projectile vomiting thing” “I’m sorry, but that seat and the others around it are being saved for my imaginary friend Hubert and his eight fairy wives”), but then I realized that her presence could only help with my whole not-wanting-to-be-liked scheme. She’s obviously one of the school’s bottom-feeders. And besides, it’s not like she could ever seriously be my friend.
She slowly turns my lunch box, examining each of the pictures stamped into the vinyl. “I used to have a Harry Potter one in middle school, but it got stolen.” I make a sympathetic noise as I dig in to my Thai noodles.
“Do you like Harry Potter?” she asks.
I nod. Even though I haven’t seen the films, I have read most of the books.
“It’s my favorite story,” Penny says, becoming kind of quiet and wistful. “Do you believe in magic?” I consider the question as I continue chewing my noodles. Do I? Rosie is a big advocate of all things psychic and miraculous, which I guess fall into the realm of magic. Les, on the other hand, exists on Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
planet Earth a little more than my mother. Although he does believe in the healing powers of rocks, gemstones, and magnets, and he swears he once conversed with a dog.
But me? I don’t know. Sometimes I think it’s all wishful thinking—just crazy imaginations going under a new name. And yet I’ve seen too many bizarre things in my life to totally write it off as hogwash.
“Maybe,” I say after swallowing. “I guess I believe in everything a little bit. Nothing totally.”
“Yeah. There’s no such thing as witches,” she says, sounding disappointed.
“Actually, there is. I’ve met some.”
Penny’s eyes grow so wide her lids almost disappear. “Really?”
“Oh yeah. But it’s nothing like Harry Potter,” I explain. “They don’t wear pointy hats or ride brooms or anything.”
“What do they do?”
I chew another bite while trying to put it all into simple terms. “Mainly they watch the moon cycles a lot and carry around crystals. And they wear really cool ponchos.”
“Oh.” Penny goes back to studying my lunch box. She has this annoying habit of breathing through her mouth when she’s deep in thought. “Do you think he’s cute?” My eyebrows mash against each other. “Who?” I ask, afraid she might have seen me with Jack or heard something from someone else.
Penny nods toward the lunch box, where Mr. Spock is making his weird peace sign at us.
“You mean… Mr. Spock ?” I practically screech.
Penny’s back goes rigid and she starts frantically hoeing her taco salad with her spork. Her cheeks look like they’re suddenly sunburned.
I instantly feel horrible. Here I am sounding just like those perky prima donnas at the thrift store. I’m not popular here, so there’s no need to act snarky. Besides, I’m the one toting his image around.
“Of course he’s cute,” I add. “That’s why I bought it.”
“Right.” She slips into another openmouthed reverie, gazing at the front panel of my lunch kit. “You can tell just by looking at him,” she says softly. “You just know he’s nice. And really smart.”
“Uh…yeah. Great guy.” Except for his being fictional.
Over Penny’s shoulder I notice Miles perched on top of his table, staring our way. Not a slimy leer, just a really intent gaze—as if he’s been told to draw a picture of me for a major test.
I’m about to turn away when I realize he’s not the only one looking at me. Sitting at the same table—the one populated by the popular—is Caitlyn. She’s just a few bodies down from Miles, flanked by Shanna and Sharla. Shanna is pondering her manicure and Sharla is chatting away, but Caitlyn doesn’t seem to Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
be listening. She’s too busy giving me her patented bitch glare.
What the hell did I do to her?
“Do you know that
She slowly turns my lunch box, examining each of the pictures stamped into the vinyl. “I used to have a Harry Potter one in middle school, but it got stolen.” I make a sympathetic noise as I dig in to my Thai noodles.
“Do you like Harry Potter?” she asks.
I nod. Even though I haven’t seen the films, I have read most of the books.
“It’s my favorite story,” Penny says, becoming kind of quiet and wistful. “Do you believe in magic?” I consider the question as I continue chewing my noodles. Do I? Rosie is a big advocate of all things psychic and miraculous, which I guess fall into the realm of magic. Les, on the other hand, exists on Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
planet Earth a little more than my mother. Although he does believe in the healing powers of rocks, gemstones, and magnets, and he swears he once conversed with a dog.
But me? I don’t know. Sometimes I think it’s all wishful thinking—just crazy imaginations going under a new name. And yet I’ve seen too many bizarre things in my life to totally write it off as hogwash.
“Maybe,” I say after swallowing. “I guess I believe in everything a little bit. Nothing totally.”
“Yeah. There’s no such thing as witches,” she says, sounding disappointed.
“Actually, there is. I’ve met some.”
Penny’s eyes grow so wide her lids almost disappear. “Really?”
“Oh yeah. But it’s nothing like Harry Potter,” I explain. “They don’t wear pointy hats or ride brooms or anything.”
“What do they do?”
I chew another bite while trying to put it all into simple terms. “Mainly they watch the moon cycles a lot and carry around crystals. And they wear really cool ponchos.”
“Oh.” Penny goes back to studying my lunch box. She has this annoying habit of breathing through her mouth when she’s deep in thought. “Do you think he’s cute?” My eyebrows mash against each other. “Who?” I ask, afraid she might have seen me with Jack or heard something from someone else.
Penny nods toward the lunch box, where Mr. Spock is making his weird peace sign at us.
“You mean… Mr. Spock ?” I practically screech.
Penny’s back goes rigid and she starts frantically hoeing her taco salad with her spork. Her cheeks look like they’re suddenly sunburned.
I instantly feel horrible. Here I am sounding just like those perky prima donnas at the thrift store. I’m not popular here, so there’s no need to act snarky. Besides, I’m the one toting his image around.
“Of course he’s cute,” I add. “That’s why I bought it.”
“Right.” She slips into another openmouthed reverie, gazing at the front panel of my lunch kit. “You can tell just by looking at him,” she says softly. “You just know he’s nice. And really smart.”
“Uh…yeah. Great guy.” Except for his being fictional.
Over Penny’s shoulder I notice Miles perched on top of his table, staring our way. Not a slimy leer, just a really intent gaze—as if he’s been told to draw a picture of me for a major test.
I’m about to turn away when I realize he’s not the only one looking at me. Sitting at the same table—the one populated by the popular—is Caitlyn. She’s just a few bodies down from Miles, flanked by Shanna and Sharla. Shanna is pondering her manicure and Sharla is chatting away, but Caitlyn doesn’t seem to Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
be listening. She’s too busy giving me her patented bitch glare.
What the hell did I do to her?
“Do you know that
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