New Girl

The laces of the large army-style boots were hidden beneath camouflage cargo pants. They came up to a slim waist and clung there for dear life. The jacket came down to the pockets, where hands were tucked, out of the way, safely nestled in cloth and lint.
She whistled as she walked, her short blonde hair swinging behind her. A few guys glanced over and went back to their girlfriends, then looked again, eyes bugging.
Her messenger bag thudded against her thigh while she looked for the right locker. She stopped in front of it and, looking from the dial to the small sheet of paper in her hand, spun the code. The latch came up, the door opened.
After placing her hoody and bag in the metal box, she headed for first hour, Stephen King book in hand. Heads turned as she walked past, most of them male. She ignored them, being used to the attention. It was always the same—good from the guys, bad from the bitches.
Room two-oh-eight was gated by several cheerleaders, doing makeup and jabbering. She swallowed and said, “Yo, sc’uze me, chicks?”
The Evil Eye came easily from these girls. A few eyes rolled and the girls went back to their ‘conversations’.
She could feel someone coming behind her. She turned.
He was an attractive guy, a bit taller than her. His hair was shaved off and a small ring pierced his left ear. His lips formed the words, “Lila, can you get your girls to move for me?”
A small, thin blonde piped up, “Girls, please, don’t be rude.”
He went through the path of girls behind Cheyenne. She was just stepping into the class when she felt her ass being grabbed by his hand.
She whipped around and slammed him into the wall. “Don’t touch me,” she growled. Her face was red. Her forearm was pressed—not lightly—against his throat.
One of the cheerleaders shrieked. Another clawed at her arm.1

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END