How Kisses Can Lie

Gold Medalists

"She's a WITCH!!!!!" Hailey exclaimed in her strident voice, pointing at me with her perfectly manicured index.

The whole audience let out a gasp in unison. As I looked into the crowd - which was nearly impossible due to the stage lights so bright I was pretty sure I would be blind by the end of this stupid high school play - I could see all the faces washed over with shock, and I felt a sort of sense of accomplishment.

It kind of felt like when you rewatch a series with a friend who hasn't seen it yet, you know? You're just waiting for that plot twist to come up just so you can see their face? And you feel all giddy and excited because you know what's going to happen?

I smiled to myself. I'm so proud of myself for coming up with this plot line. Yeah, plot twist, bitches, take that for originality points Mr. Selfridge.

And get this, even bigger plot twist: I actually am a witch. Wonder how their faces would look if they knew that.

"Tori! GET THAT INCREDIBLY IRRITATING SMIRK OFF YOUR FACE OR SO HELP ME GOD I WILL FAIL YOU IN THIS DRAMA CLASS. What are you smirking about anyways? Because let me assure you, there is NOTHING to smirk about when it comes to you. Stay. In. CHARACTER!" Mr. Selfridge whisper-shouted to me from the side of the stage, momentarily removing his arms from their crossed position to rub his damp forehead with his sweat soaked tissue.

Real life witches don't have magic brooms, but if they did I swear I would shove it up his ass right about now.

Mr. Selfridge basically makes it a sport to piss me off.

And Jesus Christ, if that sport were in the Olympics, there would be a hell of a lot of gold medalists in this school.

I feel a light jab to the right side of my ribs that snaps me out of my daydream in which I was rewarding half the school with all kinds of different colored medals.

"Ow!" I suddenly cry out, totally surprised by the sudden act of harshness. I don't remember this being in our script? She is supposed to pretend to beat the village witch.

Hailey puts down another blow on my poor ribs with the plastic sword.

Why is no one saying anything? Why is no one defending me from this humiliation?

Oh, right. This is drama. They probably assume this is planned and I have some kind of safety vest under this hideous excuse for a dress.

I want to shout and out her for her mistreating towards me but if I just interrupt the show, I know Mr. Selfridge will have my head on a platter, cooked medium rare and seasoned.

I look to my left and catch a glimpse of him standing below the stage, his head peering up barely above stage level, nearly completely hidden from the lack of light over there. His tissue has now become completely insufficient to rid his forehead of the excessive sweat beads collecting there.

He watches my reaction apprehensively, almost shaking nervously, then eyes me cautiously.

That bastard. He knows that Hailey is taking advantage of this situation! But he is too preoccupied with his stupid reputation as an "oh-so-amazing teacher with I don't even know how many awards from I don't even know how many pretentious contests with complicated names no one can remember" to do something and call her out for it. Because it would ruin his irrelevant school play.

How could I have forgotten to award her in my daydream, the single person standing on the highest podium in the "pisses me off" Olympics of all, the Queen B herself (or should I say, Queen Bitch).

This girl wasn't just high school evil. Oh no no. She was up there in the ranks next to the guy who invented the alarm clock kind of evil.

A third blow landed upon the tender area that had already received two too many, but this time she finally threw that damn sword to the side, and paused. Before she whipped around her golden locks so the rest of the play could go on as usual, I saw a small smirk playing on her evil perfectly lined dark pink lips.

That was definitely not in the script either.

"I may be mistaken, but I am quite sure witches hath be burnt, and not quite beaten by thou sword!" I blurt out, channeled by my new found anger while trying to remain in the Middle Age's range of vocabulary, so I can just play this off as another line of the play.

But I'm pretty sure the look on the villager's faces was giving it away.

"I may be mistaken, but thou shalt not maketh out with thy boyfriend." She retorted proudly, turning around to burn her eyes right through me like laser beams.

The spectators all drew in an even bigger breath than the first time.

With my face flushed beet red, and the villager's behind us displaying a look of horror, the audience either thought me and Hailey were Oscar winning actresses, or terrible people.