Sleepyhead

Chutzpah

A few months ago I went through a phase in which I frequently set up elaborate operations with Ari and my best mate from home Rachel. We’d all thought we were super agents or something, going about pulling pranks on teachers and setting up other mates and getting all of Ari’s rivals kicked off the football team. It was all fun and games until we tried to scorn some bloke who cheated on Rachel, but left a copy of the file on our desk in American History class and eventually were sent to the Dean’s office and put through a series of terroristic torturing techniques until we confessed to everything we did. Ever.

Let’s just say things got a bit weird from there on out for Ari, Rachie, me, and old Dean Kelly. Suppose he didn’t want to know that Ari and I shagged on his desk the week before or that Rachel threw up in the chili bowl in the lunchroom and didn’t bother cleaning it up.

And then there was that one time that Rachel and I were cutting class and stumbled on Dean Kelly and Ms. H getting busy in the teacher’s lounge. And I’m sorry, but even I couldn’t keep that one to myself.

So with my past experience at operations, I should have been an expert.

You know, I had warned them not to write it down.

Alright. Astrid warned us not to write it down. But Reed had insisted on a hardcopy and I just liked the smell of warm, recently printed paper. And so we completely disregarded the opinion of the ginger girl and printed ourselves a nice copy. 

You know, I’m thinking we might need to start listening to The Strid.

“Where did you get that?” Reed asked carefully, taking a half a step forward and leaving Astrid and me in the back to shiver in our boots. Or rather in my brand new heels and in her classic flats. But you get the metaphor, right?

Winnie was fuming. Not just fuming, she was spurting out anger bullets through the pours in her skin. She looked like she was about to explode with rage and splatter us all in her goopy fury. But you know, she still looked fabulous in her J. Crew ensemble, looking for more sophisticated and worldly than I could have ever dreamed. “Found it in that one’s—“ her finger jabbed accusingly in my direction, “—bunk.”

“Oi,” I cried, flailing my arms about. “That’s my personal stuff! You should keep your paws out of there Winnie. Personal space and…and…that’s against the law to go snooping underneath my mattress!”

“I knew something was fishy when you asked me to go shopping with you today,” Winnie replied, her eyebrow quirking and her arms promptly folded over her chest. She smacked the file onto the pavement with a loud crash. “So I took matters into my own hands.”

“You’re bloody mental!” I screamed, leaping forward and scooping up the file. Astrid took it from me; obviously they didn’t trust my hiding skills. Bitch. “And…and…”

“We need to have a talk,” Winnie stated, her eyes falling across the three of us. Behind our group, the fans were still screaming my name, obviously completely unaware of the standoff happening in front of them. I admire how blissfully unaware they always are of what is truly going on. It’s charming, almost. The way they always believe that management is covering things up and whatnot. Let’s just get real here folks, things are a lot less eventful than you seem to think. Except, well, my sexcapades. But that’s a whole other story. “In private.”

“We really don’t have time for that—“ Astrid interjected.

“Please,” Winnie rolled her eyes. “As if you three would have actually done something productive before, or during, the show.”

“You know,” Reed snapped, taking another step forward and getting all up in Winnie’s face. The darker skinned girl flinched and took a half step back. That’s right, Reed Roswell is fucking intimidating! She could beat yo ass. Or, you know, make you cry with her words like machetes. “I’m getting fucking sick of you, Winnie. You think this—“ she grabbed the Oatkips file from Astrid’s hands and slapped it against Winnie’s chest. “—was just a malevolent ploy to get rid of you so we could have the boys to ourselves? Hardly! It’s because you’ve become unbearable.”