Life Of A Bitch

1

I stare at my green eyes in the mirror.

Straight blond hair? Check.
Perfect figure? Check.
Impeccable make-up? Check.
Bitchy personality? That will take a few minutes. Yes. Check.
Dazzling smile? Check.
Not a hair out of place? Check.

I am all set for school when my phone rings.

Lana. Christ. High pitch bullshit first thing in the morning.

I clear my throat and answer the call in a very perky, high-pitched tone. "Oh hey, Lana! S'up?"

"Hey Jen! Was wondering if you could drop by my house tonight? Us girls are gonna have a sleepover? Come over at eleven?"

One of the several hundred irritating traits of Lana, the sub-bitch under me is that she puts every statement like a question.

You are so hot?

I am gonna spend my vacay in Hawaii?

I am so weak at Maths?

The sun rises in the east?

Dark chocolate is bitter?

Stop, Lana. Don't make me shout STFU at you. Although, it's not like I don't that countless times in my head.

"Um, who else would be there?" My voice-box is starting to strain with all this high-pitch nonsense.

"The guys?"

I snort in my head. Sleepover? More of like a strip-club-over.

"Oh no, you see," I say, wracking my brain for an excuse. And then it hits me. "Parents are going out for a bit of a romantic time. So, got to take care of my sister. I am so sorry!"

"Aw, no problem?" She gushes sweetly. Pathetic. She is obviously gonna bitch about me to the others later. "Bye girl?"

I hang up and roll my eyes. I plan to curl up on my bed with my soulmate, Physics tonight. Yeah. Reading a book. Not giving a lap dance to my boyfriend.

I step out of my room and look into a pair of confused eyes. My twelve-year old sister, Alz thrusts a Math book into my arms. "That shit's messed up," she says, pouting genuinely. "Explain it to me."

I smirk and walk into her room with her. Alz or Alice is in the junior cheerleading team and she is turning out to be a nice bitch herself. Though not yet using the F-word, she has sharp comebacks and a really violent mind. Last year, she thrashed some kid who apparently called me a slut. These kids nowadays... I am no more a virgin but that doesn't mean I am a slut. Anyways, the boy missed a month of school for it and Alz was suspended for six weeks.

"Algebra?" I look at the book. "Seriously, Alz? I explained it to you yesterday."

"What, you think I heard a thing you said?" She grumbles, putting up her hair in a ponytail and applying lip gloss. "Algebra, algebra..." she gasps and turns to me. "Who's Alge, J?"

"Who's who?"

"Alge. If you spot her somewhere, tell her we found her bra!"

I roll my eyes. "No time for explaining. I am doing your homework. You go tell mom to set up breakfast."

She smiles and winks, running out of the room. "Thanks, J! You are the best!"

I look around the walls covered with trophies and medals for karate and boxing. At least she's good at something, I reassure myself. Unlike the others.

*

I wiggle my feet into my already tied sneakers- sorry, heels only for special occasions as they hurt too much- when dad comes to my side and places a hand on my shoulder.

"I don't understand why you have to hide your scores from everyone, Jen," he muses. "People do it when their scores are poor. But yours are brilliant."

"Precisely the reason," I say, standing up.

It's not that hard hiding your scores at River High. Here, scores are not that important as other extra-curricular activities such as sports or playing musical instruments, singing, painting, sculpture, dress-making etc. Sure, the teachers here are outstanding at their profession, but the school leans more towards other activities, rather than studying. Showing off someone's scores is considered a moral crime here and is often looked down by the teaching faculty. You're appreciated if you're good at studies, but condemned if you talk about scores.

"I cannot even show off your talents to the other dads," he says with a frown.

I chuckle. "Alz's medals are enough for two sets of parents."

He looks at me, cringing. "Ugh, so much makeup!"

I sigh. "Not again." I grab my backpack and rush out, joining Alz in the car.