Hi guys. Just another story. Sorry if my stories all seem similar. Hope you like it! Comment, please.
Chapter 1
“Lee!” Leslie shouted. Again, I had been daydreaming and missed the pass. I sighed.
“Okay, I’ll get it.” I ran to the bushes and pulled the soccer ball out.
My name is Lee Carson—I’m a girl, by the way.
“Okay, let’s try this again, everyone,” Maggie said, the captain of the team. “That does not include you, Lee.”
Everyone snickered. I think everyone only voted Maggie as captain only because she is basically almost the captain of the school.
I frowned and cocked my head. “You know, everyone only chose you because you’re . . . hmmm . . . good? No, I don’t think so. You got chosen just because you’re popular. You know, you’d be better off as the pooper-scooper of the field.” I did a javelin-throw at Maggie, and it hit her square in the chest. She grunted. Good.
“Girls, not again,” Leslie said with a sigh.
“She’s picking on me, Leslie. I’m just a poor, poor victim, having to be under the control of a cruel girl, and—” Maggie started.
“Oh, can it.” I threw a ball at her butt. “Save it for court.”
Maggie didn’t see it, but Leslie’s daughter, Casey, snickered. She’s on the team, too, and is in some of my classes. She’s one of my better friends. Leslie, our coach, smiled a little.
“Did you see that?” Maggie said, adding a pathetic whimper. “That loser just threw a ball at me!”
Leslie’s face went a bit more serious. “Girl’s, cut it out. Lee, stop throwing balls at Maggie’s butt, and Maggie, stop trying to get our sympathy.”
“But I’m not!” whined Maggie.
“That’s what all criminals say,” I muttered.
Casey’s seams were splitting, and finally she busted up.
“Be quiet!” screeched Maggie.
“Excuse me for breathing,” sniggered Casey, tears streaming down her face.
“See? Some people appreciate ‘rude humor,’ as you like to say,” I said, adding the quotation marks with my fingers when I said ‘rude humor.’
“Sorry, Maggie,” Leslie said. “Casey’s being a bit rude.” Then she added to me, “She thinks you’re a scream.”
The assistant coach, Melissa, was laughing along with Casey, supporting each other as they hunched over howling.
I grinned.
“Just ignore her, Maggie,” Sandy said, who is a wanna-be-Maggie in the making.
“Well then,” I said, “ready, team?”
I put the ball at the half-court line, and Casey came over.
Leslie blew the whistle. Casey passed the ball to me, and I dribbled toward Maggie. I poked the ball between her legs and then went around her. I then passed it to Riley, who did the spin move around Lily, another wanna-be, and passed it to me. I shot the ball, which arched beautifully over the goalie’s head. However, it wasn’t that hard. Most of the girls aren’t exactly good.
Chapter 2
I guess Maggie was pretty mad at me for all my insults at soccer practice, and at Casey, because the next day she started putting up ‘the lists.’ They’re these dumb lists about gossipy garbage. However, a lot of people believe the lists, if you can believe it. This time, it was ‘the top 3 losers.’ So here’s the stupid list.
The Top 3 Losers
- Lee Carson
- Casey Lander
- Joe Joseph
Well let me tell you, I ripped those lists into smithereens. I felt like ripping up Maggie herself. I mean I’m in sixth grade. I never knew there could be that much drama. Gosh!
Oh, and plus, the only reason she doesn’t like Joe Joseph is because in the second grade he liked her, so he flicked balled up boogers at her. However, Maggie took this as an insult.
I guess Casey felt the mad too, because I saw her in the back of the school, using the electronic paper shredder.
“How’d you get the shredder?” I hissed.
She shrugged. “Some janitor. He was going to throw it out for some reason, so I told him someone barfed in the bathroom, so I could have a little fun first.”
The machine buzzed as she put in a stack of lists. I watched her. “You really don’t look like a loser,” I commented.
“Well, thanks.” Casey rolled her eyes. Then she eyed me. “Neither do you. But I guess Maggie thinks you’re a loser because you dress like a boy.” She clapped a hand to her mouth. Her clothes were casual—jeans, sweatshirt, t-shirt. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it like that! I just meant—”
“I know,” I mumbled, tugging at the hem of my basketball shorts. Then I looked her in the eye. “It’s not my fault I have an older brother, and I’m not exactly rich.”
