Domination (12+)(Hurray for story time)

C h a p t e r - o n e : : :

“Lunch box?”

“Check.”

“Money?”

“Check.”

“Pictures?”

I fished around in my sky blue messenger bag and pulled out a handful of pictures of my Nagaokakyou friends. And there they all were, making goofy poses at the camera. Shelby was sticking her tongue out, Rachel was doing a peace sign, and Kara had her fist in the air and her head tilted down, rock-star style. I offered a weak smile at the pictures, and my stomach churned at the sight of my best friends. I stuffed the pictures back into my bag and looked up at my mom.

Her kind face was molded into a smile, and curly, fiery red bangs stopped just short of her eyes. Her grassy-green eyes that had been passed into me. She hugged me, squishing me against her plump body. When she let go, two tall boys rode past our house on skateboards, snickering. I felt my face burn.

“Be good, okay Savannah? You’ll make lots of new friends, I promise.”

Of course, all parents say that when their oldest daughter goes off to school for the first time in a new place. My mother was just saying it to cushion the blow of moving across the country because her husband had taken a stupid job in Florida.

I nodded at my mother anyway and slapped a Haruhi Suzumiya sticker onto my messenger bag. Now I was ready.

I turned and walked down the gravel walkway, and onto the sidewalk. I slung my short body over my bike and pedaled in the direction of Miyazu Middle School. The purple bike gleamed in the sun, which seemed exceptionally bright—too bright for Day One of school in Miyazu.

I thought of The Clique. Some people know it as a gay book about Massie Block, a seventh-grader that dominates a school and who just so happens to point out bra sizes when describing girls.

But no—I’m thinking about the real cliques. The ones that keep you rolling around in fear every night, the ones that split people apart into groups—the ones that dominate schools. People do not dominate schools—the cliques do. But I’m not going to try and split cliques up if they are existent in my school. That’s what the Bratz are for.

Where I came from, the word “clique” was foreign. It was practically a curse. Sure, there were friends, but they all did different things. There were no polyester-wearing geeks with bug-eye glasses, no dumb, square-jawed jocks, and no preppy cheerleaders. Everybody was equal, they just did different things. I liked it in Nagaokakyou.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, I thought, pedaling slightly faster. You aren’t even there yet. Savannah, cliques don’t exist. If they didn’t in Nagaokakyou, why should they in Miyazu? The only difference was that Nagaokakyou was in Washington, and Miyazu is in Florida, United States.

My legs worked faster. I missed everyone in Nagaokakyou. Why did my dad have to take the stupid job? He wasn’t getting as much pay, he had longer hours, and the worst part was that my little sister was all exited, screaming about how she’s going to be so freakin’ popular amongst the fourth-graders. Why couldn’t she act like any normal human and be nervous? Why was she so excited about school, when I was so nervous?

Holy crap, you're an epic writer. XD
CTS.

The first story on Taisaku Maryoku Kurabu... It's awesome!!

Thanks. ^-^

Yay more story time.

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C h a p t e r – t w o : : :

After locking my bike, I went inside the white building. I located my locker with some help from a teacher, much to other students’ amusement. I twirled the lock, clicked it open, and slapped my friends’ pictures on the locker walls. Shelby’s tongue, Rachel’s peace sign, and Kara’s rock-star look brought a feeling of Nagaokakyou. I examined my schedule. Where was room fourteen?

A girl with a sparkly pink spaghetti strap top and light-wash skinny jeans walked by. I grabbed her frail-looking arm and pulled her over to me. “Er, hi, I’m new here and I was wondering if you knew where room fourteen was?”

She wrenched her arm away from me and walked over to her friends, who looked exactly like her, except different-colored tops. They looked and me from their huddle and burst into giggles. Mrs. Red-shirt waltzed over to me and smiled. “Listen, freckle-face”—I immediately reached up to my freckle-covered cheeks—“Stephanie does not like being bothered by new people. Especially ones that aren’t on the dance team. So screw off.”

She went back to the group, and their buttery-blond heads disappeared into the crowd, shrieking with laughter. I felt my face burn.

As a result, I was five minutes late to art class.

And Algebra.

And Language Arts.

I was relieved when lunch finally came around. The cafeteria was large, and the tables were a neon-orange. The walls were electroshock blue, and the lunch line stretched for what seemed like a mile. I walked around the tables, examining. Everybody at a table seemed to be wearing the exact same clothing, daring to vary only for color and hair style. At one table, cheerleaders in orange-and-blue uniforms were huddled together, giggling.

