At lunch, Christine joins me, bringing her gaggle of followers with her, who look from Christine to me like she's lost her mind. I don't blame them, as I'm doing the exact same thing. Christine, what are you doing? I glare at her, but unfortunately telepathy is not among her (or my) grabbag of powers. Her friends, however, are a different matter- I can almost hear them thinking to one another through their magical mental link of snottiness, Who's the emo chick and why are we going near her?
For the record, I want to tell them, I am not emo, I simply chose to wear black clothes that don't expose the maximum amount of skin without literally wearing a bikini.
Nevertheless, Christine plops down next to me, so of course the rest of them have to as well. In the ensuing lunch period, we all sit very stiffly, keeping our conversations to a bare minimum. I would also like to point out that I nobly refrain from overly insulting or attacking anyone. The exception to our disdain is Christine, who chats away happily to all of us equally, about absolutely nothing.
When the bell rings, I breathe a prayer of relief and disappear into the crowd with a final silent snarl in their direction. From now on, I resolve to eat alone, preferably in the library.
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In the middle of the next class, my phone buzzes with a message from dad; Hey, so just letting you know that the exterminators might not be done by the time you get home today.
Exterminators!? I text back, What exterminators?
Remember how you said you thought there were racoons in the attic? I decided to have someone take a look. Dad replies.
Wonderful, I'm either going to have to deal with them discovering Rose, or Dad discovering the diamond statues of whoever finds her. Neither of which I want to deal with today, so instead- I raise my hand.
"Do I need a pass to go to the bathroom?" I ask innocently
"No, you'll be fine." Mrs. Frizzle, our Bio teacher, waves me off. If this was any other class, I'd have a slightly harder time skipping class, but I don't think Mrs. Frizzle has taken roll ever, and she never really keeps track of who's in his class. I'm not even sure she knows any of our names. To be clear, I'm not sure I even know what her real name is. (hint: it's not actually Mrs. Frizzle) I think it's hyphenated, something along the lines of Luecke-Fritts, but I'm not all that sure.
Careful to avoid any wary teachers who may be roaming the halls looking for students skipping class to make out under the stairs, I slip out of the class and move purposely down the hall, trying to look for all the world like someone who totally has somewhere important to be. Reaching the side door, I turn away from the video camera trained on the hallway to obscure my face, and walk right out. Thankfully, the text came during the last block of the day, so I won't have to miss multiple classes, which would definitely raise suspicion.
Hopping on my bike, I ride home as fast as I can.
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YOU ARE READING
Mythfits
FantasyIn a small town in South Dakota, two teens, like most others their age, are feeling out of place. However, their situation is a bit different; Ella Mason is an anti-social, independent werecoywolf with an allergy to dogs, a deep mistrust of strange...