“Oh, gosh, I didn’t mean it like that.” She looked frustrated. “Never mind. I’m not rich either you know. So . . . it’s fine.” Casey smiled a little.
“We’re gonna be late. Let’s go,” I said curtly, changing the subject.
“Yeah.”
Chapter 3
I drifted through classes, steaming as Waggies (wanna-be Maggies) giggled every time I passed. I felt like kicking Maggie’s skinny little butt.
“Hey, loser—I mean, Lee,” Maggie teased. When she saw I wasn’t retaliating, she grabbed my baseball cap that covered my long, dark brown ponytail, and yanked me toward her. My cap came off in her hand.
“Cut it out, you butthead!” As I was flung forward, my fist came up and hit her in the stomach. Serves her right.
Maggie let go, my hat in her manicured hand. Maggie recovered from the punch, and put the baseball cap near her mouth as I headed toward class. “Lee-ee,” she sang. “I’m gonna lick it!”
Okay, that got me. I could’ve gotten a new one, but I had had that one for years, from my big brother when I turned eight.
“Give it!” I shouted, as I charged up to her and grabbed her in a headlock. I tightened it. “Give it, give it, give it, give it, give it, give it, give it, GIVE IT!”
“She’s crazy!” Maggie yelped. “Help! Get her off! Get her off!” She yanked my hair and kicked, but of course, she still didn’t give me my cap. Then, Casey came to her rescue—or rather, my rescue.
“Casey! Thank goodness you’re here! Help me get her off!” Maggie said, as if they were best friends.
“Yeah, whatever,” Casey snarled, ripping the cap from Maggie’s hands. “You can let go, Lee,” Casey added.
“Thanks,” I said, letting go of Maggie’s giraffe-like neck.
“Yuck,” I muttered. “She contaminated my cap and my hair.”
Casey sniffed my hair. She wrinkled her nose. “Ew. It smells like that cheap-y perfume Maggie uses.”
Maggie looked surprised. Quickly she hid her expression. “Actually, it’s from Paris.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” I replied as Casey and I walked toward our class. “My hair doesn’t really smell like Maggie’s Paris perfume, does it?” I whispered, because that perfume reeks like my brother’s P.E. socks mixed with the backend of a skunk, plus a tiny bit of intoxicating rose water trying to cover up the real odor—puh-lease, either Maggie was lying, or the Parisians have no sense of smell.
“Nah. Smells like citrus.”
I relaxed as we rounded the corner of the hallway—and bumped right into the principal, who had seen the fight.
Chapter 4
“So you attacked her, huh?” Principal Lydia inquired.
Let me tell you, was a really interested and stern ‘huh.’ “It was a family, uh, heirloom,” I spluttered. That was lame, lame, lame.
“Oh, I see. And Casey?”
“Yes?” Casey replied nervously.
“Were you attacking her, too?”
“Well she was putting up these lists! And—” Casey said.
“Do you have proof?”
Casey was silent. She opened her mouth slowly. “I shredded them,” she whispered.
“A likely story. And I suppose that is how the electronic paper shredder did not end up in the dump?”
Casey looked down and nodded.
“Well, Casey, Lee, I’m sorry, but you’re suspended. Both of you, for three days.”
Casey’s head jerked up.
“Suspended?!” I cried. “But, Principal Lydia! You don’t understand! She was going to lick it! My cap! And—”
“She grabbed her!” added Casey. “Maggie grabbed the front of her baseball cap and yanked! Plus—”
“She’s been trying to make us miserable—”
“Since the beginning of the school year—”
“Just because we’re not popular!”
“Smell my cap,” I put in.
“Oh, no,” said Principal Lydia. “If Maggie really did touch it, I for one certainly don’t want to smell that revolting odor! Now I shall have to call your parents,” Principal Lydia said as she walked out of the room, “for attacking a student and abusing a shredder for your own purpose.”
Despite the trouble we were in, me and Casey burst out laughing.
“Did she just, just say—” Casey giggled.
“She just, she said—” I snickered.
“Maggie has—”
“‘A revolting odor!” we said in an old lady’s voice like Principal Lydia’s.
