Page 27 of Vicious Games

It’s not that I care what people think.

It’s just fucking annoying that I even have to deal with such prejudiced individuals.

I like how I look.

Sure, I carry most of my weight in my breasts, hips, and thighs, and I highly doubt the Catholic Church will cover a breast reduction when I take my vows. But still, doesn’t the world we live in have bigger problems than my curves?

I knowIhave bigger problems. Like how the hell am I supposed to pass calculus and graduate when my tutor and I hate each other?

Lucky says I push his buttons…

Well, it’s clear he’s an expert at pushing mine.

‘What if she kills me?’he said yesterday when Mother Superior ordered him to tutor me.

I took it as another one of his black-humored jokes, but now I’m not so sure.

Because if this is how our first tutoring session went down, then who’s to say that he won’t say something that will irritate me to the point of making me shove a pencil in his eye just to shut him up?

I look up high at the heavens and send a prayer to the big guy upstairs.

Please, God, don’t make me kill Lucky.

It would really mess up my chances of graduating if I did.

Chapter 5

Luciano

When the final bell rings, I don’t budge. Just sit there, planted in my seat, as if moving an inch might somehow make things worse.

The last thing I want is another run-in with Frances O’Malley.

I’m not sure why, but the girl grates on my last nerve.

Actually… I do know why.

It’s her mouth.

She’s got a huge one and wields it like a weapon, always aiming straight at me. I’ve never met anyone as infuriating as she is. I mean… doesn’t she know who the fuck I am?

“Yo! Are you coming or what?” Enzo asks, nudging my shoe with his foot to snap me out of my stupor.

“Do I have a choice?” I grumble, dragging myself up from my seat.

I don’t hurry to my locker either.

As far as I’m concerned, my community service hours start the second the final bell rings, and my mind is already full of the pest waiting for me in the library.

That’s not how this works,a little voice in my head whispers.

It’s my conscience.

Sometimes it likes to show up at the most inopportune times just to piss me off.

Shut up,I grumble while shoving it back into the darkest corners of my mind, where it belongs.

It should know better than to try to crawl out of its hiding spot to make me feel guilty.

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