The stern lecture of Ms. Jennings didn't help my urge of wanting to pull out my phone and start searching for juicy gossip. Every part of me wanted to do so, but there was one mere part of me that didn't agree. I can understand why. The chance of getting my phone confiscated is enormous. If I did, I'd quickly have a detention slip laying on my palms.

My phone was inside of my new designer purse, plopped next to my chair. Before my hands could sneak down to it, I decided to keep my hands on my desk. Serving detention isn't something I want to do, especially today.

My eyes were focused on the clock attached to the wall, directly above Ms. Jennings, who was modeling our lesson on the broad whiteboard. While squinting my eyes at the clock, I noticed that only a few minutes prevailed until it would be lunchtime.

Inside, I started to feel overjoyed. Lunch is my favorite part of the school day. Not only because I'd get to eat after a couple of hours of being starving. It was always my time to chatter with close friends and discussing juicy gossip. It just gives me the feeling of relief on the inside, knowing that I'm up-to-date on everything that happens around here.

The clock struck at its according time. The bell rang instantly. Ms. Jennings turned to the class, setting down her dry-erase marker down with a relieved smile.

"Alright, class is dismissed." She proclaimed, putting her hands together, "I'll see you all tomorrow."

Rising from my chair, I packed up all my supplies hastily, but carefully.

By the time I finished, I saw that half of the seats in the classroom were already empty and most students were heading out, signalizing that I should be doing the same. Flawlessly, I carefully shuffled out of the classroom door. My designer high heels looked excellent on my feet as I strutted down the occupied corridors, packed with students like sardines in a can.

A lot of students stopped dead in their tracks to take a good look at me. Of course, they are. With my spectacular reputation and unfading beauty, it's expected to have people gaze at you nonstop, like it or not. Ignoring all the eyes on me, I continued walking, primping a piece of my fresh-blonde hair behind my ear as my fresh, provocative curls bounced in the air.

I made my way down the flight of stairs and through a few more corridors to the cafeteria, my school hang-out place at midday. As soon as I set my foot in the enormous room, I heard loud howls of students endlessly prattling and saw students socializing together in groups.

I took a lunch tray off of its designated table and observed today's selection of food. Today, they're serving turkey sandwiches, vegetable soup, and pizzas of all sorts. Without uncertainty, I ordered a ready-made bowl of vegetable soup, seasoned chicken, fresh fruit, and a bottle of spring water.

After the lunch lady finished preparing my meal, I strutted to the middle of the cafeteria, where my friends and I assemble. Taking my seat at the table, I set down my lunch tray and placed my backpack on an unoccupied chair next to me. It turned out to be the only empty chair at the table.

The reason why I put my backpack on the chair was because of Roselynn. Almost every ounce of me knows that she'll come to our table and try to sit with us. I don't want her to sit with us. I've never wanted her to be with us in the first place.

"Hey, Millicent!" Mercedes chimed, her grin spreading broadly.

Everyone's faces turned to mine as I unwrapped my silverware and placed the spoon into my bowl of soup. I quickly plastered the best smile possible across my face as I turned to them.

"Hi." I simpered, cracking open my water bottle, "Is there anything new going on?"

"There isn't much gossip, from what I've seen so far." Nova Anderson replied, shrugging her shoulders, "However, there's a basketball game tomorrow. It'll be a big one. Is anyone going?"

"I plan on going." I nodded, scooping my spoon into my bowl.

"Me too," Mercedes added.

My friends and I continued to ramble back and forth while we ate our food. We were giggling and chattering very loudly. Up until we got disrupted.

"Hey, Millicent." A small, familiar voice muttered, her hand tapping on my shoulder, "I was going to sit with you at lunch today, but it looks like your table is occupied already."

It was Roselynn Jiminez-Cruz.

With an irritated glare, I crossed my arms as I turned around to face her with direct eye-contact.

"Well, it looks like you can't sit here. The table is full today, like usual." I cleared my throat, rolling my eyes.

"Oh, I see." She replied, glancing around the table, "I'll just leave."

She started to walk across to the room to her table. My friends started to throw me perplexed stares. I turned back to them with a slight, casual smile.

"What was she doing here?" Lin Jeong queried, raising an eyebrow as she picked up her veggie pizza.

"I have no clue. That girl has been following me around for the past two weeks. She's such a loser wannabe." I answered, poking my fork through my seasoned chicken.

Mercedes agreed, nodding her head. "Yes, you're right."

Losers like her don't deserve to sit at our elite table. It is only for people who are attractive, wealthy, and well-known. Roselynn doesn't meet all three of those requirements. She doesn't meet any of them individually.

It's such a shame that she thinks she'll get whatever she wants, whenever she wants it, especially from someone like me. We may have hung out with each other for the past two weeks, but that's over and done with now. I could never imagine being lied to by anyone. Because she did, she'll either learn to back off the easy way or the hard way.

