Chapter 5: Social Cliques (no sex)

School was one of those curses that all parents inflict on their children, as a way of getting even for some future agony. Sonja snarled at the memory of her mother, who didn’t bother tell Sonja when she would come home. Instead, she woke up to the sound of the BMW screeching in the drive. Glad that her mother finally came home, she threw on a robe and sprinted up the stairs. Her breasts, underneath the fabric, ached from the jostling but in her excitement she just pressed an arm around them to mute the suffering.

Her feet slapping against the floor, she skidded to the door and peered outside. Dust hung in the late summer morning, slowly cascading to the ground as the phantom remains of her mother’s presence quickly faded. Only her perfume filled the entry hall, an expensive stench that left her filled with nausea.

Sonja let out with a scream as she realized her mother had come and gone. Showed up and disappeared without even letting her only daughter know. The sound of her frustration and anger tore into the hall, filling the house. She continued to scream until she felt drained, but still filled with a simmering rage that threatened to explode again at any moment.

Some of her anger faded when she saw the package from the school, with her schedule and summer reading list. On the floor, where she threw it, were her school supplies and a taxi receipt to purchase them.

Slowly, Sonja realized she was almost late for the first day of institutionalized terror. For a brief moment, she considered not going, as a way of lashing out at her mother, but being stuck in the house for weeks was too much and she ran downstairs to finish getting dressed.

Thirty minutes later, she was waiting at the end of the housing district, waiting for the damn bus to pick her up. Sweat trickled down her face and shoulders from the heat, which was unbearable for this late in the year. Her outfit was one of her better ones, a silk blouse with a sharp jacket and matching skirt. It had some depressingly similar aspects from her mother, but they both knew how to dress to impress. A pair of diamond earrings matched the sapphire necklace that slithered down into her exposed cleavage. Her bare legs were smooth and set of by a pair of expensive shoes from New York. Combined with her body, it was an outfit that would inflame the lusts of most male teachers and distract most males students. Of course, it probably would start a few fires with the princesses in the school, but Sonja was going into a new school as a senior, where the cliques were already established. The first attack always had to be made by someone.

It was something her mother said. Sonja hated the idea of using her mother's advice, but the woman knew how to manipulate people.

Dark thoughts of her new school kept her company, cold and warm at the same time, until the school bus came coughing down the road. Like most buses, it was a dirty yellow in color, smeared with road dust and mud. The sound of a poorly tuned diesel engine rumbled the ground as it came around the corner and squealed to a stop a few feet away. The door cracked open and Sonja got a good look at the bus driver. It was an old man, somewhere in his forties, with the body of a muscle man and the leer of pervert. Chomping on a large wad of gum, he stared down at Sonja’s breasts and hips for a moment before whistling. “Damn, fresh meat. Good-looking fresh meat.”

Sonja glared at him, picking up her bag. He gestured to the back of the bug.

“Hop aboard, beautiful.”

Her snarl almost cut through the paint on the bus, “Get a life.”

His grin just widened and he licked his lips. “Already have one.”

Disgusted, Sonja groaned and headed to the back of the smelly bus, finding a seat that wasn’t quite as dingy. Sitting down, she waited for the bus to move. When it didn’t after a few moments, she looked up to find the driver staring at her through the mirror. Blood-shot eyes stared back and Sonja found the lurching disgust twisting at her stomach. “Yes...?”

He chuckled, a low rasping sound that left her feeling cold, and threw the bus into drive. It jerked forward and soon the bus was crawling down the street, toward the next stop. An hour and a half later, the bus shuddered to a halt in front of her new prison, the school.

Three stories tall, the outside walls were lined with half-covered windows. Streamers of students poured into the doors, but just as many were hanging outside. A bright painted line made a circle of the door, but was about a hundred paces away. Outside the line were the smokers, most goths and leathers stage. A few others, more plainly dressed, sucked on their cigarettes as they chatted or strayed away from the others.

Feeling very out of place, Sonja waited for the other students in the bus to stream out. She stood up slowly and stepped out of the bus. A faint flush crossed her cheeks as she felt the bus driver’s eyes on her and his lusty whistle that followed. Peering around at the crowds, she could already see the various cliques gathering together, gravitating to each other.

Years of watching her mother work gave her some knowledge on how people interacted. Already, she was watching the leaders of the groups posturing, moving to gather their “forces” and get ready for a year of war. Sonja stared at them for a moment, the rumble of the bus behind her. Outside were the groups she avoided in Illinois and she wasn’t planning on getting involved with them either.

Taking a deep breath, she prepared her own war. Stepping forward, she threaded her body through the press of peons, the lesser students, making her way up to the school steps. Around her, she could hear silence pooling away from her, a softening of sound mixed with bitter resent and half-hidden lusts.

“Oh... wow...”

“Damn, its a good-looking farm girl.”

“Farm girls don’t wear anything like that.”

“Baby...”

A soft sigh followed a slap from a girlfriend.

"Someone thinks she's a queen already."