“Hi!” I said, smiling. One girl with silky brown hair and shiny pink lip gloss made a disgusted face.

“Oh my God,” she said. “Why are you by our table? Get away, loser. You’re not on the cheer team.”

They exchanged a round of high fives that sounded like gunshots. I looked around the cafeteria. There was one table that was empty. I smiled and speed-walked to it. But boys in blue-and-orange soccer jerseys claimed it first.

I looked around again. Damn, doesn’t anyone want to co-mingle? Is it too advanced for their one brain cell? I sighed, and Mrs. Pink-shirt waltzed over to me.

“Why don’t you go to the new-people table?” she smiled, pointing to a table right by the bathrooms. “You’ll fit in perfectly. There are six”—she held up six fingers—“people at the table. If you go over there, there will be seven.” She put another finger up.

“I’m not an idiot,” I told her, gripping my white lunch tray. “Though you are, I am not. But thank you for telling me where to sit. Why don’t you go sit over there?” I pointed to a table where boys decked out in black were sitting. They were taking turns punching the bright orange table, which violated their only-black rule.

“Why don’t you?” she fired back, giving me a little push.

Without another word, I stomped my black Converses on her Prada heels and walked to the table by the bathrooms. I didn’t bother asking to sit there; I just slammed my tray onto the table and plopped into a white chair. I leaned back and crossed my arms.

“You got owned too?”

I looked up at a girl with dark-red pigtails. She bore a half-smile and rainbow arm warmers, like me. The same arm warmers, I mean. I didn’t feel like smiling.

“Yeah,” I replied.

“That happened to me on my first day,” said a boy with dusty brown hair and bangs that covered his green eyes. “Except it was the soccer jock.”

“Same here,” said a girl with dusty brown hair and pink glasses. She looked like she could be his sister. “Except the gothic people got me.”

“We need to do something!” said the redhead.

“Like?” asked the girl with the glasses.

“Break up the cliques and stereotypes!”

“Give me a break!” I cried. “We aren’t the Bratz! Honestly, I want to get through my first-day lunch in peace. This school is so dramatic.”

I opened my Haruhi Suzumiya lunchbox and pulled out a classic PB&J. I bit into it and the three other “new people” fell silent.

go leaf. XD

I can't believe you used my name for a person of that uglitude!

Percussion is SOOO much better than dance.

<3

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C h a p t e r – t h r e e : : :

The first day seemed to repeat itself over and over throughout Week One. I’d dare and ask people where to go each day. So Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, the redhead (whose name was Lola) kept suggesting we go Bratz on the school. Each day I would repeat to her that we were just normal people, not in a movie, not in Hollywood.

Meanwhile, at the elementary school, my little sister Hannah had been right. She was popular amongst the fourth-graders. She never had to ask where a class was because she walked to it, and she sits with different people every day. Because “Everybody wants to sit by me, I want to give them all a chance.” Is she lying, or what?

Needless to say, I was thoroughly enjoyed when Saturday rolled around. I could curl myself up in my bed and read Harry Potter all day, stopping occasionally to play on my computer, get on Neoseeker and MSN.

But my happiness faded when I went downstairs for breakfast. I seated myself at the table, and Hannah sat directly across from me. Once my mom and her husband (I shun the name “father” or “dad” now) were seated, Hannah said the first words.

“Mom? Dad?” she started, her voice coated in fake sweetness. “I was wondering if one of my friends from school could come over today!”

“That seems like a great plan!” cried my mom’s husband. “Which one?”

“Her name is Jackie. She’s really cool,” said Hannah, ladling fake sweetness onto all of her words. “Please? We’ll stay quiet, I promise.”

“That sounds fine. She can come around two and stay for dinner,” said my mom, smiling. “Why don’t you call her now and say that it’s okay?”

“YAAAY!” Hannah yelled, skipping over to the portable phone in the hallway, and abandoning her toast. I could hear her giggling up the stairs, and I glared at my mom and her husband.

“You’ll let her invite one of her midget friends, just like that?” I said, crossing my arms. “You’ve never met her, or heard about her! All you know is ‘Her name is Jackie. She’s really cool.’ That never happened when I was her age!”

“We were in Na—” she cut herself off before she mentioned the name. Her husband breathed loudly out of his nose. “We were in a different place. And here, everybody seems nice. It feels . . . right.”

“Your mother is right,” said her husband, stroking his dirty-blond mustache. “People are nice here. Take my boss, for example.”

“She’s known the midget for three days!” I yelled, rising to my feet. I could feel my temper boiling inside me like lava in a volcano. It was all blowing out. “Probably less than that, even! And your boss is stupid, making you move across the country for one stinking job—”

“You should be happy your sister is making friends!” my mom fired back. “I will not tolerate this at all! Go to your room, now!”