Chapter 5
I was scared of the trouble I was going to be in, so I’ll admit it: I stalled. I went to the store and bought a jar of peanut butter and mini marshmallows.
“I thought your mom didn’t like you having that snack . . .?” Richard, the shopkeeper, said. I like Richard, and he likes me. He’s an old guy, but he’s a good listener, and Mom and Dad approve.
“She doesn’t,” I admitted, “but I’m in loads of trouble anyway, so it doesn’t matter.” I added quietly, “Dumb Maggie.”
“Oh?”
I laughed. “Got suspended for head locking and punching a girl because she took my cap and threatened to lick it.”
“That’s silly. You getting suspended, I mean. She started it didn’t she?”
“Yeah. She grabbed my cap.”
“Exactly. But you still got suspended for attacking someone.”
“Yup.”
“Ah . . . Well, they see it in that way because she never—or so they think—touched you, but you touched her. Understand? So in that way you were abusing her.”
“Yeah.” I sighed. “Well, gotta go. Mom and Dad are probably waiting at home.”
“Confrontation.”
“Yep. Confrontation.”
Chapter 6
Mom and Dad were—it turns out—trying to change Principal Lydia’s mind. Only Kyle was home.
“Hey, little sis,” he greeted.
“Hey.” I grabbed a spoon, opened up the peanut butter jar, added some marshmallows, and flopped down on the couch next to Kyle. The TV was on.
I took a big spoonful of PB&M and ate it from the spoon. It was delicious.
Plain peanut butter+ mini marshmallows=yummy.
“So, I heard you got suspended.”
I stared at the TV. “Yep.” I took another bite of PB&M.
“What happened?”
So I took a stuttery sigh and told him everything.
When I was finished, Kyle said, “That Maggie sounds like a jerk.
“You got that right.” Before I could say anything else, Mom and Dad unlocked the door and came into the house.
* * * * *
“That Maggie sounds like a jerk,” Dad noted.
Mom nudged Dad, and Kyle winked at me as we chewed our steak and mashed potatoes with steamed broccoli.
“See? I told you!” I snapped. ”She’s like, the Queen of Mean! Her hair’s all long—”
“Yours is long,” replied Mom.
“Yeah, well, hers is all blond and she wears it like she’s going to somewhere fancy, and she wears it like by rolling her bangs in a curler, like a New Jersey girl at prom! And she wears tight shirts and pants, and she practically looks down at everyone! Not that it’s so hard with that giraffe neck of hers,” I added silently, but not silently enough.
“Lee! That’s enough!” Mom scolded. She’s all big on what we say to other people, even if they really deserve it.
“Plus, her perfume smells like Kyle’s P.E. socks, a skunk, and intoxicating rose water from, ooh-la-la! Paris!” I said ‘Paris’ like pear-ee.
Me, Dad, and Kyle burst out laughing. Mom, however, remained quiet and stern.
Chapter 7
“So, how’d Leslie take it?” I asked.
“Mom? She was pretty mad at first, but when she found out the truth, she promised to make Maggie actually run the two laps at practice—you know, because Maggie always moans that she sprained her ankle or whatever when we have to run, yet somehow miraculously gets better after that,” Casey said.
We laughed.
“You know, Mom likes you, Lee. She thinks you’re one of the ‘good’ kids.”
“That’s good. So according to her, my reputation’s excellent.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” I could see Casey shrugging her shoulders.
“So I can do anything I want?”
“Yeah, I guess—don’t push it.” She continued. “So . . . wanna walk around? I’m as bored as anything.”
“Yeah, sure. Why not?”
What I should’ve said was, “Nah, no thanks,” because that’s when everything started getting weird.
“Where to?” I asked.
“Let’s go get hot fudge sundaes,” Casey suggested.
“Sure.” I hopped on my skateboard, Casey got on her’s, and we cruised toward the drug store. Our town is small, so they have old-fashioned drug stores, but the drug store is half restaurant.
Inside, it was packed, yet somehow we managed to find a booth. We ordered two hot fudge sundaes. I used the little container to drizzle chocolate syrup all over everything, and ate my maraschino cherry first. I ate Casey’s too, because she doesn’t like them.
