Here's a scene from my work in progress, Witches Don't Wear Socks.
Stepping out onto the porch, I almost ran into Cassie coming into the house.
“Watch it, Legs; cranky witch coming through.” I once gave her a hard time about having long legs, and for some reason she took it to be something unattractive. I never corrected her.
Cassie’s eyes widened. “Stella’s up already?”
I snorted. “I meant me, but yeah, Stella’s up. What are you doing here? Aren’t you late, by Cassie standards?”
“Would you believe I forgot my day planner? My whole life’s in there. I’m lost without it.” She wasn’t being melodramatic. Besides being class president, head cheerleader, and a member of the glee club, she had not one, but two after school jobs, not to mention her singing gigs. I got an instant headache just thinking about it. “Do you want a ride? Bobby’s waiting in the driveway for me.” Not waiting for an answer, or probably knowing what my response would be, she barreled through the door and ran up the stairs, not bothering to closer the door behind her.
I shook my head and trudged down the front steps. The chances of me asking Bobby Gentry for a ride to school were a gazillion to one.
“Hey pipsqueak!” Bobby yelled over the booming speakers in his rattletrap of a car. “What do you think of my new CD?”
I grabbed my throat with both hands and started gagging.
“What?” He put a hand to his football jersey-clad chest, feigning insult. “The Death’s Reapers aren’t your bag? I figured a Goth like you would revel in this stuff.”
“How many times do you need to have something repeated for it to take hold in that teeny tiny brain of yours? I’m not a Goth or a thespian. I just like black, okay?”
“A thes…what?” he asked as he turned down the stereo.
I rolled my eyes. “Sorry, I forgot to use small words and speak slowly. Does. Drama. Student. Mean. Anything. To. You?” So what if he was good looking and quarterback of the football team? I couldn’t figure out why Cassie was so gaga over this guy.
Bobby snorted. “Oh trust me. I know you’re one of a kind.”
What was that supposed to mean? Had Cassie told him about our family’s…quirks? Or just mine? She couldn’t tell him about hers without giving power to him to fight it, but she could tell him mine.
Cassie came bounding out of the house and into the front seat next to Bobby.
After kissing her on the nose, (how revolting), he turned back to me. “By the way, Happy Birthday, pipsqueak. If you came a little closer, I could pinch you to make you grow an inch. Lord knows you could use it, but I might get carried away.”
“Just keep those meat hooks away from me, pigskin breath.”
“Knock it off, you two.” Cassie sent out a wave of impatience. “Tell her to get in the back seat, she’s going to be late.” For him, it was a request he could not refuse; for me, a dirty look followed that told me it was an order, whether her will affected me or not.
I don’t take orders from anyone. But I was starting to feel a bit of a chill off the wind that was picking up. Must be something nasty coming; I never get cold. “I guess you owe me that much, football monkey. Mush!” I ordered as I climbed into the back seat.