"You’re one to talk," finally slips out. It took me a little to figure out a good response.

"What is that suppose to mean?"

"Look at you," I snicker. I don’t think she looks hot or sexy, I think she looks like a slut. See, I dress like this, yes, but I deserve that. I am no good, I am a whore. Spencer, shes different. Shes special and she is too pretty and too amazing to be treating herself like this. Theres not much to respect on me, so who the hell cares how I look? People expect me to be some stuck up whore. But Spencer, she should respect herself.

I see that she doesnt understand my words, so I continue, "Why don’t you just walk around shirtless?"

Her boobs were hanging out so far that I’m surprised she didnt get arrested for indecent exposure. She’s not some low life whore like all those other girls in there, shes smart. So why is she doing this?

"Oh, I’m sure you would like that," she says bitterly.

"And that means?"

It’s my turn to be baffled.

"You’re a dyke," she says and I swear to god, even though I’ve been called that hundreds of times before, even though my mother looks at me all the time and is disgusted by me, even though people have thrown objects at my head because of that one little fact, this kills more then anything Ive ever know. The expression in her eyes is pure hate, and I dont need to see them close up to know that, I can tell simply by that tone of voice. It’s like shes trying to kill me with her words, and it sure as hell is working so far.

Her friend, who shes calling Karen, turns to me, scruntches up her face and blurts out, "Eww."

If I were four years younger, I would have had my hands wrapped around that Karen chick’s neck by now. She would be on the ground, and I would be beating the living hell out of her. It’s times like this when it makes me sad that I gave up trying to solve things with violence. Don’t get me wrong, I do occasionally hit a person, but not as much as I used to.