DemiGod Academy Chapter 3- Alia
DemiGod Academy Chapter 3- Alia da stories

aliagraceshades Kinda Sorta getting obsessed with MHA..
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Here chapter three AcaDemis! (im calling avid readers of this that now. I just am.)

DemiGod Academy Chapter 3- Alia

Cujo ended up winning BusTalk, but I made him laugh multiple times, which is an achievement for me. he normally thinks I'm too free spirited, too wild, but that's just me.

He accepts it, just like I accept when he comes home all riled up about a hot guy he met.

We sometimes just go somewhere and people watch, finding hot guys, guessing ages and if their available, that sort of junk.

I bounce down the stairs of the bus, then turn around to wait for Cujo. He disembarks with a loping gait, one hand in his pocket, one in his hair, which he once again failed to brush.

He joins me and we walk towards a bench near the center of the courtyard. Suddenly, I feel someone push me to the ground, and see Cleo Kliginhaere.

mortal enemy of the one the only, Alia Grace Sanchez. She smiles sappily at Cujo, hooking her arm through his, sighing as she lays her head on his shoulder.

She bats her overlong eyelashes, then looks down on me with a smile clearly meant to threaten me.

Cujo disengages with her, and then hold out a hand to me. I reach up to take it, but Cleo grabs it and starts swinging it by her side.

"So, Cujo, I was wondering, the Claremine cafe is having a free dinner or young couples and I was wondering if you'd like to go?" Cleo says this in a purr.

He pulls his hand out of her grasp, and this time doesn't wait for me to take it.

He grabs my arms and pulls me up, waits for me to brush my self off, all while fending off Cleo, then guides me inside the school.

I glance back over my shoulder to see Cleo pouting, her lower lip stuck out so far that a helicopter could have landed on it.

As we head to the lockers, Cujo moved at what might as well have been light speed, his longs longer than mine, so I have to jog to keep up.

Encounters with girls like Cleo make him uncomfortable, so i just keep my mouth shut till he slows down, not that I could have said anything anyway, out of breath as I was.

When we reach our lockers, I lean against it, huffing and puffing. He looks surprised at the state of me, and then smirks, trying to hide behind his locker door.

I look down at myself and see the in the brief moment that Cleo and I made contact, she had gotten her garish pink lip-gloss all over my sweatshirt.

Grateful I had tank top underneath, and an extra hoodie in my locker, I pull it over my head, and stuff it into the back, cursing Cleo and her very existence. I bask in the fresh air.

There are no windows in this wing of the halls so I can be free for a moment before putting the shirt back on.

I hear a couple giggles and a few whistles but those are silenced by Cujo, staring down the perps.

I pull on my least favorite hoodie, a faded purple thing that I had gotten for free at a yard sale. I grabbed my textbooks and then checked my face in the door mirror in my locker.

I had dirt smudged under one eye, but that would come off easy enough. I grabbed a wipe from my hygiene bag and wiped it off.

Normally I wouldn't care, but on the occasion Cujo and I got drawn, I wanted to look my best.

As soon as my lockers alms shut and iI spin the lock, We head off for Art. Cujo only joined because I am in that class, but I actually have a knack for it.

I can close my eyes and draw something so realistic that I got in trouble in elementary school because she thought it was a photograph.

I make a beeline for the seat closest to the drawing material. Other kids want to use clay or watercolors, but I am a master with a pencil and don't want to waste time on those things.

I grab a sheet of paper and put pencil down, but before I can start to draw, Cujo taps me on the shoulder. He pulls out a cell phone and looks something up.

He turns bright red and says, "Can you draw this? Well, him?" I take the phone, and see a picture of Liam Hemsworth. Cujo has been crushing on him or ages.

I begin to sketch out the chiseled features and then mark off his hairline and the scruff of his beard.

Pretty soon I have an almost exact replica of the picture Cujo gave me, but I didn't draw the background. I lightly blow on it, getting rid of any and all spare lead on the paper.

I push it over to Cujo, who smiles and turns even more red. He carefully folds it, and places it in his folder. Just then, an announcement comes one the loudspeaker.


Its time.

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