I pushed the chair into the table with a slam and stormed up the stairs, stomping my bare feet into the cream-colored carpet with every thundering step. My temper had never gotten out of control this much before. But needless to say, I was pretty pissed. My nine-year-old sister was out making friends in three days, my parents (or should I say, my mom and her husband) were trusting her enough to let her come over for dinner, and not even question about her at all! It’s just “Her name is Jackie. She’s really cool. Please?” I had to give out details of where she lived, how they’d get here and home, their parents, blah-duh-blah.

I reached the second-floor landing, where I walked across the landing’s sitting room and through a white door. There was my room. I slammed the door closed and, seething with rage, plopped myself onto my bed. I clenched the sky blue covers. Why was I so angry? I was never this mad before.

Heaving a sigh, I sat up and walked over to my desk. I sat down, opened up my Windows Vista, and loaded up MSN. I wanted to talk to my friends.

Savannah says: Guise! I miss you! D8
Kara says: OHMYGAWDSAVANNAH. We thought you’d been abducted!
Rachel says: Yeah, you haven’t gotten on MSN since you m-word-ed.
Shelby says: Tsk-tsk.
Savannah says: Sorry. Hannah Banana is being such a little nasty. D8<
Savannah says: She keeps screaming about how she’s got so many friends and one of the midgets is coming over today and staying for dinner. The only information was “Her name is Jackie. She’s really cool. Please? We’ll be quiet, I promise.”
Shelby says: EHMAGAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWD!
Kara says: OMFG~~ Bratfest at Tiffany scream! EHMAGAAAAWD!
Rachel says: EHMAGAAAAAA *continuously uses A for three lines straight, lower-case* AAWD!
Savannah says: I wish I was there. ;-;
Kara says: Got any new friends? =D

My hands were poised over the keyboard, but I was at a loss of words. Should I tell them? I couldn’t lie, but I couldn’t tell the truth.

Savannah says: Oh crap, I have to go. Bye! <3
Savannah has left this conversation.

This is really, really good, Lavvie. XD

CTS!

Stephanie, you've got a friend coming up. </3

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C h a p t e r – f o u r : : :

It was two o’clock.

Hannah Banana’s friend was ringing the doorbell wildly. As nobody dared to answer the door, I closed out of Neoseeker, lifted myself out of my desk chair, and shuffled downstairs to answer the door. Right as I was reaching to get the door, Hannah came down yelling “NO! NONONONONO! LET ME GET IT!” She pushed me into the wall and wrenched the door open, revealing a girl with pale-blond hair. She was smiling widely and her bangs fell to her eyelashes. She turned and waved at the black convertible, which sped off.

“Hannah!” she cried, hugging my sister.

“Lauren!” Hannah yelled back. The two raced upstairs, leaving me leaning against the wall. I sighed, and then climbed back up to my room to post around on Neoseeker.

I logged on as UrMom (a dare via Kara) and checked to see who was online. So far, Fengjheng, Ravenmichele, Bramble Jenn, and Icecreamguy321 were on. I clicked on my.neoforum, and then looked in the Writers’ Lounge. >>The Study<<, last replied by IronFistQueen.

“What’cha doing?”

I actually screamed. I quickly pressed X on Neoseeker, and turned around. Lauren was smiling at me, her long blond hair pulled back by a pin that looked like the Windows logo. I offered a weak twitch of my lips.

“What are you doing?” she pressed.

“I’m about to play The Sims 2,” I replied, opening up Sims 2 FreeTime.

“Can I watch you?” she inquired, twirling a strand of hair.

“Sure.”

Sims 2 opened, and I made a new town, Miyazu. I went into Create-A-Sim and started making my family. I made my mom, with her curly red hair and grassy green eyes; her husband, with dirty-blond hair and brown eyes; myself, with the grassy eyes and brown hair; and Hannah, with dirty-blond hair and brown eyes.

“Can I make me?” Lauren questioned, reaching for the mouse. I gently pushed her hand away.

“I’m making my family. The family that lives in this house. You don’t live here,” I replied, going into Family Connections and making everybody related.

“Oh.”

“Why aren’t you with Hannah?”

“Cause she has to do chores.” She said the word “chores” like one would say “sex” under the parental radar. “Can you believe it? Chores.”

“No, I—I can’t imagine such a horrible thing,” I gasped, my tone dripping with sarcasm. Lauren didn’t pick up on it.

