Title: La premičre grčve

Author: Replica

Email: replicapants@yahoo.se

Feedback: yes please.

Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me yaaddaaaa yaaaddaaa.

A/N: This morning I came across Backstreet boys fan fiction, and it was very disturbing not to mention very depressing. However, it evoked some kind of strange reaction in form of a Popular fan fic that has absolutely nothing to do with the boys.

If I'm lucky and have a similar reaction in the near future, there will be more of this "Editorial Maničres-The War of the Smug." But for now, here's The first strike.

It started with one of my “condemning” editorials. I never thought it would wake such reactions. Hey, it was just business as usual for me. Brooke never mentioned anything. And Mary Cherry, well she was just being Mary Cherry. Nasty comments were her business as usual. Then there was Nicole.

Nicole is very skilled in the verbal abuse area, that’s for sure. Every time I’ve written anything negative about the Glamazons in the school paper (which is fairly often), she bitches about it for a couple of days, tries her best to make my life a living hell with her venom. She calls me names, tries to trip me when I pass her in the halls and looks at me in that way that gives you the shivers and makes you glad that looks cannot kill, and yet reminds you that sharp objects can. Then she forgets about it until next editorial comes along. However, that’s not at all what happened this time.

I can recall that the war began exactly 6 hours after the Zapruder Reporter was distributed on school grounds. Mary Cherry and Poppy Fresh had given me some nasty looks earlier and Brooke had just snorted as she passed me by. Living together is pain enough for her I guess. She was excessively occupied with Josh and trying to figure out if they really only were the typical cheerleader/quarterback couple she claims they are not.

I was working on the computer making flashy wanted ads for a staff photographer to put on the notice boards around school. She walked in, not even knocking on the door. Not that I would have expected it from her. She never knocks. She claims her right to enter wherever she wants to.

“Hey Spam.” She said full of rage. I could tell this was not a visit in the name of friendly-ness.

I looked up from my computer and saw the sparks in her eyes. Blue and yellow. A little bit more and they would have been lightning. It was somewhat charming. I liked the idea that I could make her do that.

“Hi Satan. What brings you to these parts of school?” I tried to sound smug. I know she hates that. I can see it in her eyes.

“Well it certainly isn’t your stuck-up little mug.” She said sitting her self on the desk next to the computer. She looked at me like I was a piece of meat and she was the starved lion. It made me laugh, but only on the inside. I wondered in which way she wanted to eat me. Though I stopped thinking of that when I noticed she was staring at me staring at her.

“Okay Spam, stop ogling my goodies will ya?” Now it was her turn to be all smug. I couldn’t believe what she’d said. She was claiming that I was staring at her rack. I was not. Okay maybe for a second or so. But who could blame me? She was wearing a shirt that was just screaming ‘Hey look at me!’

“I was just wondering how many layers of foundation you must put on every morning to hide that reptile skin of yours.” That was apparently a good one. Her nostrils were doing funny things.

It took her a while to come up with a come back. That, or she was ogling me. Her eyes never left my body. She circled me and stopped behind my chair.

“I bet you would just love to find out.” She said caressing the length of my arm with her hand.

That I actually didn’t see that coming. Honestly. I expected some nasty comment about my appearance or maybe my style of clothes. However, never dirty comments like that. Well, it wasn’t really the comment that was dirty. It was more the way her hand felt against my arm.

I tried to say something. I really tried. I don’t know why my otherwise so articulate persona just turned all mute. It was something with what she radiated. It poisoned the air.

She pressed her body up against my back, pinning my arms down to the armrest.

“Listen up, Spam. You are being a royal pain in my khaki clad ass! I am sick and tired of opening up that paper and seeing yet an other one of your…”

“Then don’t read the paper.” I interrupted her.

“Spam,” she said letting go of my arms, “this is far from over.”

All off the sudden, she was gone, like some kind of aqua-woman melting down to a puddle of water and slipping out the door without making any sounds. This is Nicole we’re talking about, it wouldn’t surprise me if she could walk straight through walls.


Le jour ensuite



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