Mean girls like Cassandra would always get the reactions they wanted from Sketch, because she was by nature a powder keg. So instead of walking away like a smart girl would have done, Sketch shoved her chair away and got toe to toe with Cassandra, her dark eyes burning into the other girl's.
Oh, no, she did NOT just go there. Sketch was ready and willing to kill at this point. "Use my words?" she said icily. "Actions speak louder than words, or didn't you learn that in your overpriced private school for ugly rich whores?" God, she wanted to knock her out! This bitch needed to be taken down a few pegs.
"I could give a fuck what they do to me," Sketch argued. "It would be worth it just for the satisfaction of tearing your flat ass up, you crazy ass schizophrenic cunt." Putting two fingers on Cassandra's collar bone, Sketch shoved the girl backward, stepping forward to keep her face to face. "When the full moon is over I'll be fine, go back to myself. But you're always gonna be an ugly, stuck up little twat that's hears voices in her head like a goddamn lunatic, who probably blows her daddy for a weekly paycheck and, like most skanky rich girls, thinks that his money equals his love." Puffing up herself now, Sketch felt the familiar surge of adrenaline and she put this chick in her place.
"So yeah, go ahead and make your little race jokes, call me a beast, whatever you need to not feel like such a pathetic loser that's in the same boat as everyone else here."