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Chelsea heaved a heavy sigh as she pulled into an open parking space in the student lot of Hayes High School. With a flick of her wrist she cut off the car's engine, and took a moment to enjoy the sudden silence. Closing her eyes she took a deep breath, letting the stale scent of fast food and cigarettes waft over her before frowning. “I really need to clean this place out,” she muttered to herself as she looked over a few empty burger wrappers, a crushed soda cup, and more than one make-shift ashtray.


With a shake of her head she banished the chore from her mind and took a quick look at herself in the rear view mirror. Her blue-gray eyes stared back into her pale, lightly freckled face, going over her sharp features with lightning speed; the cut of her jaw, her small yet pointed nose, and high cheekbones. Chelsea's mother insisted she could be a model if not for her “horrible,” lip ring that jutted off the center of her bottom lip. Apparently her nose stud was modest by comparison, and her multiple ear piercings didn't matter at all. Chelsea rolled her eyes at the very thought of her being one of the 'pretty girls,' or becoming a model. Of course, she still couldn't stop herself from checking her face for blemishes every morning.


As she slipped out of her car, and slung her backpack over one shoulder, Chelsea justified her morning beauty routine by reminding herself that it wasn't like she was doing it because of her obsession. It's not like she didn't care about her appearance. She kept her dark black hair clean, nice, and neatly cropped at around chin level. She exercised regularly, and ate... Chelsea shook her head thinking to the bacon and egg sandwich she had eaten on the way to school. She could eat better but ultimately she was fairly fit. A healthy weight that kept her curvy without going full hourglass.


She didn't even try to hide her lack of interest in fashion or looking particularly 'hot.' With the weather barely warming up, Chelsea was happy to have her torso covered in a bulky hooded sweat shirt, her legs wrapped about in jeans, and her feet nice and warm in a comfortable pair of skate shoes. The fact that her Vans were a combination of black and hot pink was the most “fashion-y,” thing about her.


So no, it wasn't personal interest that kept Chelsea Dewinter concerned about her appearance and how pretty she was.


It was that bitch-face Jenni Fitztaylor, Chelsea thought as she stalked into the school.


Jenni Fitztaylor was effectively the 'It Girl,' of Hayes High and with her gaggle of popular barbie dolls carefully subdued, she needed someone to be her 'enemy,' or her 'rival,' or something. By virtue of being fairly attractive and having a lip piercing to make her apparently just different enough, Chelsea had somehow won that particularly lottery. Since the latter half of sophomore year when Jenni officially rose to prominence after giving the captain of the varsity basketball team a blowjob in his car, Chelsea had been her nemesis.


Chelsea still had no idea how. She could count on one hand the amount of times she had spoken to Jenni before then, and it wasn't like they spoke much now that they were 'enemies,' either. Chelsea was certainly way more aware of Jenni now though. The girl could even say that she had come to acknowledge their status as enemies. After all, Jenni made sure to spread anything she could think of into the rumor mill of Hayes High to make it seem like Chelsea was running some subversive Bizarro High School hierarchy in the shadows of the school.


In the past two years Chelsea had been a giant slut after breaking up with her boyfriend and casually dating another guy a month later. She was a huge lesbian when she went to a concert with her best friend Liz where the headlining band happened to have a gay lead singer. Then she was a prude in Junior year because she didn't have a date and didn't go to Junior prom. Last Chelsea had hear she was somehow Queen of the Punks, Geeks, and Outsiders, because... fuck it, that's why.


She had to admit that she liked the latest one a teensy bit. Some freshman believed it was entirely true, which was sort of nice. When it was preppy freshmen that believed it, Chelsea reveled in the fear a little bit and when it was punk or geeky freshmen, she couldn't help but enjoy the admiration. In their eyes she was their apparent Queen, and like most monarchs she had done little to nothing to attain the position. For the briefest of moments Chelsea imagined herself astride a kick-ass rock'n'roll styled throne, one leg astride the throne's arm as she sentenced Jenni to polish Doc Marten boots and clean the Royal Theater after a mosh pit heavy performance.


Her lips were curled in a rare smile as she popped open her locker, and was immediately greeted with the rank smell of dirty gym clothes. “Damn it,” she muttered under her breath, poking the rancid running shorts that were nestled atop the pile of dirty laundry, “I have to remember to take these home today or they'll be here all spring break.”


“Ugh, you forget your clothes yesterday, didn't you?” A voice questioned from the other side of her locker door.


“Yes, I did,” Chelsea answered with a slight groan, “Please remind me to take them home today.”


Chelsea looked around the locker door to see her friend Liz leaning against the adjacent locker. Liz's handss were deep in the pockets of her vintage army jacket, a hefty drab olive coat that covered over the entire rest of her outfit, a tight black t-shirt, and black skirt bedecked in chains that hugged her wide and curving hips. Her muscular legs were covered in dark leggings ending in a tall pair of black combat boots with more than their fair share of scuff marks. Liz smirked back at Chelsea, her plump lips a bright red from her lipstick that clashed with her pale skin. “I don't know, if I have to bum a ride from you instead of Matt, I might just let you forget.”


“Bitch,” Chelsea replied with a giggle as she turned away from her friend, reaching up to the top of her locker to grab one or two of the extra pens she kept tucked away. Her hands immediately found themselves touching glass though, glass that was surprisingly cool to the touch. “What the hell?” Chelsea asked as her fingers wrapped around the bottle and pulled it down.


“Oh yes! Mikey added you to the list,” Liz said, leaning her head over Chelsea's shoulder, strands of her light brown honey-streaked hair spilling into the other girl's vision.


“What list? What is this?”


“So you know my cousin Mikey?”


“The nerdy guy with long hair?”


“Yeah.”


“The one who's scared of me?”


“Well,” Liz waffled for a moment, “I wouldn't say he's scared of you. Just... wary.”


“He's definitely afraid of me.”


“You know, you did practically beat him up.”


“We were all playing Chicken,” Chelsea replied in defense of herself, leveling her eyes at Liz's. Liz merely met Chelsea's gaze, not saying anything. “Ok, I might have been a little rough.” Liz continued to stare back at her friend, never blinking or flinching away. “Alright, I might have given him a black eye, but it wasn't intentional.”


“You punched him in the face.”


“My arms were sort of flailing, and one of them happened to hit him in the face,” she clarified before once more raising the bottle to Liz, “What is this?”


“It's beer. Mikey's friend Brandon realized that no one cards you on the internet if you want to buy beer making kits. Nothing is stopping you from brewing your own beer. So what they did was brew some a couple of weeks ago, and as a sort of like, 'Last Day Before Spring Break,' thing gave them out to a bunch of people. He made sure Matt and I got some, and I was all, 'What about Chelsea?' Then he was like, 'She beat me up, blah, blah, blah.' I didn't think you'd get any, is the point.”


“So...” Chelsea replied as she looked at the murky contents of the dark brown bottle. “It's beer.”


“Highly alcoholic beer,” Liz clarified with a smirk.


“Meaning we should...”


“Skip first period and get a little Spring Break Buzz going? Yes. Yes we should.”


“Ok, text your boyfriend, make sure the theater's going to be empty,” Chelsea said as she switched out her first period junk for what she would need for second and third. “I can get away from first period, Mr. Hale thinks I'm a genius or whatever, second might be tough, but I have to be in third for Ms. Cavelli.”


“God, is she still a giant bitch like she was in Freshman year?”


“You have no idea,” Chelsea replied with a roll of her eyes.

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