Have a Nice Day

Three Days of Torture

Hours of boring TV and bland box meals cooked by Crimson later, I heard the doorbell ring.

"I'll get it," Crimson assured me. Who else would? I was still handcuffed to the chair.

The second I heard the door open, I yelled. "HONA GET IN HERE NOW!"

I heard three pairs of footsteps clamber into the living room. Hona took one look at me and turned back to Crimson.

"You handcuffed her to the chair?" She scolded.

"What else was I supposed to do? She wanted to go to school!" She replied. Crimson threw her hands up in the air and plopped back onto the couch.

Hona rolled her eyes and came over to me. She knelt down next to the chair and looked up at me like I was a child that she was too tall to speak to from a standing position.

"How did you sleep?" She asked. That was the last thing on my mind.

"Hona, what's going on?" I demanded. She let a breath out and looked at the floor before she looked at me.

"Before you passed out, I found out what your dad did to you, and it's not pretty." Hona said.

"Speaking of magic, can I have mine back now, please?" I asked, holding out my other hand. Hona smiled and nodded to Feather, who went into the kitchen to grab the book.

"Do you want to know how you woke up?" She asked, waiting for Feather to come back. I shrugged. "It took almost everything to get you to wake up, but when Feather got on her Poison Apple Phone, she found a site that said what to do."

"UGH! You're too slow at explaining things, Hona!" Crimson groaned. She sat up and looked at me. "Feather made some weird chemical-ized wake-up juice and the site said to put the feet in a cold environment for the stuff to activate." 

"Crimson!" Hona said, but Crimson didn't seem to care about Hona's tone in her voice. 

By then, Feather was back and Hona quickly did the reversal spell, transferring my magic back to me. The second I could feel it back in my veins, I shot my smoke to the handcuff and burst out of the chair, standing strong now that I had my source of strength back. Hona stood too.

"What did my father do?" I demanded.

"He made you good!" Hona yelled back.

"Wait, what?"

"Your dad had enough of our evil doings, so he turned you good." Hona replied. I was stunned.

"You're joking." I said. Hona shook her head. "You have to be! You guys know me!" I looked around at each of them, all staring at me. "I'm bad to the bone, you know that!"

"Meep, we know you're bad, and that's good!" Feather said, but she made a face like she didn't understand what she had said.

"Meep, what Feather's trying to say is that we know you're the baddest out of all of us, but you're not right now. Your father did this to you, it's not your fault."

"Then what is?" I yelled. The room was dead silent other than the sound of my voice. "What is my fault anymore? I'm sorry, but I can't do this. It's like it isn't even my life anymore!"

"What are you saying Meep?" Crimson asked. 

"I'm saying that I have been pushed around by everyone this last week." I said. "My father, you guys, and now my father's spell on me."

"We're trying to help you, Meep." Feather said. 

"I know." I replied. I took a moment to pause and catch my breath. "And I need your help more than ever right now."

Hona looked at me dead center in my red eyes, but in a comforting way. 

"I get to call the shots, but if there is even a hint of good in them, you take them and throw them to the dirt." I said, staring straight at Hona. "My father won't be home until Sunday. That means I have to get through three days of being good. Can I count on all of you to help me?"

"Of course." Hona replied.

"Starting tomorrow, I am going to be a goodie-two-shoes. Never let that happen." I said. 

"Agreed." All three of them said.

This was going to be the worst three days of my life.

------------------------

The next afternoon, I walked into my English class with all of my books and binder in my arms. I took a deep breath and sat down at my desk, the way that Hona, Feather and Crimson strictly told me to do. I was not to look at Mr. Hansel, and I wasn't to talk to him unless I needed to answer a school-related question.

How hard was that going to be?

"I see that you are back after a day more than you should have taken." Mr. Hansel said, standing next to my desk. I didn't look at him, but I got my supplies out to be ready for class. "I hope that you won't be as disruptive as Monday?"

I bit my lip as I watched him walk away. 

"Alright class, get out your textbooks and turn to chapter five, we will be discussing the different types of poems." Mr. Hansel called out the second the bell rang. "Let's have someone read the first paragraph... How about Sarah?" He called on Cinderella's daughter.

As she read the paragraph, I shoved my nose in my book, knowing that my face was turning red. I could feel almost everyone's eyes on me.

"Isn't she the one that kissed Mr. Hansel?" I heard a boy whisper. I shrunk.

"No, she's the one that Mr. Hansel kissed. She must be a suck-up, such a teacher's pet." Another muttered.

"I heard that she made a move and got Mr. Hansel to raise her grade, that Mr. Hansel bribed her for it." A girl said under her breath. My face was a fire-truck red.

"Well, that's not what I heard. I heard that she made him raise her grade, and got into his head and forced him to do it with her sorcery. She's the Wizard of Oz's daughter, she has magic powers." Another girl said. I looked up from my book and saw more than half of the class turn back around in their seats, like they weren't looking at me at all.

"Let's have the next paragraph, Meep Oz." Mr. Hansel said. I looked at him with an open mouth, trying not to cry.

"Oh, right. Sorry." I said, once I realized that he was talking about the text book. I looked around the room, people getting an excuse to look at me. I quickly looked down and began to read. "There are over 50 types of poems, differentiating by how many lines there are, if it rhymes, how many words, and what the poem is about. For example, a poem could include different types of alliteration, metaphors, synonyms and antonyms. Ryhmes could be silly, sad, angering, or it could be abstract in the way you read it."

I took a breath. I was done. I looked up at Mr. Hansel, who didn't even gaze in my direction, and he picked another reader.

I was so ashamed.