The Last Black Unicorn

Chapter One: Prehistoric Dinosaurs and the Atomic Bomb

I know it's not real, but I can't help smiling as Brandon's muscular arms wrap tightly around my waist. Then, in seconds, he pulls me deeper inside his chest, and the aroma of sandalwood fills my nostrils with a splash of cinnamon surrounding each note of his cologne.

I breathe in his scent as warm amber notes, and a hint of nutmeg expel from the nozzle of my mom's air freshener. I grip the bottle in my hand, spraying an endless trail of Brandon Lockwood into my overactive imagination.

I sigh cheerfully, thinking of all the places on my body his soft lips could kiss passionately. A smirk plays on Brandon's face as he closes the small gap between us, trapping me underneath his massive biceps.

Then he looks deep into my eyes and asks, "Where do you think you're going?" I bite back a smile as he slowly presses his lips against mine.

"Ebony, you have exactly five minutes to step outside your spaceship before I leave your ass on Mars," Lexie yells over a hundred chimes of some stupid, catchy, bubblegum pop ringtone.

"Turn that shit off!" I screech.

"I bet you'd like it if Katy screamed into the track about slitting your throat," Lexie shrieks, "you emo freak."

"I'd like it if your music actually had a purpose instead of appealing to spoiled skanks!" I said, throwing two finger signs behind my closed door.

Lexie stomps downstairs to her mom, her voice echoing through the house as she expresses her disdain about being forced to live with the angel of death. Another one of Lexie's despicable nicknames she'd rather call me besides my government name.

Don't get me wrong; I always knew she had a flare for being a drama queen because heaven knows, if it doesn't revolve around Alexis Kingsley, then it doesn't fucking exist. At least, that's what Lexie and her plastic cohorts have all brainwashed themselves into believing.

I legit think the cause of their withering brain cells stems from the hundred layers of makeup caked on their faces, all to imitate the perfect Glo. Ergo, the ingredients for their sorcery include foundation, concealer, highlighter, and a little pixie dust.

Translation: thanks to the holy grail of filters, Lexie, Naija, Chloe, Roxane, and Sienna can transform into warped alien goddesses every morning before the clock strikes seven o'clock. A splendid fairytale, now only if our heroines weren't over-processed whores.

I roll my eyes at the thought of a world where Lexie and her friends were decent people who didn't prey on the souls of the vast population of Ravenwood High. Otherwise, known as a no man's land, a place where the most deprived minds live like gods. Instead of the Plastics, Lexie, Naija, Chloe, Roxane, and Sienna are revered as The Atomic Five.

A name bestowed upon five girls by our entire horny student body because Chloe, unlike her companions, has a fiercer appetite for girls. Yes, their horniness has no discrimination, which further adds to the conundrum of the Atomic Five's combined fan bases. Because I refuse to listen to another girl undress Chloe in extremely vivid detail.

Truly, the girls have joined the boys in lust.

I brush my teeth for five minutes, then hold my hair back as I rinse my mouth with cold water. My gaze looms over my reflection in the mirror and stops at the choker placed tightly around my neck. I run my hands down my black Nirvana T-shirt tucked away into my tight, ripped blue jeans.

I glance at the black flatiron plugged into the outlet next to a can of hairspray and hair-bonding glue. My hair falls past my shoulders in soft dark black waves instead of the intricate dark brown curls I've been daring myself to let roam naturally from my scalp.