5. Kinsley
KINSLEY
I didn’t think college had mean girls, but I believe I just met the self-appointed bitchof Monarch University. Damn, I’m on a fucking roll.
Brielle sneers as she bumps my shoulder on the way to her desk. Her four-inch heels clack on the tile floor as she walks through the mass of easels toward the back of the room. In the short twenty or so seconds of my meeting the bitch, I assumed she would sit next to Gunner. And I’m right.
As I follow her toward the back of the room, I pretend to look at some of the artwork I’ll be expected to create.
Some are serious masterpieces, while others are mediocre.
With my lack of artistic skills, mine will definitely be on the mediocre end of the spectrum.
Even with the bar so low, I’m still way over my head.
An irritating whine scrapes along my eardrums as I slide into my seat.
“I don’t know what all the hype is about,” Brielle says. “She’s just another dirty whore—which I could totally deal with—but this one is also a complete bitch.”
“Bri, you don’t even know her. Why don’t you give her a chance? Who knows, she may fit nicely into your little group of hot hoes.” Gunner adjusts his crotch. “In fact, I’m hoping she does. I bet having a piece of that would be more than sweet.”
My mouth drops open. As if there would be a chance in hell of either of those things ever happening.
It takes every ounce of control I have to force myself to stay planted on this rickety stool and listen to their bullshit.
I thought I was far enough away from their corner, but apparently, not far enough.
I reach for my phone in my bag while I try not to pay attention to them, but it’s so damn hard, especially when they’re talking about me. They have to realize I can hear every word they’re saying. Not that they should care, but wouldn’t they want to plan their attack on me privately?
“You don’t know her either,” she retorts.
“What’d you have, like a three-word conversation before I got here?
Besides, I don’t need to get to know her.
If what’s going around is true—which I’m pissed I wasn’t there to see it for myself—then she’s just a piece of trash who needs to be taughta lesson.
She can’t challenge Edge in front of the entire school.
So, the only thing that bitch will get from me is a lesson she won’t forget.
” Brielle looks down at her chest, reaches into her bra, and adjusts her boobs so her cleavage is on full display.
I roll my eyes and stifle a laugh. I would bet my life that her chief weapon is her tube of mascara.
“Trust me, Edge had it handled,” he says, chuckling.
Brielle meticulously lays her tie over the fake mounds of silicone as if there’s no chance it will move all day. “That’s not what I heard.”
With a glance in their direction, I notice Brielle’s sidekick. I think her name is Peyton. A pink bubble expands from her lips, then pops over her mouth. She peels off the sticky wad and shoves it back into her mouth. “Maybe she just needsa friend.”
Brielle takes out a compact mirror and adjusts her lip gloss.
“What has gotten into both of you? Since when the fuck do you care if a new girl fits in or not?” It’s obvious she doesn’t expect either of them to answer, nor does she care.
She’s already made up her mind about me.
“Besides, someone needs to tell her that those hideous, bulky boots and high socks look like she’s just walked off a zombie set. ”
Gunner grunts. “I think they look fucking hot as shit.”
“You would, you beast.”
Trying my best to ignore them, I look anywhere but at them.
This is going to be a long-ass semester if this is any indication of how the next couple of months are going to go.
Now that I think about it, I wouldn’t have pegged them for the art class type, either.
So, maybe this class is easier than I think.
In my determination to ignore the shit show in the corner, I don’t notice Chelsea coming right toward me until she’s standing over my desk. The scent of the egg she ate for breakfast comes right along with her.
“Kinsley, here’s some drawing paper. Why don’t you work out a small sketch of what you think you’d like to do, then you can transfer it to your canvas when you bring it in?”
“Thanks.”
I dig a pencil out of my bag. Staring at the blank sheet, I’m left to imagine what a self-expression drawing of myself looks like.
Eventually, I put the lead on paper and force lines around the white page.
It doesn’t look like a stick figure, but it doesn’t look like a drawing of me, either, or anyone, for that matter.
The whispers start up again. “Where’d she come from anyway?”
Brielle’s voice grinds on my nerves. I swear she learned to whine from an orgy of goats. The thought of stabbing the tip of the pencil into her larynx sounds way more appealing than wasting it on a useless drawing. At least then I’d be making an impression.
“I don’t know, but I’m still thanking the gods for sending her fine ass here,” Gunner says. “And I know I’m not just speaking for myself.”
