I'm working on the next part. Though it will have to wait until finals are over. ) Tell me what you think.

XXX

Not being able to -- not knowing how to -- write a journal would be pathetic. And depressing as hell. Trust me, I'd know. That's right. I can't. It's just...I can't. Or at least, that's what people seem to think. Because though I don't keep one, it's not rocket science (and shit, even if it was I'd have a better chance then a lot of these morons). But the fact that someone just tried to explain to me how to do it makes me think they think I'm a moron.

Stupid fucking stereotypes. Stupid me for not putting more effort into negating them.

You see, I'm a cheerleader. Head cheerleader in fact. Blond, blue eyed and beautiful. Which apparently means I'm an empty headed catty doll. I'm not. I might be a bitch, but empty headed and catty I sure as hell am not. Not that I ever really bother to dissuade people from thinking that. It's easier if they do after all. I get all kinds of information that way. And no, I don't use it to blackmail or anything, that's just stupid since it's bound to back fire eventually. It does give me a good grasp of what's going on around me even when those involved in the drama don't always know -- which makes it a hell of a lot easier to play the catty bitchy game.

Now you're wondering why I'm the head cheerleader. Well for one I look the part. Honestly I do. I'm not vain or self-centered -- I have fine self confidence though -- but I know how I look. Slender and willowy. My breasts, according to a few ex's, could stand to be bigger -- I think the same about their pricks so I can't really be offended. Anyways, the question is why I'm the head cheerleader right? It's because I'm damn good.

Seriously. I'm a gymnast. Started lessons about the time I learned how to walk. But then, usual sob story, my family moved and suddenly I was a sophomore without any gymnastics classes around. I can't live without gymnastics. So I joined the cheerleading squad. Because cheerleaders do flips and shit right? Only this team didn't. They were just...peppy sluts. And I was about to go insane without my gymnastics. So I talked to the coach and as a sophomore completely rearranged the cheers to ones that were actually 'cheer-nastics'. As I've since, lovingly, heard it called. So it's no surprise I'm the captain.

The captain of the team when I first came took me under her figurative wing -- she wasn't an idiot either, she was just a pure and total bitch. But I was her pet project so I didn't have to deal with that attitude. And the short of it is that she forced me to learn how to play the game. I wouldn't say taught, that girl wouldn't do anything that gentle if her life depended on it. But I did learn how to play the game. How to keep that smile plastered on your face when all you wanted to do was smash some skulls. How to cry crocodile tears when your flavor of the week 'dumped' you. And most of all, how to survive dealing with a shit ton of catty teen girls all the fucking time.

And I was damn good at the game. No one better in fact. But it was my senior year. I'd just found out I'd gotten into NYU early admission, and I was fast loosing my patience with all the stupid fucking games.

And someone trying to tell me how to write a journal was a straw that broke the camel's figurative back.

The sneer that curled my lips as I leaned back in my desk brought a surprised look to the eyes of all those who were avidly watching me.

Oh, they had no idea what I could do.

I'd gotten sent straight to the principle's office for what I'd said in English class. Though I'd be lying if I said there hadn't been a glimmer of approval in Mrs. Whitewall's eyes. But considering the uproar that was bound to take place, it was for the best I'd been kicked out.

Got my first ever detention too. And the thought brought a smile to my lips. Oh yes, the whole world was damn well going to go topsy turvy with this and I couldn't be happier. I'd stayed in the office till the end of the day -- English was my last class of the day -- but even with the short amount of time, it was obvious the news had already reached the general public if the whispers and 'subtle' glances at me as I went to collect my books for detention was any indication.

Not that I cared a bit about what people were saying, though I knew the rumors would just get more and more amusing before the day was done. My guess was that there would be a handful thinking that I'd finally just lost it from being too popular. The ever present pod-person idea, and of course the evil twin one too. If I as lucky I'd get something more creative, but we'd have to see.

As I approached my locker the crowd got thicker. Not that they didn't part for me. So with a roll of my eyes I came into the clearing to see my flavor of the month hassling a Joseph, the kid who should've been salutatorian but for failing gym.

Hell, the world was just handing this shit to me on a plate at this point.

Stopping a few feet away from the scene I braced my legs and put a fist on my waist and eyed the scene. Normally I would've been expected to ignore it or just distract Tim subtlety. Fuck that shit.

Baring my teeth in what could only loosely be termed a grin I used a tone that only the girls on my squad ever heard. "Tim!" He drew up short, his hand still fisted in Joseph's shirt but without actually doing anything. He grinned like a moron as soon as he saw me. Fucking idiot. "Let the hell go of him and go fuck yourself." His grin remained for far longer then it should have.

I was almost a little ashamed of myself. Here I was just falling into base insults. I knew I could do better then that, but shit, I haven't had practice in a while. Oh well, I'd get back into the swing of things soon enough.

The crowd around me was completely silent, all trying to figure out what the hell I was thinking I'm sure. After a minute of that and one expectant eyebrow raise Tim finally let go of Joseph. Dropped him more like. And with a soft 'fuck' I managed to catch the kid before the weight of his backpack really sent him toppling. Letting him get his footing back I wasn't surprised that he immediately backed up to blend into the crowd. Though he didn't leave. Who'd want to miss this spectacle after all?

"What?" For once Tim was actually looking at my face and not my breasts or legs. Honestly, it just made him look more like a goat then ever before.

I frowned slightly and watched him for a moment before softening my tone. And already I could see him relaxing and thinking I was going to apologize. Which I was. Kind of. "Oh sweetheart, I'm sorry. Were those words to advanced for you?" My tone sharpened quickly as I scanned the crowd, "Oi, anyone who speaks four year old around? I think we're going to need a translator."

It was impossible not to grin at the look on his face. So I did grin. In fact, I laughed. This whole thing was absolutely ridiculous, he was absolutely ridiculous. And the next few minutes would just prove all that an d more.

"You're insulting me?" I was almost impressed he'd understood that so I decided to comment on it and watch him turn a lovely shade of tomato before he tried to find his balls and reattach them. "Who do you think you are?"

My grin was caustic, "Oh poor baby, did you forget already? I knew that I should've worn a name tag for you." His face continued to turn more and more red before he proudly announced that I couldn't talk like that to him and I was just a dumb slut and he'd been cheating on me from the beginning.

The crowd was silent but from how they shifted I could see they expected it to hurt me. Idiots, the lot of them. Though when I made a slight face I think that just cemented it in their minds, that is, until my next words came. "There's someone out there who's willing to sleep with you? Shit. The world really is fucked."

That seemed to fly completely over his head as he just proudly continued on and informed me that Cindi (with an I) was the lucky girl. That just brought a laugh to my lips. Actually, it doubled me over for a minute before I glanced at him with dancing eyes, "What is that, like a mini-wiener down a hallway?" And then I was laughing again. And the crowd was laughing as well. Poor Timmy-poo.

His face was turning almost frighteningly red and I was starting to loose the rush of speaking my mind again, not that I was going to stop. But I was definitely done with this moron. So with a wave of a hand and a noticeable lack of crocodile tears I told him to enjoy Cindi and that I had to get to detention. And grabbing my books I did just that. And again, the crowd was more then willing to let me through -- though some of them kind of followed me.