Not His Girl

Cassia's life is perfect. Awesome friends. Awesome hair. Awesome clothes. And -most of all - an awesome boyfriend.
But everything is about to change. It all starts with that one photo...

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5. Five

 

I run down the street, round the corner and straight to the park. I can see Bea’s long, reddy-pink (she dyed it) hair flowing out behind her as she tries to run away from one of the many boys chasing her. She’s too slow, on purpose, and he grabs her. Up, up, up in the air he swings her and she screams, giggles, shouts. For the first time ever I am seeing her for her true self. Attention seeking, boyfriend stealing bitch. All she wants is to become Queen Bea. Right now I am the Queen Bee. I am in charge of what people think, wear and do.

But I’ve lost my boyfriend.

So I’ve lost my status.

Bea has won.

I launch myself at her and her eyes widen. But only for a few seconds. Too late, I realise she’s smirking at me. Then she starts to clap. Long, slow claps.

“Oh, well done. You finally worked out that the picture of your best friend and boyfriend kissing was actually a picture of your best friend and boyfriend kissing.

I take a deep breath. I can’t let her do this. Tear me apart in public. The crowds won’t care that Bea is a sleazy be-yatch, but they will care if she gets slapped hard. Slapping makes everything more serious. But right now a slap won’t give me back my status. Nothing will. So I might as well go for it.

“I surrender,” I say, looking Bea straight in the eye, “I surrender to you becoming the new Queen Bee, to me becoming just another girl. A girl on the outside of this inner circle. I’ll be ok without you, but before I go I just want to do a little thing.”

I can’t help smiling as I think about what I’m about to do.

“You see,” I say, “Bea made a confession to me once. I told her I would put it on a tape recorder then burn it. So I left her with the recorder to say everything she had to say. And never burnt it. I kept it in case...anything like this ever happened. Why? Because I am a bitch. Or a Queen Bee. Call it what you will. And this is the recording.”

Bea doesn’t look scared at all. I am starting to wonder if I’ve got something wrong.  I press play, but the tape doesn’t make a sound but the brrrr of it going round.

“You idiot,” says Bea, “I would never have let you keep that tape. I put another one in and burnt the original myself!”

Of course. I should have known that everything today would be wrong.

“Well anyway, the tape was a confession that she still wets the bed. She did it once at a sleepover at mine. It was totally minging.”

The words spill out of my mouth but they are clumsy and unbelievable. I sigh. It looks like I’m going to have to go for short-term revenge.

I punch her pretty hard, right in the face. Blood spurts out her nose in an almost comical fashion. I leave her there with all the girls I thought were my friends.

Screw them. I’ll buy a cat.

 

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