We started about talking about ways to upset Maggie and it turned into this big thing like where we use a bit of glue to stick her to her chair so she has to take her pants off, and when I made a little joke of putting her perfume in the paper shredder, Casey laughed so hard she knocked some of the syrup from the little pitcher onto the ground.
So we sat there laughing, when a waiter suddenly tripped, and a blob of whipped cream from a banana split fell onto my lap.
“Oh my goodness!” he cried. “What will my boss say?!”
“It’s okay,” I reassured him. “Just a stain.” I scooped some whip cream up from my pants and licked it. Hey, it’s food, and no one’s touched it. Besides, whipped cream is edible. The stain was just a shadow of whipped cream.
“A huge stain!” The waiter jumped up and down. “I’ll go get some napkins. I’m sorry!
”Then, a little old lady came up to me.
“Oh, the Leader! We’ve been waiting! So glad you’ve been found! And—” she turned to Casey—“the Planner! So very, very obliged!!!” She stooped so low that her nose almost touched the floor. She had amazing flexibility for an old woman. But then she got on her hands and knees and started groveling!
“You can get up!” I hissed. “Get up! Please!”
“As you wish.” The old lady stood and smiled. She wore a tacky coat that looked as if it were made from colored duct tape.
“Oh, you’ve got a stain,” she noticed. “Let me help.”
Before I could say no to the money, she took out a spray bottle from a big pocket.
She sprayed my stain with the bottle, and dabbed it with a cloth. The stain looked the same, except bigger.
“Uh, thanks,” I said politely. Then I thought, well, at least my pants are camouflage, because it just looks like one of the splotches now.
But then, the splotch disappeared completely.
“Whoa,” I said, dabbing at where the stain had been with my white t-shirt. “That stuff works.”
“I know,” the lady said proudly. “It gets rid of any substance.” Her face turned dark. “Well, almost any substance. Oh, and it leaves a nice scent lingering.”
I sniffed my pants. It was a nice scent.
“That’s amazing,” murmured Casey.
“So if I spilled chocolate on my hair, you could get rid of it?” I asked.
“Yeah,” said the lady with a shrug.
The conversation was ruined when the waiter came back.
“Oh, it’s fine,” I said. “This old—uh, nice, lady got rid of it.”
“Amazing!” the waiter mumbled.
“In fact,” I added, “I’ll pay you an extra tip to dump some more whipped cream on my hair.”
The waiter looked wary. “My wish is your command.”
Next thing I know, the waiter had dumped some whipped cream on my ponytail.
The lady spritzed and rubbed, the waiter walked away, confused, with an extra tip; and Casey smelled my hair.
Casey said, “It smells better than before! What’s that stuff called?”
“Don’t know,” said the lady. “It was made from gullin roots, found only in the North parts of Prospellus.”
Casey and me exchanged suspicious glances. The way she talked meant on thing: she was a psychopath escaped from the asylum.
“Um,” I said, “are you lost?”
“Oh, no. I had direct orders to stalk you.”
“What? You like, work for the FBI or something?” I laughed nervously, backing away.
“Oh, no. If I did, I’d be retired by now, wouldn’t I?”
“So you’re just a little old lady,” I said, unconvinced. “Do you, by any chance…garden? Like, carry around a dangerously sharp machete, for instance?”
“Do I garden? Do I garden? That, Leader, is an insult! And of course I carry a machete, what do you think?!”
“Uh, that we need to get home, right, Leader?” squeaked Casey.
“Yes, Ca—Planner. Um, thank you for your help. I really appreciate it, but we need to get home. Our parents might worry.”
“Oh, well, I’m sorry I got crabby,” said the old lady.
“It’s okay. I’ll, um, remember you.”
“Yeah, me too,” agreed Casey. “Probably, like, forever.”
“Did you hear that everyone?” The lady giggled like a six-year old. “The Leader and the Planner said they’d remember me! Me! Meeeeeeee!” she wailed as she waltzed out the door happily.
Casey and I looked at each other.
“Crazy.”
“Weird.”
“Bonkers.”
“Nuts.”
“Nutter.”
“Psychopath.”
“Loony.”
“Lunatic.”
Then, at the same exact time, we both said, “But she was really nice.”
Crafter 