The Ones I Hate The Most

chapter one

Amity's POV:

"Am, are you ready for school?" My mother calls from the kitchen, indicating that I should leave soon.

"Yes mum, I'm just packing my school bag," I lie, having just rolled out of bed.

Literally. It would have been very funny if my ass didn't hurt so much. School isn't terrible, but there are places I'd rather be. I have two friends, Posey and Mack, but trios don't work, and I just happen to be the one that is left out. The popular kids think it's fun to bully me. I would never tell my mother that people at school call me a whore and kick me to the ground because they feel like it.

I guess that they see me as a target since I'm smaller, skinnier, and supposedly weaker than they are. Physically, I am. But not mentally. My mother and I were kicked out of our home when I was only five years old, by my father and six brothers.

Apparently, according to my mother, they don't believe that women have a place in society. I slowly hum to World Burn from Mean Girls The Musical, while choosing my outfit for a long day at school.

"I'm here mum!" I shout, panting as I rush from room to room, eventually finding my mother, who is comfortably on a sofa in the living room.

"You look beautiful as always, Am," she says, looking at me up and down, "but I think you should throw on a jumper. I would hate to get a call from the headmaster about you being dress-coded. It might even mark your permanent record."

I gasp, running back to my room to pick up an oversized Champion hoodie. My mother knows how seriously I take my reputation at school. Especially when it could impact my grades.

"Bye mum," I kiss her cheek and adjust the shoulder straps of my black Nike backpack.

"I love you, sweetheart. Remember to call me if your sad excuse of brothers shows up," she kisses my forehead lightly.

"I know mum," I chuckle under my breath, "you have told me the same thing every day for the past three years."

"I just want you to be careful, darling." She gives me a small smile, putting her pearly white teeth on display.

I mumble a small 'hmm,' as I walk out the front door, on my way to school. It's hotter than I thought it was, but I accept my mum's wishes and keep the jumper on. Our apartment is only a couple of kilometers from my public school. I'm very grateful for that because I'm lazier than Donald Trump.

Soon, the school's shadow looms over mine. I take a deep gulp before forcing my hands into the pockets of my jeans.

"You're a bad bitch," I whisper to myself, as I walk into my first class.

My books were in my bag from last night when I was studying. I don't own a laptop, because my mum and I don't have a lot of money, so using textbooks is the best thing I can do.

I'm not surprised to see Mack and Posey already seated at a two-person table. They're not even a couple. I don't understand why they couldn't have moved one table across, where there were three seats available.

I look at my feet, feeling ashamed that not even my best friends want to sit with me. I walk to the back corner of the classroom, where a window is strategically placed, seemingly just for me.

I drop my bag, keeping it under the table, before gracefully gliding into the classic high school wooden chair. I am wondering who will sit next to me. I doubt that anyone will, since most of the students at this place treat me as if I am some sort of plague.

The bell to begin the day rings loudly, causing my body to flinch slightly in fear, and before you ask, no, my mother does not hit me. The teacher walks in. Miss. Roseworn is a middle-aged British woman with a very intense accent. Sometimes when she shouts, I'll cower back in my seat slightly, mainly out of fear, and the fact she and her British body could bite my head off.

"Welcome to history. I'm sure that by now, you are all aware that I do not like any of you, and think that teaching is a waste of time. The money is pretty good though..." She trails off as if she's in deep thought.

Suddenly, the bad boy of the school, struts through the classroom, looking bored, as if being here was a waste of his time. His eyes scan across Miss. Roseworn's class, looking for a free place to sit.

With my luck, his eyes stop at mine, and a small smirk rises across his face.

"Bad morning to you too, Mr. Jones, sit down right now, before I send you to the headmaster for interrupting my class." The teacher says, annoyance lacing her words.

"I'm very well this fine morning, Mrs. Roseworn, thank you for asking me." Elijah is his name if I remember correctly.

He walks toward me, refusing to drop eye contact, but I am quick to end this weird moment between us, not completely comfortable with this boy. You see, he is not a part of the group of kids who bully me. No, instead he's the level up. Elijah and his friends are very closed off to the rest of us. I have never sat in the same half of a classroom with him because he scares me so much.

He falls into the seat beside me, thinking that it is impressive.

"Hey cutie," Elijah exclaims, slinging his right arm on the back of my chair, "how about we ditch this class and have some fun. I know a place." His smirk gets even bigger.

"No thank you," I decline his offer as politely as I can, instead focusing my attention back on Miss. Roseworn.

He doesn't look the least bit defeated, but accepts my request, keeping his arm hung over my chair.

After forty minutes of the lesson, I'm beginning to sweat in this extremely hot classroom.

"Miss. Roseworn," I raise my hand, "I understand the dress code, but could I please take off my jumper since it is very warm in here." She nods her head, not even sparing me a glance.

Rude.

With Elijah's much-needed help, I am successful in taking off my hoodie, leaving my body exposed in the cropped shirt I decided to wear today. I flash him a tiny smile, showing my appreciation. He waves his hand in my hand as if to say 'it was nothing.'

Suddenly, the classroom door slams open, and a young man stands there, his muscular body adorning a neatly ironed suit. I slip out of my seat once I realize who it is.

My older brother, Marco (I think) looks accomplished, as his stare reaches my eyes.

Come on, piccola ragazza," he says holding his hand out, expecting me to take it. Little girl

"Non credo che accetterò consigli da qualcuno che non vedo da dieci dannati anni" I sass back, not wanting to be around a person who didn't even want me. I don't think I'll be taking advice from someone I haven't seen in ten freaking years.

"È una buona cosa che non stavo chiedendo allora" He swiftly replies with his thick Italian accent. A frown is now evident across his tanned face. It's a good thing I wasn't asking then.

Well, crap...

A/N: Hey guys, thank you so much for 30 reads - I know it's not a lot at all, but I only posted the first chapter yesterday, and I thought to celebrate, I'd update early. Please vote, comment, and keep reading when I update tomorrow. It means the world to me <<3