Icy Sparks by Gwyn Hyman Rubio Page B

skillets. Immediately I jumped back. “Oh, Lord!” I cried, my arms zooming out, the movements, exaggerated yet quick. “God, no!” I protested. Twirling like a funnel cloud, I longed to spin myself out. Eat my hate up. “Hateful!” I screamed. “I am hateful!” I yelled. My fingers twitched; my left hand whipped forth like a Ping-Pong paddle and slammed against my cheek. Stinging, my face jerked to the right. Then my right hand whooshed forward and hit my other cheek; my face snapped to the left. Over and over, my hands inflicted pain, first one cheek, then the other, until my face burned from the blows. “Oh, God!” I cried, whirling frenziedly. “Sweet Jesus!” I moaned, feeling the weight of God’s sky upon me, my body trembling under what I feared was His heavy, horrible sign.

Chapter 10
    â€œI cy, you’re gonna get caught,” Emma Richards said one day during lunch. “Everybody sees you copying her, making fun of everything she does. One day she’s gonna turn around from that blackboard and catch you.”
    â€œI can’t help it,” I said, chomping into an apple. “When Mrs. Stilton flicks out that tongue of hers, my tongue has a will of its own. It’s gotta do the same. When she screws up her ugly lips, my lips just naturally screw up, too.”
    â€œYou’re gonna get us all into trouble,” Emma said.
    I chewed my apple and swallowed. “I can’t help it,” I repeated. “When she whacks Peavy, my hand can’t stop itself.” I spread my fingers apart and whacked at the air.
    â€œYou’re scaring me,” she said. “If you don’t quit, something bad is going to happen. I can feel it.”
    I put down my apple and looked straight into Emma’s eyes. “I can’t help it.” I heard the tremble in my voice. “I don’t want to. It just happens.”
    Emma Richards glared at me. “If you don’t quit,” she said, “you’re gonna turn the whole class against you.”
    â€œWhy?” I asked.
    Her face turned white, and her jaw stiffened. “Because when Mrs. Stilton’s mad at you,” Emma snarled, “she makes all of us pay.”
    â€œBut I’m the only one she hates,” I said.
    â€œPeavy Lawson gets smacked ’cause he likes you,” she said. “I already told you about Lane Carlson; his hands will be next.”
    â€œLane ain’t no friend of mine,” I said angrily.
    â€œHe talks about you all the time,” she said. “He’s always bragging on you. I promise, afore too long, she’ll whack him, too.”
    â€œYou’re wrong!” I said. “Lane Carlson ain’t talking about me. I ain’t heard a peep out of him!”
    â€œSomething bad is going to happen,” she warned. “I can feel it.”
    Mrs. Stilton walked by. I nudged Emma with my elbow. “She worships idols,” I whispered.
    Emma raised her eyebrows and shrugged her shoulders.
    â€œShe thinks she’s a great singer,” I said. “This summer, she’s going to the Vatican and audition for the Pope.”
    â€œYou’re a troublemaker,” Emma sneered.
    â€œShe’s selfish,” I said. “She wouldn’t give a hungry old man a piece of cake.”
    â€œYou’re a liar,” Emma snapped.
    â€œAt night, she turns into a redheaded woodpecker.”
    â€œYou’re making that up,” Emma said.
    â€œNo,” I said, “it’s the truth. She hops up and down the trunks of trees, always hungry, looking for something to eat, working hard for her food.”
    â€œLiar!” Emma said.
    â€œNo, really!” I protested. “I got this book at home, all about her. In it, there’s this one story about a mean old woman who wears a little red cap and a long black dress. She drapes this white cape around her shoulders. And since she’s