The snippets of conversations around her left her feeling flush with power, despite the ease it took to invoke their responses. It already set down her base, making sure others were aware of her and prepared herself for the real channel, the “beautiful” students of the school. There was always a clique of them. And either she’ll dominate them or destroy them.

Inwardly, she started to smile, despite the nagging sensations that she was treating the school like her mother treated her company.

As victims. But, students were so easy.

Inside, the school smelled like most schools did: sweat and humanity pressed into neat little rooms. The sounds were louder, much louder, as they echoed against the hard imitation marble floors and rattled off the sheet metal lockers. She gave herself a brief moment to look around, to adjust herself then to move away from the streams entering the school. Most of the students were the typical sort, ranging from those into heavy metal to the one who wore a tie to school. Just another typical school filled with differing cultures and styles. To her appreciation, more than a few guys stopped talking as she passed them, working her way down the hall.

Pulling out the horrid packet mailed to her, she fished out her schedule and locker assignment. Locker 358. Somewhere on the third floor, judging from the nearby lockers, so she wandered around until she found her way on the third floor. Her locker was just a short distance away. The crowd upstairs was also noticeably older, seniors from the looks of it. Most of them looked at her with disinterested apathy but she saw a few sideways glances in her direction.

As she headed toward her locker, she saw a thin girl pulling out a book from the locker next to hers. She had mousy brown hair that hung loosely over her shoulders. When she stood up, Sonja saw the clearest blue eyes look at her for a brief moment before crowd swelled up. As it faded, the girl disappeared with them. Sonja shuddered for a moment as she felt a warm tingle down her spine. Something about that gaze startled her. Something that resonated deep inside.

Sonja stopped at her locker and spun the numbers, turning the greasy knob until it unlocked with a chunk. Setting her bag inside, she shoved her supplies into her new locker. Hooking the bag on the top, she closed the door with a bang. Her eye caught on a name tag over all the lockers. Most of them were empty, a dull reminder of the quieter days. The locker next to hers actually had a tag, “Jemmlar,” written in a neat handwriting.

A voice spoke up behind her, a purring sound of a woman with confidence. “You probably want to avoid her.”

Sonja prepared herself and turned around. The girl was obviously a senior and dressed almost as well as herself. She noticed a few scuff marks on the shoes and one of the blouse buttons had not been sewn on properly, but otherwise she was rather stunning. Long blonde hair, with just that hint of curls that most women spent thousands on hair products for. Purple eyes, probably contacts; they somehow worked with the blonde hair, accenting both her face and her smile. Sonja looked further down, at the wide hips but a very narrow waist. Sonja felt her lips tighten for a moment, seeing someone who would be a competitor soon, at least for attention.

“You must be the new girl. From Illinois, right?” She pronounced the “s” in Illinois, but Sonja was more surprised with the exuberant cheerfulness that shone in every word.

“Yeah... how did you know?”

“You don’t have a tan.”

Sonja blinked, confused for a moment.

At her expression, the girl giggled and pointed to Sonja’s bag. She looked down to see the tag from one of her plane trips, some years ago. The “ORD” from the O’Hare baggage claim was clearly visible.

Impressed, Sonja glanced back. “Wow, most people wouldn’t have guess from there.”

"Well, my father is an airline pilot, so I know a lot of the code."

The response broke the ice. Sonja smiled back to the girl’s own smile, “Cool.”

A brief moment of silence, then she finally introduced herself. “Sonja Bremus.”

The girl took her offered hand and Sonja felt the soft skin of someone who used lotion and had an excellent manicure. Not to mention a very firm grip. “Betty Goldstone.”

“Goldstone?”

Betty made a face, “Yeah, my mother’s name. My father took it when he married her.”

Sonja had no clue what to say, so she just smiled.

Betty’s hand slipped from hers. She grabbed Sonja’s schedule from the top of the pile of supplies. Sonja started to say something, but the purple eyes were downcast, reading the fading ink quickly. “Excellent! We have two classes together and you have another one with Theodora and Ming.”

“... pardon?”

Betty presented the schedule back to her, “Your first class, AP History. We are both in it. And your third period you have with Theodora and Ming. And then share fifth period with me.”

Betty pulled back the schedule then made a face, wrinkling her perfect smile, “You got Home Ec. for sixth period. Ew, what a terrible way to end the day.”

Sonja raised an eyebrow, curious why cooking would be so terrible. Betty handed back her schedule, hopefully for the last time, and explained briefly.

“Mrs. Dawson, I think she’s a lesbian. And a rather heavy-handed one at that.”

Realization dawned on Sonja, coupled with a general disgust. She didn't see the point of falling for a girl, yeah, they were prettier but she thought she'd like cock more.

Betty shared her expression, then reached out to grab her hand.

Stunned, Sonja let Betty drag her down the hall.

“Come on, let’s get a good seat for class.”

“Uh...”

The blonde paused for a moment, looking pack with a strange mixture of surprise and confidence.

“Yes?”

“Why are you doing this?”