“You’re a walking boner,” Brielle spits.
Gunner’s naughty chuckle draws a few stares from around the room.
He may feel like that now, but if he had anything to do with my dad’s murder, he’s going to regret ever saying that.
I turn the paper over and draw a circle for my head, two smaller circles for my eyes, then wavy lines off the head that could be hair. I completely suck at this.
My pencil tears through the paper when my stool jerks hard from the back. “Move. You’re in the way, trash.”
Brielle’s too-sweet perfume envelops me like a cocoon. I hold my breath and try to ignore her, knowing she wants to get her canvas from the closet behind me.
“Are you like stupid, or deaf, or something?” She bends down close to my ear and speaks louder. “Can you hear me? Move!”
I set down my pencil and rise at a snail’s pace to stand face to face with her.
She needs those four-inch heels to reach my height.
Smiling, I say, “Trust me, everyone in this class, and most likely the classes across the hall, can hear your annoying voice. You haven’t shut up since you walked into class.
And no, I’m not deaf or stupid. The only thing I am is sick of listening to you talk shit all morning. ”
“Ladies, do we have a problem back there?” Chelsea calls out.
“No,” Brielle and I respond in unison.
Brielle scowls. The angry look molds into the lines of her face perfectly, falling right into place like I’m sure they’ve done a thousand times before. She’s going to need Botox by the time she’s twenty.
She lowers her voice. “Move the fuck out of my way.”
She bumps into me as I back up a little. Reaching just inside the door, she grabs the last canvas. Curious, I glance at her piece. It’s just okay at best. Nothing exceptional. For some reason, it makes me feel better that she’s not a Picasso disguised as a bitch.
Then I find I can’t help myself with my next comment. “Nice expression, but isn’t it supposed to be a self-portrait? Shouldn’t you have painted a wildebeest or rabid hyena?”
Whispers and shocked “oohs” and “oh shits” erupt from around us.
A low growl emanates from her chest. “You’re digging your own grave, trash.”
A tiny laugh bubbles up in my throat. “Whatever you say, swine.”
Brielle spins on her heels and heads back to her seat. “I’m going to fucking kill her,” she says to Gunner as she places her canvas on her easel. “And now that I’ve looked closer, she’s as ugly as they come.”
“You’re just jealous ’cause you know she’s hot as shit. Your problem is you want Edge’s dick all to yourself, and you’re afraid you might have to share.”
Peyton chimes in. “Yeah, she does.”
“Shut up, Peyton,” Brielle snarls.
Continuing to draw the effed-up sketch of myself, I listen to their conversation. I can’t deny Edge is hotter than any guy I’ve ever seen, with his intense storm-cloud eyes and perfect mouth. But even with the little I know about him, I’m more than happy to let her have his dick all to herself.
Ten minutes before class ends, the art professor tells everyone to clean up and put away the supplies. The past hour dragged out into eternity, leaving me completely convinced of the relativity of time.
Still wondering what I did to deserve the past hour of hell, I fold the horrible drawing in half, already planning its funeral in the garbage can near the door.
I toss my pencil into my backpack and move out of the way to avoid the herd coming my way to put their paintings into the storage closet.
Next time, I need to find a better place to sit.
Gunner catches sight of the paper and unfolds it to reveal my pathetic attempts at drawing. “Hey, little Ninja, not really the artist, are you?” He winces, then drops it back onto my desk. Leaning down, he says, “I bet you make up for that in other ways,” and then the fucker winks.
Silently agreeing with him, I don’t bother with a response as class ends. Balling up my paper, I throw it in the garbage on my way out of class. Miraculously, I find my way to my next class with only a few wrong turns. Eden is next to the professor’s desk in the back of the room.
I walk down the center aisle toward them. “Hey, Eden.”
“Hi.” She doesn’t sound thrilled to see me, but she also doesn’t ignore me—so there’s that.
The biology professor glances at me and then arranges a few random papers on her desk into a neat pile. “Welcome, Ms. West.”
“Thanks.” It’s so weird that the professors know my name just by looking at me. It proves how elite and small this institution is.
I follow Eden up the left side of the room, stopping at a lab table near the front.
“You can sit there,” Eden says. She takes out her notebook and then hangs her backpack on a peg nailed to the table. I follow suit. “So, how was art?”
I scoff. “Interesting. Along with Gunner, Brielle, and Peyton are also in my class.”