The Sluts and the Jocks

1 - M Y R A

To most people, summer meant beaches, kisses under the sun, tan, golden skin and sand in their clothes from places they couldn't remember any more. Summer meant vacations in exotic countries, one night stands with hot foreigners and impromptu road trips which apparently changed your life. Myra Atkins wasn't "most people". If you listed the most boring lives on earth, on a scale of Walmart Door Greeter to Envelope Stuffer, Myra ranked right below Mr. Wells, her math teacher. The man looked like a zombie. One look at his face, and you knew he'd never gotten laid or seen what a party looked like.

Well, Myra wasn't one to talk. She'd never been to a party. She sort of vicariously lived through Instagram stories of wild nights she'd neither ever be invited to, nor be interested in. Myra was more of a Netflix and books sort of person. Yeah, she was a definite nerd, not that she minded. It's not like she had anyone to hang out with, either, so she could blame that for her pale skin. Her best friend - her only friend - Evelia Travers had decided to move all the way to freaking London, which left anti-social Myra with a grand total of zero people who knew what her middle name was. It's not like she could go looking for friends now in the last year of high school.

I always knew I'd end up being an eccentric old cat lady, but I thought that would be when I was seventy, not seventeen, she thought, disgruntled. "Ugh!" She kicked the foot of her bed in frustration. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, it hurts!" She'd stubbed her toe. Great.

If only she'd been prettier. Or more social. Or anything like the popular crowd with their charming smiles and perfect hair and gorgeous bodies... if only...

"What the fuck, Atkins?" her little brother Jeremiah asked, showing up at her bedroom door. Never mind that he was Atkins too. Eight year olds had odd minds.

"For god's sake, Atkins, you're eight. Mind your language," she chided. Two could play at the Atkins game.

"Whatever, Atkins. You're the one corrupting innocent old me. The hell are you kicking stuff for?If you want to hurt so bad, I'll gladly help you. What do you want: a kick, a punch, a slap or... oh, I know, a thousand years of death?"

"Weeb. What are you doing in front of my room, kid, shouldn't you be watching Teletubbies?"

"Shouldn't you be smooching Sid?"

"What the actual fuck? "

"Or whatever you guys do. Your boyfriend's waiting at the door, use protection. I'm too young to be an uncle!" Giggling, he ran down before his sister could hit him.

"He isn't my boyfriend!" she exclaimed, throwing her shoe at his retreating form. Her aim was terrible though, and who else would it hit but the jerk who terrorized her nightmares?

"Aww, don't be too sad, babe. One day I might want you back too," the Devil's spawn remarked, bending down to pick up the sneaker from the floor, unfazed by the impact. "Kinky. Are we into BDSM now?"