Her eyes widened. “I know! It’s so horrible! Oh my God, the stove’s on fire!”

I turned my attention to the monitor, which had my mom’s husband standing by a fire going insane. A smirk was plastered across my face—of course her husband had caused the fire. And there was no fire alarm. I watched her husband get engulfed in the digital flames . . . then realized Lauren was behind me, watching.

“Y-you shouldn’t be seeing this,” I sad hastily, closing my laptop. So what if we all died? We would anyway in Miyazu. “And did you, as a nine-year-old, say ‘Oh my God?’”

“My sister Toshi taught it to me,” Lauren beamed, as if knowing this stuff in fourth grade was a big accomplishment in life. “She also told me about cuss words and sex.”

My mouth hung open. What kind of older sister would teach a nine-year-old about “OH MY GOD,” cuss words, and sex? Isn’t nine a little young?

“I think you may have seen Toshi around your school. She has my hair, my eyes, and on the first day she wore a glittery red shirt and skinny jeans. Recognize that description?”

I nodded. So Toshi was the one that had told me to screw off. For a second, Lauren sounded my age—thirteen. She didn’t seem like a nine-year-old brat like Hannah Banana. She actually seemed like a mature person.

“Yeah, I know her,” I said, opening my laptop again to find the urn of her husband, and Hannah was apparently taken by a social worker. My mom’s and my needs were almost bottomed out, but at least we were alone. No husband, no Hannah Montana. How I wished to be in The Sims right now, to be just alone with my mom.

It seemed like my sims had it made.

“Lauren?” I could hear footsteps outside my door. Hannah burst into the room and walked over to Lauren. “Laura, why are you with my evil older sister? Did she stuff a banana in your ear?”

“I’d rather stuff it in yours, Hannah Banana,” I mumbled, audible enough only for me to hear. Hannah pulled Lauren out of the room, and I already had plans for Monday. They dealt with Toshi, lunch, and Lauren.

A BANANA IN MY EAR?

I really like your story Beth. I think you're a very talented writer. ^^

YESH, PUT A BANANA IN YUR EER. >=[

But thanks guys, I've actually got through chapter seven typed up in Word, I've been updating on another site, where I never got any comments. ;-;

I'll put up chapter five when I feel like it.

I feel like it.

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C h a p t e r – f i v e : : :

Saturday passed and so did Sunday. Monday drifted by, and I wasn’t entirely sure if my plan would work. Hopefully I’d walk to Toshi’s table at lunch; whisper something inaudible to her friends in Toshi’s ear, and in despair, Toshi would give and come to my table. Thus, her friends would be mad at her, sitting at the noob table is unforgivable. They would expel her from the dance team, and Toshi would have nowhere to go but the noob table. Simple as that, she’ll become our friend soon. Yes, it’ll be forced, and yes, I’m going a little Bratz, but does it matter? No. It does not.

I walked into the cafeteria, Suzumiya lunchbox in hand, and immediately saw her—a bright-red tube top, light wash short-shorts, and knee-high fiery red boots. Her long blond mane was pulled back with a barrette in the shape of a T. I gripped the handle on my lunchbox and casually walked over to the dance team table. Once arriving there, I smiled at Toshi.

“Hi, Toshi,” I said, smiling. She looked at me, rolled her eyes.

“What do you want?” she asked, tossing her shiny locks behind her shoulder. I bent over and whispered into her ear.

“Your sister Lauren came over to my house on Friday,” I began. “She told me you taught her about ‘oh my God,’ cuss words, and sex. She gave me your home number. I can call up your parents and be a snitch.”

I straightened up and, in a normal voice, said “So, Toshi, want to sit with me today?”

“Get lost,” she said back, exchanging an eye-roll with the all-blond dance team. I started to walk away, took out my white iPod Touch (a moving gift from Shelby, Rachel, and Kara) and pretended to dial a number. This fake trick would probably never work, but I sat at my table and pretended to make a call.

“What are you doing?” asked Shaye, the girl with the red hair. “Making a call?”

I held up my index finger for silence. Even though the cafeteria was overflowing with chat, I could hear the scraping of a lone chair across tiles. I pretended to hang up, just as Toshi sat down between Dusty (the guy with the dusty brown hair—shocker, right?) and Danielle (his twin). She looked at me as if to say: If you called her you’re dead meat. You’ll start out next semester two feet tall and with seven casts. I simply smiled, and nodding, to say that I hadn’t called yet. Toshi breathed a sigh of relief.

This was when I noticed Shaye was staring at Toshi with her mouth agape.

