To be honest, high school fucking sucked.
Anya went from class to class, listening to old white men babble on about physics and Spanish and some guy named Shakespeare, while the children around her either scribbled away furiously or paid absolutely no attention to the blithering teacher at the front of the classroom. She spent more time watching the little shits buzz around the school than anything else, trying to figure out why the hell they were doing what they were doing and how she could mimic them effectively.
It was one thing to play the part of a snotty teenage girl; it was entirely another to actually be one. Anya hated it. Luckily, one of the first things she picked up on was the overuse of curse words, whose use she learned fluently.
There was one little shit, Jonathan, who kept his eyes fixed firmly on the ground except for when someone would deliberately step in front of his path and he would look up, startled. He was amusing to watch, as he seemed to be able to focus so intently on his shoes that Anya thought they must be truly fascinating. She stared at them for a long time during one of the many classes she ignored, but was unable to find any interest in the roughened, dirty Reeboks that might draw someone's attention. She finally concluded that he was just weird as hell.
"Hey, weird little person," she said to him one day; it startled him so that she was talking to him that he walked right into a column, and she waited impatiently for him to stand up and collect his books. Before he could even open his mouth to respond, she said fiercely and quickly, "Buy new sneakers. Those aren't interesting in the least," before hurrying to the history class she slept through. She'd already lived through history; why on earth would she want to talk about it again? It was boring when it happened.
The little shit--whose name she later discovered on accident was Jonathan--didn't buy new sneakers, but he looked at her fearfully whenever she came near, which was almost as good. She missed the scent of fear on a human when her presence was realized. Now, if she was within a few feet of his trembling, annoying person, she would toy with her hair and smile in satisfaction, remembering the feel of the change that came over her face whenever she was about to grant a wish.
She missed the feel of silver around her neck, the weight of a stone against her chest. She missed traveling through space and time, and being able to get a mocha at that place in San Torino in 1992 without so much as a blink. She was beginning to forget the feel of a curse uttered from her lips, the itch of a spell on her palms, the rise of power through her spine.
It was these things that drove her to lose herself in ridiculous Xander Harris, who, while completely unable to understand what she was going through, was pretty and bendy and willing to do whatever she said if she put her mouth on his cock. That was something like power she used to know; and so, like that little shit Jonathan, she exercised it for all its worth.
words © SA. characters, show, and people not mine. no infringement is intended.