The Fourth wall breaking of DEADPOOL meets JANE AUSTEN meets MAGICAL WEIRDNESS
When a mysterious new boy comes to town, seventeen-year-old odd ball, Peneloper Auttsley, must confront the secrets of her past in order to save her present.
...
This story ends in a familiar place, a high school. The small-town kind. Where a football field is being mowed, bleachers are being polished, and freshly washed windows reflect a crystal clear sky. The storm has passed, and it seems the only rational thing to do is melt, as the sun has returned to the Oaks, and nothing else of interest remains.
Peneloper is first to arrive at the school, and for once the bookbag hefted over her shoulder contains actual school books. Her steps are measured as she bounds up the curb, reminiscencing about Crispen's arrival. Parking in a fire lane. Exiting the car like some sort of celebrity. A Walkman attached to his jeans, filled with a Phil Collin's cassette, certainly. It seemed so long ago. She smiles, recalling the first girl to succumb to the Heavensley charm.
Patsy. The girl's name had been Patsy, she remembers.
Peneloper enters the school, quietly, and makes her way to the Northern Corridor, where she pauses briefly and cranes her neck toward the ceiling. She senses someone's talking about her but isn't in the know deep enough to understand where it's coming from, why it's happening, or who it is. She does find the voice annoying, which I take offense to.
Her journey ends at locker #157. Setting down her bag, she unzips a pocket and takes out an old rag and can of polish, much to the astonishment of everything.
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• You Touch My Heart •
Peneloper Auttsley stared at her locker's smudges with all the disgust of someone who realized their mistakes. And with a mindset honed in on correcting said mistakes, she dropped her bag to the floor, opened the can of polish, and dug her rag deep into the black goop. Behind her, the wall clock, mounted between the set of windows, continued to tick and tock its way nearer to the beginning of class. Shockingly, she didn't abhor the idea of school beginning.
After her dip into the magical pool of absurdity, she rather relished the return to the mundane. Sure, it had its share of absurdity - Mr. Howell - and useless - all homework. But Principal Gale was here, and in another three seconds, her other reason for tolerating school would be shuffling down the hallway.
Speak of the devil, as Stormholden might put it. Crispen Heavensley rounded the corner, hands in his pockets, shoulders slouched, Walkman clipped at his waist, headphones resting around his neck.
She smiled.
"Miss Auttsley," he said, giving a quick shake of his head. He eyed the locker, then her hands.
Peneloper didn't need to read auras to understand his expression. "It could use a bit of a shine, don't you think?"
The corners of his lips pulled into a smile, not one bright enough to goad the sun into imploding, or cause a flood of girls to fall to their knees, but even the slightest movement of his lips stirred inside her that dreaded warmth, that, admittedly, she didn't dread all that much anymore.
