Not His Girl

Gretchen Wieners Is Her Spirit Animal

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Excuse the mistakes

I wrote a lot of this chapter on a school computer, which for some reason didn't have working spellcheck...

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“I’m sexy and I know it!”

My eyes opened slightly, and I groaned. I could hear my phone vibrating wildly against the top of my bedside table, as well as the blasting sound of the ringtone Olive demanded I assign to her. After a moment, the somewhat annoying LMFAO song stopped, and I breathed out a sigh of relief. However, I relaxed too soon, and the song started up again.

“Dear god,” I muttered, and reached my hand out of the warm cocoon formed by my comforter, and I fumbled around on my bedside table until I grasped my phone. I pressed the send button and then held it up to my ear. “Hello?”

“I’m in your driveway,” Olive stated, bypassing even the slightest of greetings.

“What?” I mumbled, propping myself up on my elbows, “Why?”

“Like you don’t know!” Olive cried, making me wince. Then, before I could ask her to elaborate, because I really didn’t have any idea what she was talking about, the phone went dead. Instead of curling back up and falling asleep, which is what I really wanted to do on this Saturday morning, I sat up, ran a hand through my snarled hair, and prepared myself for the impending Olive attack.

Sure enough, a minute or two later, I could hear feet stampeding up the stairs. The door to my bedroom swung open loudly, and Olive hurried in. I noticed that she was a lot less put together than usual, clad in only a pair of sweatpants and a gray long-sleeved shirt. Her hair was up in a messy bun, and Olive’s skin was pale and a little puffy.

Olive hurried across my bedroom and sat down on the end of my bed. She looked at me expectantly, and when all I could give her was a blank stare, Olive groaned and threw her hands up in the air. “Seriously, Harper?” she cried, “Are you not going to tell me about it?”

“About what?” I replied, “You keep telling me I know what you’re talking about, but I’m so confused, Olive.”

Olive harrumphed and folded her arms over her chest. “Harper,” she said slowly, as enunciating every word carefully, like I didn’t speak English, “Tell me about last night at the party.”

“Oh,” I breathed, and I bit the inside of my cheek as I remembered Justin and the woods, and then Duke decking Justin in front of everyone. “Well,” I said, shoving my hands under my covers and pushing myself into a more comfortable sitting position, “Justin is an —”

“Asshole?” Olive finished, and she added, “A disgusting pig? A grabby, diseased, tool?”

“How did you know?” I asked with a frown. As soon as Duke had driven me home last night, I’d practically run up to my room, stripped out of my clothes, and dove under my covers. My cheeks were still bright red and hot with embarrassment, I’m sure even after I’d fallen asleep.

“Harper, this is high school,” Olive stated with a shrug, “Word travels fast. I found out maybe five minutes after it all went down when Monica Chess texted me about it.”

“Monica Chess?” I echoed, “How does she even have your number?” Monica was the school gossip; Like, Gretchen Wieners is her spirit animal. She knew everything that was going on in the lives of everyone in our school, and she made it her job to spread the news.