CHAPTER FOUR: Alarm Clocks and Cliques
1096 Words
The alarm clock screamed at 6:45 a.m. sharp, blaring like a fire drill.
Angela’s groggy voice cut through the morning air, dripping with venom. “Turn that thing off before I launch it out the window!”
Victoria groaned, rolling over to slam the snooze button. “It’s called waking up, Angela. Welcome to Monday.”
Across the room, Angela pulled the covers tighter over her head, her hair spilling across the pillow in a perfect dark halo. “This should be illegal. Like… unconstitutional.”
From down the hall, Danny’s voice carried faintly. “You sound like a zombie!”
“Better a zombie than a nerd,” Angela shot back.
Victoria rolled her eyes, swinging her legs out of bed. She was used to Danny’s goofy morning comments, but Angela’s barbed tongue made everything feel like a battle.
By the time they’d all staggered into the kitchen, Mariah was already dressed for her shift, hair pinned back and scrubs crisp. She set plates of toast and eggs on the counter like a commander doling out rations.
“Eat something before you scatter,” she ordered, handing Danny a glass of milk.
Angela slid onto a stool, poking at the food like it offended her. “Do people in this town know bagels exist?”
Mariah gave her a look. “You’ll live.”
Victoria scarfed down a piece of toast, grabbing her keys. “Danny, come on—we’re leaving in ten.”
That was when Angela snorted, smirking. “That is your car?”
Victoria froze mid-bite, heat crawling up her neck. The little blue hatchback sitting in their driveway wasn’t much—it rattled sometimes, and the radio barely worked—but it was hers.
“Yeah. Problem?” she said flatly.
Angela leaned back, sipping orange juice like royalty. “Just saying. It looks like a smurf sneezed on a tin can.”
Danny burst out laughing, milk almost spilling out of his nose.
“Shut up, Danny!” Victoria snapped, tossing him his backpack.
Angela flipped her hair, smug. “You know, you could ride with me. Once my aunt agrees to let me drive her car, anyway. I promise it won’t embarrass you in the parking lot.”
“No, thanks,” Victoria muttered, shoving her books into her bag. “Some of us don’t need chauffeur service to survive high school.”
Danny groaned. “Can we just go before you two kill each other?”
“Let’s go,” Victoria said sharply, practically dragging him out the door.
---
School was its usual blur of chatter, slamming lockers, and the faint smell of burnt coffee. Victoria kept her head down, sliding through the hallways like she always did.
Angela, on the other hand, strutted through like she’d been born on a catwalk. Neon jacket, ripped jeans, sunglasses indoors—the whole hallway tilted toward her orbit. Within minutes, a group of curious kids circled, asking questions. Where are you from? Is that real leather?
Angela soaked it up, tossing back sarcastic answers like candy.
And when her eyes flicked over Victoria, she looked right past her, like she wasn’t even there.
Victoria clenched her fists and turned away, ducking into the safety of her locker row.
“Girl.”
Jonathan appeared at her side like magic, leaning dramatically against the lockers. His oversized hoodie hung loose, his nails painted silver, and his smile was sharper than Angela’s sarcasm.
“You look like you’ve been through war,” he said, scanning her face.
“Living with her is war,” Victoria muttered, slamming her locker shut. “She’s been here one day and she’s already impossible.”
Jonathan gasped, hand to chest. “Spill immediately.”
Victoria gave him the rundown: Angela trashing the room décor, mocking her car, pretending she didn’t exist the second they stepped into school. By the time she finished, Jonathan’s brows were arched so high they might’ve flown off his forehead.
“Oh no she didn’t,” he declared, pushing off the lockers. “Where is she?”
“Jonathan, no—”
But it was too late. He marched straight toward the cluster of kids orbiting Angela, cutting through the crowd like he owned it.
Angela glanced up, smirking as Jonathan folded his arms. “You got a problem, diva?”
“Yeah,” Jonathan shot back. “Her name’s Victoria. She’s smart, kind, and has better taste than a neon nightmare. You could try being grateful instead of acting like you’re on reality TV.”
The crowd hushed, watching the showdown. Angela tilted her head, lips curling. “And you are?”
“Her best friend,” Jonathan said proudly.
Angela raised an eyebrow. “Cute. You two, like… study together and cry about rom-coms?”
Jonathan narrowed his eyes. “Better than crying because no one actually likes you.”
The hallway buzzed with oooohs.
Before Angela could fire back, a shadow fell over the group. Marcus.
Tall, broad-shouldered, with the kind of smirk that screamed trouble. His letterman jacket hung open, and his eyes locked on Victoria.
“Well, well. Lawson. Didn’t know you had bodyguards.”
Jonathan stiffened. “Back off, Marcus.”
Marcus grinned, stepping closer. “Or what? You’ll paint my nails?”
Snickers rippled through the crowd.
Victoria’s stomach twisted, the familiar dread curling like smoke. Marcus had always known how to make her feel small.
But before she could shrink back, Angela shifted. She didn’t step forward exactly—didn’t declare anything—but her gaze slid toward Marcus with a sharp, cool edge.
“You done?” she asked, voice low, mocking.
Marcus blinked, caught off guard. “Excuse me?”
Angela adjusted her sunglasses, not even flinching. “I said—you done? Because this is boring. You trying to scare a girl and her bestie? Lame.”
The crowd chuckled nervously.
Marcus’s jaw tightened, but something in Angela’s stare made him hesitate. Like she wasn’t impressed. Like she wasn’t scared.
He muttered something under his breath and shoved past, the crowd parting as he stalked down the hall.
The air shifted. Jonathan exhaled, shoulders dropping.
Angela smirked, sliding her sunglasses back into place. “You’re welcome.”
Victoria blinked, torn between gratitude and fury. “We didn’t ask you to—”
Angela cut her off. “Didn’t say I was doing it for you.”
And just like that, she turned back to her new crowd, leaving Victoria speechless, Jonathan fuming, and Marcus watching from a distance with narrowed eyes.
- Writer
