My blonde hair is twisted in a
messy but punkish array on my head except for my bangs, hanging by my left eye,
framing my face. No makeup but ruby red lipstick, because, you know, I like that
stuff. There's something acceptable to me about rudy red lipstick wear no other make
I have my schedule in hand and it leads me to my home room, which, upon
entering, is filled with...
Steriotypes if I ever saw them. Pretty--blah, sarcastic here--girls with too
much make up, making their faces look fake, with perky outfits and bitchy
better-than-humans faces. And boys I wouldn't touch with Tyrone's pet andaconda. Ech.
Not one exception in the whole lot. Not even the teacher. Hm. Wonder where there
closed-mindedness springs from. Couldn't be the adult private school influence.
"Ah," the teacher smiles at me, obviously struggling to do so. "You must be
"Alis," I correct, yanking the pins from my hair. The blonde curls crash down.
"And this is going to be the shit, I know."
Everyone gapes at me. I look around innocently, then smile. "My friend, Mac,
dared me to say that walking in here." I smiled at the teacher. "I never back down
from a dare."
"I-I can see that."
By lunch, I am full-out pissed, and everyone hates me. I sit at one of the
benches, twisting my hair into a ponytail. I glare and snap at the broads that wonder
too close and smirk to myself. Hopefully, I'd be kicked out by the end of the day.
"You're obviously so nice."
I roll my head around to look at the speaker, and for the first time today, am
rewarded with a nice, hot, sexy piece of man candy. I almost lick my lips. In fact, I
do. He's tall, very tall, jet black hair, spiked up with gel, Meditarrean tan, sexy
body outfited in...Ambercombie. Damn. I was hoping for kinky black leather. I smile
and stand up, swinging my booksack on my shoulder. "Well, you know," I sigh, "I just
love people with all my heart. Especially stuck up brats who think they're better
than everyone else. They are little darlings, the lot of them."
He laughs, just a little. "Wow. Name's Jonathon. Call me Jone. I'm a sophmore.
Aren't you the girl from New Orleans?"
"Hey randomly named Jone, I'm Alison. Call me Alis. I'm a sophmore, too. Aren't
you the boy from Baton Rouge?" I echo perkily.
Another laugh. "Port Allen, actually. I like you, Alis. We got to talk
sometimes. If you dare be seen being civil with another human being, that is."
I shoot him another grin. "I never back down from dares, Jone."