::cough:: ANYA!!!! ::coughcough::
'Scuse me. Fucking hairball. I spent the entire day being maliciously catty whenever I was with Amy.
"Oh my god...she's actually wearing a shirt that says 'prep'. Please, somebody, take her out back and shoot her!"
And, quoted from a note passed during English describing just how horrible our situation really is:
'What is it with this class?...Look, it's Jessica, who always looks like she's going to cry. And then there're our unnaturally blonde blondes (not you [Amy]...at least your eyebrows don't pop out of you skin like fuzzy caterpillars), and, of course, the miraculous prophet that is Kim C-.
And then there's Keagan.
Anya "I know everything. It's a scribe! A scribe!"
I knew that. '
And I did know it. You wouldn't believe how fast Anya blurted out the answer.
I may be a bitch, but English may very well be hell. At least Anya doesn't have any actual friends. I take a perverse sort of pleasure in that.
Poetry Writing's looking up, though. Sarah K-.'s in my class. I may not drop it after all, no matter how much Mrs. Atkins badgers me.