Operation: Loser by C. Joyce & Jessica Pham -or- Jessica Pham & C. Joyce (reading in the dark .TXT) 📖

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Copyright Statement

Clujel Joyce B. (C. Joyce) & Jessica Pham
Operation: Loser

© 2012, C. Joyce & Jessica Pham
Self publishing

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

Shay Mitchell as Chloe Willows




Zac Efron as Jake Marshall


Hayden Panettiere as Brittney Kingsley


Janel Parrish as Jasmie Ling


Hunter Parrish as Nate Dalton


Malese Jow as Clayse Ling


Robbie Amell as Ashton Anderson

~Chloe's POV.~

Loser - that's what I am. But what does the word "loser" even mean? Well, the definition is:
los·er (lzr) - [noun]
1.a) One that fails to win: the losers of the game.
1.b) One who takes loss in a specified way: a graceful loser; a poor loser.
2.a) One that fails consistently, especially a person with bad luck or poor skills: "losers at home seeking wealth and glory in undeveloped countries" - Arthur M. Schlesinger, Jr.
2.b) One that is bad in quality: That book is a real loser.
loser [ˈluːzə] - [noun]
1. A person or thing that loses.
2. A person or thing that seems destined to be taken advantage of, fail, etc. a born loser.
3. (Group Games/Bridge) A card that will not take a trick.

For anyone who's ever called someone a loser, there's the exact definition. And that's a great job you've done, dimwit: you hurt a fellow human being's feelings. Okay, sorry for those harsh words. But you

try to be your school's loser, outcast, and freak show. Then tell me how you feel.
So, my name is--

"CHLOE!" I was snapped back into reality: cold, harsh reality. And seconds later, a volleyball had been launched at my boobs. Yes, my boobs.

Jeez, that freaking hurt! It's sore as --- No, no, calm down Chloe, you don't swear.
I look up to see my school's head cheerleader, Brittney Kingsley, grinning down at me and looking like satan in human form. You know, since she is. Don't tell her that, though.
"Whoops, didn't see you there, loser," she said, dragging out the word 'loser,' making it sound longer than it really is, "my bad." Brittney then flashed me a smile as fake as her boobs, then walked away, flicking her bleach-blonde hair, and her little minions followed her after sneering at me.

"Are you okay?" my best friend Jasmine asked in concern.

"Yeah," I lied. She gave me a doubtful look, her dark brown eyes pretty much screaming "I know you're lying." That's the downside of best friends. They always - and I mean a-l-w-a-y-s - know when you're lying.

"It's okay," Jasmine cooed at me the same way you would coo at a baby. It was a little patronizing, but it was to make me feel better, so I accepted her comforting. “We'll get that bitch!" she said, and, I swear, I saw pure hatred in her dark brown eyes.

"It's fine, Jas," I tried talking her out of it. If she gets one more detention because of me, she might get expelled, and I definitely don't want that. "Thank God school's almost over!" I breathe out a tired sigh, changing the subject.

She paused a second, as if trying to remember something. "School isn't technically over... until the big game," Jasmine looked over at me with an amused smirk playing on her lips. I raised an eyebrow at her. Oh no, she wouldn't... would she?

"Oh, yes she would. And she will," she said, as if reading my mind, her smirk growing wider.

"Oh, noooo

," I groan.

"Oh, yes," She copied me.

"Come on, people, move it! Gym class is over!" our gym coach yelled, his spit flying through the air repulsively. Some guys sighed since they loved gym, while the preppy cheerleaders cheered along with me, as for some reason they also hate gym, even though they must be at least a little sporty if they're cheerleaders. But, me, I really, really hate gym. "Shower and get dressed in the school's colors, tonight's game night! Be there at seven!" Coach roared , and the jocks joined him in roaring: tonight was their night - whereas tonight was my misery.