And from me, she's going to learn it the hard way. 

***

"As this unit in literature is coming to an end soon, I want to remind you all of something meaningful. In this class, we aren't just learners." Ms. Davis proclaimed in her perky, yet serious voice, "We're problem solvers, readers, and writers."

The moment Ms. Davis quoted this, a few students started to groan and swear under their breaths, as if all the expensive stores at the mall ran out of a designer blouse they've wanted for months.

The student next to me proceeded to brutally and loudly smack on his nacho chips, even if no one was supposed to have food in class. He belched quietly, throwing his now empty bag of chips on the floor. I threw him a piercing glare as he rolled his eyes at me.

Within a few moments, my glare turned into a slight frown as I continued to watch Ms. Davis lecture. I tapped my fingers on my wooden desk with caution, mainly for my pristine manicure from last week.

"In this unit, we're going to start a research project." Ms. Davis announced, strutting over to her desk to change a slide on her PowerPoint.

Her few words were enough to gain another chorus of hushed grunts from my classmates. Without hesitation, I let out a quiet, exhausted groan. I'm not looking forward to working on a research project, especially since I'd have to seek my research and put it all on paper.

But at least we don't have to read a book and write an essay about it. Maybe that's the only thing I like about this unit. Reading books has never been my thing. Who'd spend their precious time reading a book when they could go on a shopping spree at the mall instead?

"I want you to use all the creativity possible to complete this essay. Don't turn in something tedious to read." Ms. Davis noted, adjusting her black glasses with one hand as she pointed to her slideshow with another, "I expect everyone's project to have decent grammar, intriguing topics, and all the points listed to flow together."

"When will it be due?" One student questioned, raising her hand nonchalantly.

"Your research project will be due next Monday." Ms. Davis replied, her fingers trailing to the side of her desk as she grabbed her sturdy, teal thermos bottle.

I scrawled everything she quoted onto my planner hastily, along with jotting down a few things I could write about for my research project. There were many things that I could write about—but what?

I don't want my project to be tedious. Ms. Davis told us to write about something intriguing, that won't make her fall asleep after reading three paragraphs.

No matter how much I tried to get a decent idea, I failed. The student next to me, who was now munching on chewing gum didn't help matters get any better. It only disrupted my thinking and restraint.

"Remember that this is supposed to be enjoyable. Write about a topic that you personally cherish. You're the writer here." The teacher spoke in a stimulating, yet scary voice.

There were many things that I cherish. My looks, popularity, and fashion. In fact, that can be the answer. I can write about fashion. I might get bored while writing my research project, but at least, it'll be about something I like.

This is a tad bit easier than I thought it would be.

***

"What are you writing about for your research project?" I queried Mercedes, sipping a little bit of my pink strawberry-flavored lemonade.

The two of us were at a local café, a few blocks away from school. We decided to meet here after school was over for the day, instead of going to our separate houses to work on homework.

"I haven't decided, yet." She responded, setting down her lemonade next to her laptop, "But I've been thinking that I should write about something beauty-related. It'll prevent me from falling asleep or procrastinating while I work on my project."

"Honestly, same. My research project will be about fashion." I appended, laying my fingers onto the keyboard of my laptop.

I made a new Word document dedicated to my project. Within several moments, I plastered my name, class period, and date in bold letters as the header of the document. Now, the only thing I had left was the topic and project itself.

I exited Word and went to search for information about my topic. I typed in my first question, pressing send without hesitation when I finished. Several search results came up, most of them were articles. I clicked on the first link and started to jot down notes into my journal.

After around ten minutes of jotting notes down, I placed my notebook and pen onto the table to take a small break. I saw a waitress walking around the café, servicing nearby tables. I then glanced at my empty cup, which needed a refill. Even if I've only finished my lemonade a few minutes ago, I already started to feel thirsty.

"Hi, ladies." A waitress smiled broadly, balancing a tray filled with empty cups and bowls, "Can I refill those drinks for you? I see that they're empty."

The waitress looked young. She couldn't have been older than thirty. Her sleek, dark brown hair was wrapped into a low bun, matching her black hat and red, striped apron.

"Yes, of course. We both need a refill. But this time, can we please have plain water with extra ice?" Mercedes queried, glancing up from the screen of her laptop.

"Alright. I'll be back in just a minute, ladies." The waitress acknowledged, placing our cups onto her tray. She shuffled away to the kitchen to prepare our drinks.

After a minute or so, the waitress came back to our table with an empty tray with two glass cups of water. She placed them on the table, proceeding to the next table as soon as she was finished.

With my straw, I took a small sip. The water was ice-cold, just how I liked water best, especially on hot days.

Instead of thinking about how my research project would turn out, I thought about lunch today at school, and how Roselynn had the nerve to actually try to sit with us. She hasn't gotten a clue that I don't want to be seen with her anymore. The question is, when will she get a clue?