Vanity Teens

Chapter Three

A.N. I've cast Sam! I like Dylan O'Brien, don't you? I think he just fits. Tell me what you think?

Chapter Three:

"I don't like him," I insisted plainly. I wanted them to know that after we ditched him when we left Mrs. Nicholson's wild art classroom.

"I think he's nice," Max said, shrugging when I gave him one of my Oh-no-you-didn't looks. Yes, okay, I have numerous faces all as such, and they're all godly.

"No." That one, singular word summed up everything I felt towards Sam what's-his-face. He was so far at the back of my mind that I couldn't even remember his last name. Frederiksen.

But then my thoughts came flooding back to me, my secret thoughts. How could I have drawn his eyes? I didn't. No. That wasn't what they were. No. No. No. "Besides, nice is a word you use to describe someone with no other redeeming qualities," I spat dryly.

"What do you mean?" Vienna asked excitedly, slapping the back of my head. "He's proper gorgeous! I'd fucking love to jump those bones!" Maybe she said that a little too loud, just a little. A lot. All too suddenly, all eyes fell on us. I mean, they were probably on me before that, but now it wasn't just because I was so godly.

"Ow! That hurt, fuck off," I moaned at her, rubbing my head. If she messed with my perfect dark brown hair, I may crawl into a corner and die of ugliness. It's possible. Yes it is, yes it is, yes it is, go away, shut up, I'm right. I'm always right, as in always, as in I am therefore never not right. "The little runt of the litter just bends me the wrong way."

"He what? He does what? Excuse me, Ari, but I don't think he should be bending you any which way, okay?" Max asked, eyeing me at my turn-of-phrase.

"If you hate him so much, he shouldn't be bending you any way. I reckon you fancy him." Vienna smiled, she enjoyed watching people squirm, but I wasn't one of her little petty toys, I was above her, I was the everything-guy, the elite beautiful boy that remains in the highest of social echelons, a mingler of social circles, the best of the best. I always have been

"Not ga-ay," I stuttered, but it came out much more girlie and feminine than I wanted. My voice always betrayed me.

"Straight guys get man-crushes, Ari, just calm down. Right Max? You have a man-crush?"

"Yeah." He shrugged.

"Uh, so who is yours then?" I dared to ask.

"Paul Wesley." Oh my god do not speak to me about my darling Paul.

"Whatever."

"Why don't you like him?" Max asked seriously, as seriously as he could. Max wasn't a very serious person, so I didn't know what to think at that moment. His green eyes just kept looking at me, judging me. I liked it, but didn't all at the same time.

"I've told you, Max, I don't like being thrown in a swimming pool, it sort of puts you off whoever did it. I don't like him, I don't want to like him, and as far as I'm concerned, he can go the fuck away! Death by fire, death by poison, death by acid, death by vanilla, death by chocolate, I quite frankly do not give one massive, gooey, perfectly-formed and odour-free excrement."

I just felt like a storm inside, I wanted to explode and release my thunder onto every other fucker. God knows they deserve it. When I turned to storm off, I walked head-first into a similar chest, and ended up tumbling to the ground again. At least this time I didn't get drenched to fuck.

"What the fuck?!" I shouted at him, climbing back to my feet. I was creating a scene. I loved drama. I just loved it when shit went down and dirty, especially when I was involved and the centralised focal-point of all the juicy action.