The picture above is one I stumbled upon while browsing Google Images for inspiration. She is what I imagine when I think of my MC.
The Witch Of Logan County
If queen bee Abigail Withers called me a wannabe loser one more time, I was gonna let her have it; even if it meant I'd have to kiss a pig. Who was she to decide I wasn't cheerleader material?
Sssniff.
Warren stood behind me, next to our lockers, and I knew what the sound of his inhaler meant. I was making him nervous. Fists clenched, I felt the strange sensation of unchewed nails digging into my palms. I was not backing down. Not this time.
Your move, horse face, I thought. I had always found it poetic that Abigail's last name was so closely associated with her twin from the animal kingdom.
We'd drawn quite a crowd in the seventh grade hallway considering the final bell had sounded nearly twenty minutes earlier. Finals were over, and there was only one day left until my summer of despair.
"Better get going, Roxanne. You wouldn't want your boyfriend to have a seizure," Abigail said.
"He's not my boyfriend, and he's got asthma not epilepsy, you dolt." God, how I loved to work a vocab word into everyday conversation.
My nemesis looked stunned. Her jaw dropped and I could almost see the wheels turning as she tried to figure out what I'd just called her, searching for the definition among cheer routines, pop music lyrics and this week's new text message abbreviations. Her snappy comeback didn't surprise me.
"Whatever, loser. Have fun at your granny's this summer. Maybe she won't turn you into a frog."
***
Thanks so much for stopping by the blog today. I'm off to enjoy the other entries!
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