Transfer boy (as what I've overheard from the bitch clique's conversation over lunch), was born in Dublin, Ireland but moved to the south of Cork due to a supposed family business opportunity.
Apparently, the fucker was crazy rich and I highly doubt these bitches (especially Shara Smith) were actually interested in the guy as a person.
I craned my head so I could hear other details but it seems that I missed the part why he had transferred to the land of the wild and free racists.
Lilie was at his left. She had plastic surgery at the age of fourteen and her eyebrow is tattooed. Jane sat beside her and was just as fake with her beauty salon achieved blonde hair and tan lines.
She was the most desperate between the trios as she was an Asian kid who bullied her way to the top of the social tower, climbing and stepping on every girl who wanted to be the next b-(IT)-ch girl.
Being bombarded with fake boobs and sparkling pink lip-gross will pretty much end up with him becoming one of their personal pots of gold.
Just like how they used that ugly fat girl who was so eager to be appreciated, they will milk him dry --- ask for extravagant gifts and favors, and when they can't have anymore, will leave him hanging and will fake gossips to ostracize him from the rest of the students.
Like how I used to be back in the old days, being a regular transfer student, all I ever wanted was to belong and to be seen. It is not something that could be denied that children will always seek for attention even in the most extreme and bizarre ways. My lying just came along and became who I am today.
I am fully aware by the way of the pros and cons of living a life of lies but hey, I live for the present. Past lies will be forgotten and the coming future ones, well, I'll just leave that to the future me.
The jocks were all busy cat-calling other girls from the opposite table, flexing their muscular arms and winking at every pretty girl who passes by.
Personally, I would have been offended since I am the one who is sitting with them and their attentions aren't solely offered to me.
But I will have to let their stupidity pass because I myself can't even stand to talk to them at lengths because my mind was occupied by transfer boy and the bitches flocking over him like birds of prey.
It was a weird feeling.
Ever since this morning I couldn't forget the look of his face. The way his eyes beheld mesmerizing pools of jewels, attracting a scum like me to grab and steal them from their sockets.
I can't quite pin-point the exact thing I wanted and it flustered me to be honest.
And for the nth time, me as a compulsive liar telling the truth, you can always count on that. I wanted revenge for his insolence but now that I saw him with other girls, I can't help but want to just pull their bleached hair until they become bald and whisk transfer boy away from here.
I wanted him for myself.
For me only and no one else.
Nobody is allowed to neither touch nor use him but me.
I decided to leave our table and join the bitch clique while the boys were too busy with their misogynistic jokes on the flat girls. They didn't even notice I left the table and the food they bought me untouched.
Shoving Lilie's face away from transfer boy, I made myself squeeze in between them and now I have situated myself at the middle of the table, left side of transfer boy and Shara Smith at his right side.
I am, in a way, popular too myself so it wouldn't be much of a difficulty to blend in and grab him from their filthy hands.
"Hi there~," I said in my cheerful and friendly voice. "I see you have made yourself comfortable with the gals."
'Finn Crosby from South of Irelands, you are not a plaything for these hungry vultures. You are mine for the taking and I had you first.' I thought to myself.
"Oh he's such a peach Missy." Shara waved her hand exaggeratedly.
"He is so quirky and unique, don't you think so too, Jane?" Lilie added, to which Jane just nodded in agreement, like a stupid bob-head toy on a pick-up truck dashboard.
"So what's up and about with you all lately?" I asked as I shifted closer to Finn, "How about you? I'm really sorry about earlier. I didn't really mean to, but I just fell on to you before classes started for Social Sciences."
I made the puppy-eyes to make me look like I was really sorry and wanted his friendship, but Finn Crosby regarded me with nonchalance and I almost thought there was some coldness in his stare for a while, like a freezing barren field devoid of emotions.
But then his eyes suddenly switched, he smiled and answered me in his dreamy slang of Irish tones,
"No worries there Melissa."
Wait a minute; did he just call me Melissa?
Nobody calls me Melissa.
Who does he think he is?