I turn towards her with a murderous gaze on my face, her satisfied smirk making my blood boil. I know this is exactly what she wants, but I can’t help myself. I can’t think straight. She just ruined my favorite pair of jeans! My comfort jeans! And I desperately needed them today. Now they’re soaked in milk. Yum, right?
“Excuse me, b***h, what’s your problem?!” I want to know, choosing a specifically attacking tone, not caring about the fact that everyone in the cafeteria is staring at us. I know I shouldn’t be making a scene. I’m more or less on probation. One wrong step and I’m flying over the doorstep.
“You. And your smelly feet,” she informs me with her arms crossed across her chest. She sends me a playful wink for good measure, making me realize something. She’s trying to prove that
