Survival of the Bitchiest

Usually it hits in seventh grade, infecting all female 12 year olds like a plague. For me and my friends, it came a little early.

"You should really get a nose job, Kelly."

"Yeah, Kelly, it would fix that under bite of yours."

"Too bad it won't fix the width of those hips, though!"

BITCH FEVER.

It all started at the lunch table. There were seven of us, and guess how many could sit at the lunch table? Only SIX. (This little random side fact is of no importance now, but it will come into play later.) I was the newb back then. I guess you could say I had intruded on "The Six," but they didn't care, for it was I, Natasha Lee Ferrier, who introduced them to a whole new side of pre-teen obsession:

PERV FEVER.

That's right. You said it, I'd decode it.

"This hot dog is so big!"

"Whoa, Tess, what does THAT mean?"

"BAHAHAHAHA NATASHA YOU'RE SUCH A PERV!"

"I can't believe it's been raining all day. I'm so wet!"

"Whoa, Tara, keep those comments to yourSELF!"

"BAHAHAHA NATASHA YOU'RE SUCH A PERV!"

"Want some chicken?"

"Chicken?"

"Yeah, chicken?"

"Whoa, Tina, I don't know if you should be offering me your chicken."

"What?"

"I think you should save your chicken for the roosters, if you know what I'm sayin."

"Uhhh...no not really."

"You know...chicken...CHICKEN...chickennnnnn..."

"BAHAHAHAHA NATASHA YOU'RE SUCH A PERV I still don't get it."

(There were those times when I tried a little too hard.)

So after Perv Fever wiped out 6 of our most promising 6th grade honor-roll students, Bitch Fever struck. Personally, I was completely content with being Perv Natasha, but times change, and I had to succumb to the evil doings of...Bitch Natasha.

"So, there are seven of us."

"And only 6 can sit here!"

"And Ms. Strings said that if she sees seven of us at this table one more time---"

"---she'll suspend us!"

"Guys, I can't get suspended! I'm only 12 years old!"

"Yeah guys, we have our whole lives ahead of us!"

"We can't throw our lives away for one thrill! One dare! One stupid MISTAKE!"

"Guys, I have an idea."

Whip!Whip!Whip!Whip!Whip!Whip!
(the sound of 6 heads whipping to Perv With the Plan)

"Let's play SURVIVOR!"

"AND VOTE SOMEONE OFF?"

"Yes!"

"GREAT IDEA!"

"Yeah! Man I thought we'd never find a fair and just way to do this!"

"We'll all choose one person to vote off---"

"---and whoever has the most votes, is gone."

"FOR GOOD."

"For good!"

"For good!"

"For good!"

"For good!"

"For good!"

"For good!"

"We'll whisper our votes to Tara."

(Tara was always the mediator. The neutral. The one who saw both sides. Basically, the boring one.)

Sppppssspppssppppssppp...

"Okay, I have a winner."

"Or loser."

"Or outcast."

"Well I have it."

"Just say it."

"I don't want to say it."

"Why not? You agreed to hearing all the votes!"

"But I didn't agree to saying it."

"That makes it so anti climatic, Tara."

"That's okay. It should be subtle. That way the person isn't embarrassed."

See? BORING.

"JUST SAY IT."

"I'll tell Natasha."

"What?"

"I'll tell you, then you say it out loud."

"Why me?"

"Cause you're the only one who will do it!"

"Okay."

Bitch Fever.

Sppppssspppssppppssppp...

"Okay, I got it."

"Say it!"

"How about I do something besides saying it?"

"Like..."

"I'll close my eyes."

"Okay..."

"And when I open them, the first person I turn my head to and make eye contact with, is the one who got voted off."

Yeah, baby! Look who knows how to make a soap opera ending! Natasha 'Bitch' Ferrier, that's who.

Blink.

...Blink.

...blinkblink...

blink...

...BLINK BLINK BLINK!

She had to have known. I was looking right at her. No one else. Just her. And I was blinking like a maniac. Staring. Blinking. Nodding. Feeling uncomfortable. Then feeling really, really annoyed...

"IT'S YOU, TINA. YOU'VE BEEN VOTED OFF. YOU. TINA. YOU'RE GONE. I'M SORRY."

It would have been much easier if she had just accepted my blinking instead of staring at me like a retarded iguana.

"Sorry, Tina."

"Sorry, Tina."

"Sorry, Tina."

"Sorry, Tina."

"See ya, Tina."

And that's how bitches roll.