Page 3 of Wasn't Supposed To Love You

I sigh to myself. Great, she wants small talk. “No, third year.” I took a few years after high school to travel a bit and really think about what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. If you ask me, seventeen and eighteen-year olds have no business going to college and trying to decide what they are going to do with the rest of their lives. That's just way too much pressure.

She gives me a big smile. “This is my first. My boyfriend didn’t want me to go to college, I think he wants me glued to him, but I had to branch out on my own. I love kids, so I can’t wait to get started on this.”

She seems nice enough, just a little random. Bit of an airhead, but whatever. Who am I to judge, anyway? I’m just shocked she’s trying to make nice with me. Not many people do that. Either because they know me, and know I won’t put up with anything they dish out, or they think I’m a freak. And most uppity people stay away from freaks, unless they think they can change me.

It looks like she wants to say more, but the professor comes in and starts class. Well, thank God for small favors. The lecture begins. I stare ahead, trying to ignore the overly happy girl next to me.

I feel a small tap to my shoulder and instantly I cringe.

She passes me a note and I sigh. Seriously? What is this, middle school? I open it up and roll my eyes.

I only took this class because my dad thought I’d benefit from it, in case opening my own lingerie shop is a bust. - Alana

Poor little rich girl. Whatever. I crumple it up and disappointment covers her face. Boo freaking hoo. Why should I care why she’s taking the class for? I didn’t know sitting next to her meant I wanted to know her life story. Some people are too chatty for their own good. It doesn’t pay to get close to anyone. They will only disappoint you in the end. I don’t have it in me to make the effort. I don't have time for it anymore. I already have enough friends.

Class finishes up and I move quickly to leave when Barbie calls to me, “Wait!”

I groan and turn to look at her. She smiles at me again, and it’s so big and wide it creeps me out. “I’m Alana, and you’re, Kristi, right? I heard the teacher say that earlier in class.”

I raise a brow and play with my lip ring. What does she want from me now?

“I love your hair, do you do it yourself or do you go somewhere to get it done?” she asks, seeming truly interested.

“Is this some kind of joke or something? You, rich bitch, talking to trash like me?” I sneer at her wanting her gone.

Her face pales and she puts a hand on her chest. “No, no, of course not. I was just hoping to make a friend,” she says softly.

I snort. “Sure, some uppity rich bitch like you wants to make friends with trash like me? Didn’t you hear?” I sneer at her. “I’m a whore,” I say purely snarky.

Her face changes and she looks angry. “You know what, I might come from a prestigious family, but I’m not a damn rich bitch. In fact, my boyfriend looks a bit like you, except well, he’s not, obviously because he’s a guy. I don’t discriminate. If you’re a good person, I’ll like you. But obviously, you’re not then.” She stomps her foot like a two-year-old having a tantrum. “You’re the bitch.”

I smirk. “I think I’m going to like you.”

Her face turns to shock and I walk away. Who would have thought that? Barbie has a temper. I wonder who this boyfriend of hers is.

Guess it goes to show, never judge a book by its cover, or in this situation, a person. She reminds me of the girls I went to high school with, the ones that taunted me when I started to dye my hair, get piercings, and of course, once I hit sixteen, started getting tattoos. Heck, dad was the one to take me, since I was underage. My dad has always been so strict, people were shocked he allowed it, even I was, but he told me, he’d rather me get my first tattoo with him supporting me, or he knew I would just get a fake ID and go by myself. I lost count how many times I was called a freak, trash, and just because I liked to have sex, a whore.

I’m not used to one of the Barbie bitches trying to be nice to me. Maybe this Alana chick is actually nice…huh. She has some backbone, too.

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