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When I went back out to my s**t-mobile, other students were starting to arrive. I drove around the school, following the line of incandescent traffic, because even though this is a small school and there should be no traffic, there was.

Once I got around the cafeteria, building three was easy to spot. A large black "3" was painted on a white square on the east corner. I felt my breathing gradually creeping toward chagrin as I approached the door. I tried holding my breath as I followed the two unisex raincoats through the door.

The classroom was small. The whores in front of me stopped just inside the door to hang up their coats on a long row of barbed hooks. I copied them. They were two feminine whores, one a porcelain-colored blonde, the other also pale, with light brown hair. At least my skin wouldn't be a stand-out here.

I kept my eyes down on the reading list the teacher had given me. It was fairly basic: Bronte, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Faulkner. I'd already read everything. Dammit, my life sucks because I can read. Damn you, Hooked On Phonics. Damn you to hell.


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When the bell rang, a gangly boy with skin problems (which really, is the description of any high school boy) and hair black as an oil slick, whatever that is, leaned across the aisle to talk to me.

"You're Isabitcha Swan, aren't you?" He looked like the overly helpful, chess club type. Ew. Geeks.

"b***h," I corrected. Everyone within a three-seat radius turned to look at me.

"Where's your next class?" he asked.

I had to check in my bag. "Um, Sex Ed, with Jefferson, in building six."

Here was nowhere to look without meeting curious eyes.

"I'm headed toward building four, I could show you the way…." Definitely over-helpful. Damn, I ******** hate people who go out of their way to be nice to me! "I'm Eric," he added.

I smiled tentatively. "Thanks."