Sluts in Love

"So I have this friend," fuckhead Sean says to me. I'm not really listening. I'm too busy drawing less than appropriate images on my desk. "Name's Dylan. Says he's meeting up with a girl later." He gives me this really condescending look and I want to rip his face off.

"By 'Dylan,' I'm assuming you named your left hand. And by 'this girl,' I'm assuming you named your-"

"My friend and your girl, D'Angelo. You can't be that thickheaded, can you?"

"Boys," Mr. Laurence actually stops his fucking lecture. That takes a lot to do. Laurence loves his fucking lectures."Is there a problem?"

"Sean here was saying how he doesn't think your shirt matches your eyes, but I said that it does. It really brings out the blue, you know?" I fucking love Mr. Laurence. He's so fucking cool for an AP teacher. Sometimes I draw shit during class and he doesn't get mad. He actually hangs them up. "Then he's all like, 'Paris, do you think he's an attractive man?' and I said 'Jesus, Sean, he's married. Get your head out of the gutter.' Such disrespect, I tell you."

By this point quite a few people are snickering and O'Combs looks like he wants to kill me. I can tell Laurence wants to laugh but he can't betray our bromance in front of the class. And that's okay. Not everyone understands our love for each other. "While I appreciate the thought, gentlemen, I would appreciate it if you would kindly shut up."

"Yeah, Sean, God," some other guy calls. What the fuck? He's not even in on this. He has no right to speak.

"You're going to get it some day, D'Angelo," O'combs mutters.

The bell's about to ring. "I'm pissing my pants. Really."


Most days I fall asleep in study hall but O'Combs kind of fucking got to me. This is the only class besides lunch and gym I have with Juliet.

"Are fucking serious?" I slam my backpack on our table. The librarian doesn't care anymore. It's like we have this unwritten rule that states D'Angelo and Carnegee can do whatever the fuck they please.

She's wearing a mint green shirt. It makes her look like a Christmas tree because of her hair. Christmas was last month, idiot. She looks up at me with a bored expression-but hell she always looks bored.

"Care to elaborate?"

"What the fuck are you doing with that Romeo guy?"

"Why are you so intent on only saying his last name?"

"You think he likes you or something? Fucking whore," I nearly spit. God why am I even so angry? Maybe I should mention that just about every senior has an extended lunch in the library. I hardly even notice they're there and looking in on us like nosey twats.

"Oh, how was the test in French? I have it next period. Totally forgot to study."

"Don't change the fucking subject. He's friends with O'Combs. Fucking O'Combs. Freshmen were bad enough, but you really can't do better than fucking Romeo?"

She just stares at me. Her green eye almost matches her shirt perfectly. I sigh. "What do you need help with, anyway?"

"These future tense verbs. They're really confusing."

And that's our friendship. We're messed up as fuck but I guess that's why we're perfect for each other. Well, we were. Then he just had to come in the picture.

Fucking Romeo.