Crawford Academy

Self-hatred is such a mood cured only by stalking“Tell me again how it happened, exactly," Danika Mallick, Iris's best friend demanded. Her strong voice almost echoed throughout the empty restaurant. Both girls worked at a small French restaurant called Êtes-Vous Faim, owned by Madame Bisset - if that was even her real name. They were wearing the required uniform consisting of a pair of jeans and a T-shirt with the restaurant logo printed on it.Iris straightened from where she was wiping a table's top and giggled at the sight of Danika. Her friend stood tall with her fists on her hips, her thick, dark eyebrows raised as her cinnamon eyes glared down on Iris. Her black, glossy hair was in a high ponytail that still managed to trail down to the middle of her back. The sunset kissed her tawny skin, creating a picture Iris d

Ice Cream Does Not Make Things Better.Iris felt tears of relief crawling out of her eyes when the last bell of the day rang. She was outside the lavishly designed school, not even bothering to place everything neatly into her bag before the bell stopped ringing. She needed out. She needed out now.The day had been difficult. The students had giggled and high-fived each other when she had walked into the history classroom, insults had upgraded from whispers to outright greetings and the tripping attempts had tripled.Was there a “Pick on me! Pick on me!” sign flickering above her?But alas, the day was done and Iris was ready to shed the ‘personally hand-stitched’ uniform – she would set it on fire if she could have afforded a new one – and take the next hour to just relax; she only needed to be at the restaurant at three o’clock. Maybe spend some time in one of the internet cafes her cla

Shampoo is an Enquired Taste unlike Strawberry and Chocolate milkshakeIris ran.She didn’t even think about running away until she saw the state of Orion’s brown stained white shirt. She just twirled away in a flurry of red curls and hit the road with speed she didn’t know she was capable of. The sites of the city blurred around her as feet followed the familiar route to Etês-Vous Faim.Maybe it was minutes, maybe it was hours, Iris didn’t know, but she eventually arrived on the street housing the French restaurant and came to an abrupt stopped. She was so occupied with getting away from the Academy students that she didn’t feel her thighs burning or her shortage of breath until she was safe enough to feel it. Her chest heaved and she squatted down, mindful of her skirt, trying to calm her racing heart, thankful that she was alone.Alone?Why was she alone?Did Vic