I dragged my sore legs to the locker room, as well as my sore boobs, stripped out of my clothes and went into the shower. The warm water was a relief to my sore skin and I relished in the heat. Once I was done, I took the towel next to me, and, after covering up the majority of my body, I went back to my gym locker - only to find my fresh clothes stolen. The only thing left was my undergarments - well, sort of. My pretty blue bra had "Loser" and "Nerd" scrawled on each cup with some kind of spray paint or marker, and a weird gooey-like substance also coated the area around the word.

Great, another bra for the dump. I walked over to Jasmine's gym locker, knowing she'd be there for me.

"Hey," I said gloomily.

A frown showed up on her kind face. "Let me guess, they did it again." I nodded sadly, my head feeling heavy on my neck. She reached into her gym locker, and pulled out clothes in the same size I wear. "Here, I always begin back up," she handed me the clothes, which I took from her gratefully.

"Thanks," I said, my spirits rising a little. I quickly removed the white towel and dressed in the clothes she gave me.

“What are friends for? Oh, and can you wait for me?" Jasmine smiled as she said this, knowing full well that I'd smile back.

"Yeah..." I said lazily, when, in my mind, I was jumping with joy. A distraction from the game! Yes! I may not have to go through that torture after all!

I thought to myself, because I know how long it takes Jasmine to do her makeup. I mean, I love the girl, but she takes so long to "dress up."

It felt like about three hours and twenty minutes passed before she was eventually done. "Done! Now, let's go! It's six fifty, oh my God, we're going to be late!" Jasmine yelled, sounding like a drunk teenage girl, before taking hold of my arms. And, why did she do that? Because, of course, she knew that I'd attempt to run away if she didn't.

As we walked down the school's hallways, a few - scrap that, a lot - of the kids glared at me purely because I have the status of "loser." My heart tightened. I used to tutor and babysit those kids, and now they're sending me hateful glares. What happened to gratitude, respect?

~*~

As we entered the field, more of my classmates looked at me like I was mere dog poop.
"Come on, Chloe, let's sit over there," Jasmine pointed at a spot on the right side of the bleachers. The teens already populating that area looked at us in irritation and disgust, and quickly scooted over to the other side - as far away from me as possible. And you wonder why I hate football games.

We took our seats, and I felt my hatred for the people in the school growing more and more. They don't even know me and yet they already hate me!

"Chin up, Chlo. Jeez, don't let those bitches get you; they're just jealous." I snorted at Jasmine's poor reasoning. Please, people actually jealous of me? Jealous of what? Being the school's loser? Jasmine, though, continued talking, "also, the game started, like, seven minutes ago while your head was pretty much on the floor."

I looked up, instantly regretting it as the first thing I saw was Brittney's butt poking out from her short cheerleading skirt as she cheered and waved her pom-poms. God! Put on some panties that actually cover your butt, instead of a freaking thong! The view was horrific - to me, at least. The guys probably dig it.

After their cheer, she and the cheerleaders went over to have a seat on the bleachers. Jake Marshall appeared in front of Brittney, asking how she was and the like, but she clearly ignored him and instead planted her lips on his, attempting to suck his face off. Loud hoots and catcalls echoed around me as they kissed. Yeah, they're the school's "it couple." I felt my heart crush into tiny pieces: Jake used to be my best friend - and, worse, my crush. Each minute of seeing them kissing broke my heart a little more.

"I'm so sorry, Jazz, I have to go," I shouted at her.

"Huh?" she questioned as I walked away in the direction of my house. I didn't reply.

~*~

The ten minute walk back to my house was tiring. I know it's only ten minutes and I was acting like a spoilt baby, but my legs hurt from gym class and my heart was in tatters. I paused outside a glorious white mansion. Yep, a mansion, and, nope, it's not my house. It used to be, though. The house now belongs to the Marshall family; Jake's family. Yeah, the it boy is my neighbor. I shook my head, taking a few more steps down the street to a smaller, brown house.

I opened the door, yelling "I'm home" at the top of my