Diehard Fangirl

Chapter 1

Today is the day! 

This the first thought that crosses my mind when I wake up. Actually, it’s the second thought, the first being that my dog needs a serious breath mint. Pica’s idea of a good morning wake-up call is licking my face and ears. I hate that. Especially the ears. Not only is it wet and yucky, but I hate that gooey noise. 

I will admit that she’s more reliable than my alarm clock, an old wind up clunker that probably belonged to my grandmother back in the 1800s’ or something like that. And she knows when it’s time to wake me up. No alarm clock needed for this girl. Even if I did, I wouldn’t use that tick-tocky vintage one that Mom refuses to replace. 

But all of that is destined to change today. After all, today is my birthday. 

I know I live in a world of rainbows and unicorns, purple horses and talking butterflies. At least that’s what my mom always says. But birthdays are different. Birthdays are magical and full of happiness and joy, ponies and parties. On your birthday, the world centers around you and no one can take that away. Not even Alex, my older beast of a brother who lives to punch my arm when Mom isn’t watching.

Nope. Not today. Even he has to be nice to me today. Unspoken rules of Birthday-hood.

I toss back the sheets, not caring that they fall to the floor. Not a chance that I have to make my bed today. Another benefit of being the birthday girl. No chores. No lectures. No bed-making. Of course, there’s one stupid rule that will certainly not be eliminated today, despite it being my birthday: my step-father’s weird-o rule about wearing slippers everywhere. 

“Come on, Pica!” 

She wags her white tail and grins at me. She’s a Chihuahua Rat Terrier with the most adorable face, mostly black but with two little brown dots on the sides of her mouth. When she’s happy and panting, she looks like a grinning clown. As I said, super ‘dorbs! 

“I bet Mom made chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast!”

Despite knowing that Marcus, my stepfather, will have a fit, I consciously bypass my slippers. I hate wearing slippers! In fact, I hate wearing shoes. There’s nothing better than running around barefoot. I don’t care what season it is; I just hate shoes. 

Enter Marcus on the scene and all of that changed. He has a thing. That’s what we call it: a thing. He seriously freaks out over bare feet. Something to do about time he spent in Uganda or some weirdo place like that in Africa, working as a medic. He told me gross stories of people having worms enter their bodies through the soles of their feet because no one wore shoes. 

I don’t think he appreciated my comeback that every place in Africa is a total third-world country while America is not. Besides, I bet the good ole USA has medicine to get rid of disgusting things like that. 

I admit. I did Google it later and found out that he was telling the truth, which really grossed me out. So, in the name of peace in the household, I eventually learned to honor his “thing.” The thought of bugs or worms in my feet was a little freaky and dealing with his freak-outs was totally not worth it. 

But not today! It’s my birthday. Even grumpy Marcus can’t complain. 

Shuffling barefoot across the floor, I glance in the mirror. My long brown hair is a mess, hanging down my shoulders and poofy on top. Bed head. And I have it bad. I run my fingers through the rat’s nest and flatten it. Later, when I get dressed for school, I’ll tie it up in a messy bun on top of my head. It’s my signature hair-style. I like to think I started the trend. 

I glance down at Pica who is doing her funny wiggle dance. She has to pee; I can tell. “Ready girl?” I fling open my bedroom door, half expecting to see a mound of birthday presents waiting for me on the threshold.