Page 15 of Poison Touch


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Brielle takes out a compact mirror and adjusts her lip gloss. “What has gotten into both of you? Since when the fuck do youcare if a new girl fits in or not?” It’s obvious she doesn’t expect either of them to answer, nor does she care. She’s already made up her mind about me. “Besides, someone needs to tell her that those hideous, bulky boots and high socks look like she’s just walked off a zombie set.”

Gunner grunts. “I think they look fucking hot as shit.”

“You would, you beast.”

Trying my best to ignore them, I look anywhere but at them. This is going to be a long-ass semester if this is any indication of how the next couple of months are going to go. Now that I think about it, I wouldn’t have pegged them for the art class type, either. So, maybe this class is easier than I think.

In my determination to ignore the shit show in the corner, I don’t notice Chelsea coming right toward me until she’s standing over my desk. The scent of the egg she ate for breakfast comes right along with her.

“Kinsley, here’s some drawing paper. Why don’t you work out a small sketch of what you think you’d like to do, then you can transfer it to your canvas when you bring it in?”

“Thanks.”

I dig a pencil out of my bag. Staring at the blank sheet, I’m left to imagine what a self-expression drawing of myself looks like. Eventually, I put the lead on paper and force lines around the white page. It doesn’t look like a stick figure, but it doesn’t look like a drawing of me, either, or anyone, for that matter.

The whispers start up again. “Where’d she come from anyway?”

Brielle’s voice grinds on my nerves. I swear she learned to whine from an orgy of goats. The thought of stabbing the tip of the pencil into her larynx sounds way more appealing than wasting it on a useless drawing. At least then I’d be making an impression.

“I don’t know, but I’m still thanking the gods for sending her fine ass here,” Gunner says. “And I know I’m not just speaking for myself.”

“You’re a walking boner,” Brielle spits.

Gunner’s naughty chuckle draws a few stares from around the room.

He may feel like that now, but if he had anything to do with my dad’s murder, he’s going to regret ever saying that.

I turn the paper over and draw a circle for my head, two smaller circles for my eyes, then wavy lines off the head that could be hair. I completely suck at this.

My pencil tears through the paper when my stool jerks hard from the back. “Move. You’re in the way, trash.”

Brielle’s too-sweet perfume envelops me like a cocoon. I hold my breath and try to ignore her, knowing she wants to get her canvas from the closet behind me.

“Are you like stupid, or deaf, or something?” She bends down close to my ear and speaks louder. “Can you hear me? Move!”

I set down my pencil and rise at a snail’s pace to stand face to face with her. She needs those four-inch heels to reach my height. Smiling, I say, “Trust me, everyone in this class, and most likely the classes across the hall, can hear your annoying voice. You haven’t shut up since you walked into class. And no, I’m not deaf or stupid. The only thing I am is sick of listening to you talk shit all morning.”

“Ladies, do we have a problem back there?” Chelsea calls out.

“No,” Brielle and I respond in unison.

Brielle scowls. The angry look molds into the lines of her face perfectly, falling right into place like I’m sure they’ve done a thousand times before. She’s going to need Botox by the time she’s twenty.

She lowers her voice. “Move the fuck out of my way.”

She bumps into me as I back up a little. Reaching just inside the door, she grabs the last canvas. Curious, I glance at her piece. It’s just okay at best. Nothing exceptional. For some reason, it makes me feel better that she’s not a Picasso disguised as a bitch.

Then I find I can’t help myself with my next comment. “Nice expression, but isn’t it supposed to be a self-portrait? Shouldn’t you have painted a wildebeest or rabid hyena?”

Whispers and shocked “oohs” and “oh shits” erupt from around us.

A low growl emanates from her chest. “You’re digging your own grave, trash.”

A tiny laugh bubbles up in my throat. “Whatever you say, swine.”

Brielle spins on her heels and heads back to her seat. “I’m going to fucking kill her,” she says to Gunner as she places her canvas on her easel. “And now that I’ve looked closer, she’s as ugly as they come.”

“You’re just jealous ’cause you know she’s hot as shit. Your problem is you want Edge’s dick all to yourself, and you’re afraid you might have to share.”