“What?” Toshi snapped, popping a grape in her mouth. “You’ve never seen me before? Is that possible?”

“Not up close I haven’t, your Toshi-ness, ma’am,” Shaye said. “But I have been seeing you afar. You seem cool.”

“I don’t only seem cool. I am cool. Hey, you two, with the brown hair? Are you two new here? I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

Dusty scratched the table, as if trying to get a stubborn Chef Boyardee spaghetti stain off of it. “We’ve lived here for the past eight years.”

Danielle nodded, her high-pigtailed ringlets bouncing. “Yeah. Don’t you live like three blocks away from us?”

“Sorry,” said Toshi, eating another couple of grapes. “I must not’ve noticed you.”

Danielle and Dusty examined their sandwiches as I did mine. Mine was a classic PB&J cut diagonally inhalf, Danielle’s was tuna-fish on white, and Dusty’s was plain jelly on whole wheat. I took a bite. Toshi didn’t seem very happy about her new seating arrangement, and no doubt the people on the dance team were making fun of her or plotting ways to get her back for going to the noob table. But it didn’t matter. As long as I had taken at least a little step just for justice, it didn’t matter to me.

~*~*~*~

Toshi sat with us all through that week. I could see the dance team occasionally making violent gestures at our table and yelling at Toshi. Once, the Head Dancer (Lady Pink) had yelled “You traitorous bitch!” across the cafeteria, and pointed right at Toshi. Everybody had laughed, I felt bad, but Toshi held her head up high.

I had never paid attention to the gym class roster or the students, and it turned out that Toshi was in gym with me. After changing into my gym clothes, I stood beside Toshi while doing jumping-jacks.

“Hey, sorry about what happened in the cafeteria,” I said. “You know, about Lady Pink calling you a traitorous swine”—you had to be careful what you say around the teachers, they have ears that can sense the smallest movement—“and, yeah.”

“You shouldn’t be sorry,” Toshi mumbled, reaching down to her toes. “It wasn’t your fault. Her name is Staphanie, by the way.”

“Partly it was. I went Bratz on you when I should’ve just left you be.” I wanted to say. But I bit my tongue and kept from saying it.

Since then, Toshi never, ever talked at the lunch table. Not even when people stopped to congratulate her on dancing, to do anything. She never said anything when Stephanie yelled “traitorous bitch” across the cafeteria. And I knew that my plan had far from worked. It had torn a girl from her best friends.

I wrote, in permanent black sharpie on the table: Never listen to the Bratz. The Bratz are a lie. – Savannah Neff

*applause*

You rock at writing !

*sniffle*



*sniffle*

Good job Beth. You did great with that. Have you wrote any other stories before?

Guise, I'd like constructive comments, not comments like "OMG UR STORI IZ AWESUM ONESHIFT11!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!". Be constructive, tell me things I can improve on or something.

Livi: *bows*

Tonks: Don't ready this, too innosence-ruining for yur kiddie eyes. If you want to continue reading, be my guest, but be warned.

Haruhi: Yesh, I've written several other stories before. ^-^

Serenity: *nosebleed*

I don't feel like opening word and retrieving the next chapter, but I felt like responding to comments anyway. ^o^ Thanks everyone, for your comments.

Well, I thought you did a good job. You did use the Bratz term alot, so you could change that.
I just posted a beginning part of a story. It isn't as good as your's but...

Why am i having a nosebleed?!?!

Well, Savannah hates teh Bratz. D:

Haruhi, you're saying this to someone two years younger than you.

Serenity, I'm having the nosebleed. Silly.

I'm working on a thing right nao, but I'll put in the next chapter when I'm finished.

then why does it say serenity: nosebleed?

I was replying to you all. SILLY. ><

I'll get in whatever I have left tomorrow morning before I leave for vacay. Ron is coming with me, so you can't enjoy either of our prescence. ;-;

_{Not that you enjoy HIS prescence... Or mine.}

I enjoy your's Beth. ^^

yush, bow to orizaki-sama.

Kasumi Light wrote:Guise, I'd like constructive comments, not comments like "OMG UR STORI IZ AWESUM ONESHIFT11!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!". Be constructive, tell me things I can improve on or something.

Livi: *bows*

Tonks: Don't ready this, too innosence-ruining for yur kiddie eyes. If you want to continue reading, be my guest, but be warned.

Haruhi: Yesh, I've written several other stories before. ^-^

Serenity: *nosebleed*

I don't feel like opening word and retrieving the next chapter, but I felt like responding to comments anyway. ^o^ Thanks everyone, for your comments.

.-. I ain't that mini