Liar Liar(5)

By: L A Cotton


As I crossed the room, I felt their eyes—their judgment—burn into me. But it was nothing compared to the whispering I heard as I dumped my tray and hurried out of the cafeteria.

How pathetic.

Who does she think she is?

Didn’t she get the memo that this isn’t the 90210?

Rushing out of the door, I almost collided with someone. Math guy stepped into my path, and I ground to a halt. “Jesus, you scared the shit out of me.” I clutched a hand to my racing heart, gasping for breath.

“Piece of advice. Stay away from Kendall and her crew.”

“W-who?”

“The evil pixie who just handed you your ass in front of everyone.”

“Oh.”

His eyes lingered on me as if he wanted to say more, but he didn't. Running a hand through his hair, he swerved around me and headed into the cafeteria, while I stood there wondering what the hell had just happened.





Something changed after the cafeteria incident.

For the rest of the week, wherever I went and whatever classes I found myself in, the low rumble of voices and snickers followed. I tried not to let it get to me—I was the new girl, after all. Until people gave me a chance, I was an outsider. Acceptance had to be earned. Sure, my little run-in with Kendall was a temporary setback, but I could still make it work … Until I discovered that the Evil Pixie was Kendall O’Hare, Queen Bee and Head Bitch of Credence High. She wasn’t going away anytime soon, and because I had some bad karma biting me in the ass, last period on Friday she walked into English with her friends. Their eyes fell on me for a second before they continued to their desks like I was nothing. Nobody.

Invisible.

“Way to go, new girl,” a guy said beside me, and I turned, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t know what you did to piss off Kendall but smooth, real smooth.”

“Am I supposed to know what you’re talking about?” I hissed back.

He held up his hands in surrender. “Hey, don’t kill the messenger. I’m just saying … you picked the wrong girl to mess with.”

Mess with? I hadn’t done a damn thing except try to sit with them at lunch. And I wore that stupid outfit.

“Whatever,” I replied, angling myself away from him. My eyes found Kendall a couple of rows in front of me with her arm wrapped tightly around the huge arm of the guy seated beside her. She laughed at something he said, ducking her head into his jersey when the teacher threw them a scowl. Too busy watching them, I missed the paper projectile headed for me until it landed on my desk. I glanced around in hopes of catching the offender, but no one was looking my way.





My stomach bottomed out, and I looked around out of the corner of my eye again. Balling the note back up, I slipped it into my pocket, acting as if nothing had happened. The teacher issued more instructions, and I followed along, answering each section from the textbook while paying no attention to my racing heart. It was just a prank, just something to shake me up.

And then another ball landed on my desk.

Whipping around, the girl seated directly behind me arched her eyebrow, clearly annoyed that I dared to look at her. I moved my gaze to the guy seated beside her, but he was paying me no attention, busy writing his answers. My fingers trembled as I smoothed out the paper.





My eyes widened the same time my heart catapulted into my throat, and a gasp escaped my lips. What the hell…

“Miss Torrence, is there a problem?” the teacher boomed across the room, and I slouched down in my seat trying to avoid a scene.

Too late.

Everyone looked at me, but no one’s eyes burned into me more than Kendall’s did. It was impossible that she’d thrown the notes, but the look of smug satisfaction on her face told me she knew exactly what was going on.

“Miss Torrence?”

“Hmm, no, sir,” I stuttered, pressing further into the chair while wishing the floor would swallow me up.

“Good, well, if I may continue.”

Dropping my eyes, I inhaled a sharp breath. One week in this place and I was already falling apart. I needed to get a grip. But it was a double blow to start a new school and be an out-of-towner. I don’t know how my classmates knew. Mom drove me to school in the used Ford Mac arranged for us. It wasn’t anything special, and I’d left most of my old clothes behind. A fresh start hadn’t only meant a new town and new house. The old Becca was gone. Now, I was jeans-wearing Becca. Okay, so most of my jeans were True Religion, but surely, I wasn’t going to be hated on for my choice of designer?

Who was I kidding? I knew what kids could be like, and once they made up their mind about something—someone—it was almost impossible to change it. The sound of the bell was a welcomed noise. Grabbing my bag, I filed out of the room along with everyone else, not sparing my classmates a second glance as I made my way out of the building and to the parking lot.

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