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standing on his own. He was pulling at teeth with his thumb and forefinger to see if any of them might be loose. She smiled and her knee hurt less.
    ***
    “That’s because she is fat,” Angela said. “She wants to cry about it, push away from the table, bitch, is what I say.” The two girls sitting on either side of the tall redhead laughed. “I’m so serious.”
    The bell had rung, but everyone was still waiting on Mrs. Bule to get there, which was fine by Angela. She was just seven short periods away from freedom and a kick-ass party. Everyone was talking about it, but not everyone was going. It was Thursday and they had their curfews to think about. This was what she liked about going to parties thrown by people who were past the thumb-sucking, my-parents-might-come-home, high school stage, like Michael. Their testicles had dropped, they had their own place, and they could dance and drink as long as their free hearts desired.
    The dark-haired girl sitting to her left responded, “I think he deserved a kick in the balls for even liking that skanky girl.”
    She barely heard her friend. “Yeah.” Angela frowned, then smiled. “Oh. I forgot to tell you I’m so going to Michael’s party with Nathan.”
    “Awesome,” the girl on Angela’s right chimed.
    Lefty made a squealing sound: an E that went on too long. “He is so damn hot.”
    “He is so damn lucky ,” Angela laughed.
    Righty slapped her hand, then frowned. “I wish my mom was as cool as yours. She still won’t let me go.”
    Children , she thought . “Yeah that sucks,” Angela said. “Too bad for you your mom’s a bitch.” She laughed. Righty and Lefty laughed right along.
    “Angela.” Mrs. Bule’s voice was exhausted and more than a little angry. “Outside. Right now.” She beckoned her with a blur of fingers and walked out of the classroom.
    Angela sighed and clenched her teeth, stalking at the door, moving through it like a gust of air. Mrs. Bule pushed at her cheek with her tongue and closed the door.
    The tall redhead stood, arms crossed, lips drawn together, eyes to her direct right. “Yes, ma’am,” she said.
    “You can’t talk like that in my class, Angela.”
    Black Oaks was a town of less than four thousand people. It was a small place with little to offer, and that, Angela thought, was the main reason she got stuck with subpar, control freak educators like JoAnn Bule who probably never stuck her head more than six hours outside of the woods that were this pointless town. Why her parents chose to subject her to this sort of place was still a mystery to her.
    “Listen. I cussed. Apparently that bothered you. I’ll… be more careful or something.”
    Bule sighed. “What you said was offensive and disrespectful. You want to try that apology again.”
    “It’s just a stupid word. I can’t believe this is how we’re spending the period. Seriously, and I’m not trying to be rude, but I have a straight A average, I’m in cheerleading, and my parents pretty much built our new football field. And we’re talking about a four-letter word. That’s offensive to me.”
    Mrs. Bule’s face turned very cherry-like. Her words caught in her mouth causing her cheeks to expand. Angela hoped she would slap her or grab her. She would love to wave good-bye as they hauled Bule’s happy ass out of the building.
    “You,” Bule managed. “are not in my class today. Go sit in the principal’s office. I will be right behind you, Miss Billingsley.”
    “Seriously?” Angela said. Her voice rose, her hot pink lips spread in disgust.
    “No more.” Bule wagged her finger far too close to Angela’s face for her liking. “You don’t say any more. Go.”
    Angela spun on her heel and began marching down the hall, fists clenched. She didn’t need this. She was there to learn—which seemed like a lot to ask—not be yelled at by low-rent people like that . Rounding the corner, her shoes squealing on the tile.
    “Bitch,” she said,