Divergence

Divergence: One

One

Rosalie Fiorelle Daver 

Schmivvy 

Friday, 200,100 A.D

SPLAT!

"Woo! Nice shot, man!" a guy's voice shouted.

"Go for another one!" another guy, with a deeper voice.

"Yeah, Marc, see if you can get her on the other leg!" a girl's.

"All right then... batter up!"

SPLAT!

"YEAH! Double whammy! Marc's the BOMB!" the guy with the deeper voice yelled.

"Oh, whatcha gonna do now, eh? Big sissy!" the other guy shouted gleefully.

"Yeah!" the girl's voice came again, high-pitched and taunting. "You really think you're gonna walk home with that on your legs?"

"Bet you wish you'd worn those stupid hippie pants now, huh?" Marc, their leader, cackled at me.

I rolled my eyes, refusing to let him and the others know just how much I regretted not wearing them today. My current clothing choice was a short-at-front-long-at-back green skirt and white blouse - not the best decision, considering something like this happened pretty much every afternoon. I sighed and gave in to my peers' taunts, dropping my bag to the floor and scooping up tomato juice from my leg, careful not to let any of the contents spill onto the soft material of my skirt.

"Yeah yeah, that's right, you just clean up the mess..." the girl's voice. Candace. Marc's girlfriend and total slut. Her outfit today proved that last point: a spotted bandeau teamed with mini shorts. So short, in fact, that there was barely anything of them.  I snorted - quietly, of course.

Twisting to my side, I reached into my carefully embroidered sling bag and dug around, feeling through its contents. Sailor's hat... Fake sideburns... Purse... Hairbrush - how did THAT get in there? 

My hand touched a smooth, cylindric bottle. Perfect. I yanked it out, bringing up a plastic bag and a few cards along with it. I quickly stuffed them all back in, remembering what was in that bag: a bandeau, lace singlet and mini shorts. Ha. I could be Candace Springer, too.

I undid the top of the bottle and spread the liquid over the stained parts of my skirt. Within seconds, it was all washed out, going back to its original sparkling green. That was my favourite colour, after all, and it matched my eyes. I screwed on the bottle lid and slipped it back into my bag. Standing up, I began the quick walk to my levicar - the standard form of transport these days. Able to not only drive on ground roads but air roads too, they were something that nearly every person in The American Countries owned. So naturally, according to my father, I had to have one too.

"Oi, Fiorelle, where ya goin'?" Delk, the guy with the deeper voice, called out.

"Yeah, Riella!" Venta, the last guy, shouted. "We still got some stuff to do!"

My jaw tightened. It wasn't my fault my father had given me one of the stupidest middle names in the Universe. Stay calm, Ro Ro, I told myself. Just breathe.

Candace gasped. "Call the reporters! It's the first time, ever, that Miss Goody-Two-Shoes Rosalie Fiorelle Daver hasn't replied! Heaven forbid she should start walking with her back to us!"

You know they purposely act like twelve-year-olds to annoy you. Don't give them the satisfaction of -

"She is!" she gasped, the narrowed her voice into nasty little decibels. "Well, we all know what happens to people who do that, don't we?"