The Firefly Effect (5 page)

6th grade

“Hey.”

I pretend I don't hear him, but he continues to poke me in the back until I want to break that finger off and shove it up his nose. He's so annoying. I know what he wants – the same thing he always wants. To mooch off me.

“Hey,” he persists, a little louder. “Lemme borrow a pencil.”

I swivel around in my seat to glare at him. “You ask me this every day. Did it ever occur to you to bring your
own
supplies?” I'm sick of this. He's so stupid. It's not like he doesn't know he's going to need something to write with every single day.

Propped on one elbow, the boy my friend Stephanie and I have dubbed 'Shane the Pain' gives me a bored look. “That's what I have you for.”

“I'm not your mother, in case you haven't noticed. I'm not responsible for you.” I turn back around and try to concentrate on the test in front of me, hoping he'll bug someone else instead. He's such a creep. I think he comes from a skanky family. He needs a haircut really bad and I swear he only owns like three or four shirts. He wears the same ones over and over.

As usual, ignoring him doesn't work. He's gone back to poking me with a finger. “Me – la – niiiie...” he sings softly. “Gimme a pen - ciiill...”

Across the aisle from us, Stephanie attempts to help me out. “Maybe she's getting tired of you always asking her for stuff!”

“Nobody asked your opinion, Ste-
fanny
.” Grabbing the end of my ponytail, he tugs on it until my head is wobbling back and forth.

“Cut it out!” I snap.

“Gimme a pencil and I'll leave you alone.”

“Yeah, until tomorrow!” Just to shut him up, I unzip my pencil holder and hand one over to him. “Here. And I want it back when you're done. So don’t chew on it and get your gross germs all over it.”

“Whatever, Mosquito Bite.”

That jerk! I do him a favor and he's calling me immature names. He thinks he's so funny. Just because Stephanie's boobs are bigger than mine doesn't mean I'm totally flat-chested. There's something there. Just not that much.

I'm trying to think of a witty comeback when Ms. Ingram comes breezing back into the classroom. The steady hum of whispers and giggles fades quickly into a hush of deep concentration and pencils scratching over paper.

“Psst. Hey.”

Oh, great. Here we go again. I pretend I don't hear him, but that's never stopped him before.

“What'd you get for number four?”

“Figure it out yourself,” I whisper over my shoulder. Moron.

“Just tell me.”

“No!”

“Well, what's number five then?”

“Shut up.”

“Come on, Mosquito Bite. Gimme some answers.”

Setting my jaw, I pay no attention to his harassment. Surely at some point he'll get tired of bugging me. Right?

Wrong.

A finger pokes me sharply between my shoulder blades. “Hey. Hey.
Hey!
”

Finally losing my temper completely, I jump up from my desk and whirl around to holler at him, “WHAT THE CRAP IS WRONG WITH YOU, YOU STUPID ASSHAT?”

The entire class erupts in wild hysterics. Shane included. Even Stephanie is giggling behind her hand. Ms. Ingram is the only one not laughing.

“Melanie Lane! You will report to room twenty-seven for in-school suspension this afternoon. And you can go ahead and turn in your test paper – since you feel the need to be disruptive during class, you may retake it after school where you will have no distractions.” Still scowling, she claps her hands together. “I want it quiet in here right this minute, unless the rest of you would like to join Melanie this afternoon!”

My face is burning with humiliation, and it doesn't help matters that I can hear The Pain still snickering behind me.

I hate his stupid guts. So.
Much!

I hope after school the bus runs over him and then the bus driver goes in reverse and backs over him again.

But I guess somehow I’d probably wind up getting blamed for that, too.

~ Chapter Six ~

I can't figure this chick out.

Look at her, acting all prissy and sanctimonious after what we just did. She can hardly wait to lock the door behind me, pretend it never happened so she can dust off her uptight exterior and go on living with the illusion that she's better than everyone else. Or better than me, anyway.

Some things never change, do they?

This has got to be eating her alive. Finding out that the guy she once referred to as gutter trash just ripped through that exterior and threw a spotlight on her inner vixen. Or has she done this kind of thing before? Maybe this isn't even the first time. Could be she has a thing for sex with random strangers.

I hope not. That idea bothers me, although I'm not sure why.

There's one thing I do know. She isn't going to get rid of me that easily.

“You can't stay here,” she announces, propping her hands on her hips with a frown.

“I have a deed that says otherwise.” How is it that even in sweatpants and a great big baggy shirt, she still looks fuckable as all hell? Hot damn, but that stuck-up little peach has ripened into one tasty woman. A woman who is awfully cute when she's flustered. Even after all these years, I recognize that look and I can't help but find it just as funny. The pretty hazel eyes are practically on fire.

Her voice, however, is chipped ice.

“I have a rental agreement. That makes me the tenant. In other words, you can't just waltz in here whenever you feel like it.”

“Get anything in writing?” If I know my flighty sister, it's a given that she didn't.

“I…have a copy of the check.”

“No. I’m asking if you signed a lease.”

Taken aback, Miss Hoity Toity seems marginally less sure of herself. “Well, no. It was a verbal agreement. She didn't ask me to sign a lease. And I didn't know you co-owned this place until after I'd already moved in.”

“We don't co-own jack spit. She's the one who threw a hissy fit for the house, and she's the one who uses it most of the time, but I'm the one who forked out the cash. This property is in my name.
Only
mine.” Smiling, I wait for that to sink in.

Her pink lips part as she gazes down at me in astonishment. “You can't be serious.”

“It's all good.” I'm quick to move in for the kill. “I don’t have a problem with you staying, peaches. Just give me a few days and I'll be out of your hair.”

“A few days?” She looks almost panicked at the thought, and it's all I can do not to laugh out loud. “Are you
kidding
me? I can't...there isn't...surely you can't expect to stay
here!
”

“Why not? There's plenty of room.”

“Yeah, I know, but...” Her objection trails off, eyes darting around the room as if she's looking for an escape route. I know she's contemplating what to say to convince me to leave. Hm, this should be good. Wasn’t she on the debate team in high school? I could tell her she's wasting her time, but why bother – it’s way more entertaining to watch her squirm.

To my surprise, she pushes my legs aside and drops down on the sofa beside me.

“Look,” she begins, attempting to placate me with a syrupy sweet tone. “I know what you're thinking. And I understand after the way I behaved, you have the impression that I'm an easy target. And that's fine. I'm not blaming you – this whole thing is my fault, I'll be the first to admit it. But if you’re looking for an amusement park, you've come to the wrong place. I am not a carnival ride. Just because I exercised bad judgment once doesn't mean I plan on making the same mistake twice. So you see, there's really no reason for you to waste your time here. Am I making myself clear?”

I study the light smattering of faded freckles that bridge her nose. They give a false illusion of innocence, but I know better. She’s about as innocent as a school of piranha. “Sure you don’t want to reconsider? This may not be an amusement park, but there are still a lot of amazing rides you’re missing out on, baby.”

Yeah, I admit it, even I know that was a hokey line.

“First of all, I’m not –
ahem
– I’m not your baby.” Her eyes flicker down to my mouth before quickly snapping up to meet my gaze. “Second of all, there is zero chance of that happening. Less than zero.”

I rest a casual hand on her thigh, massaging it lightly through the gray sweatpants she thought I wouldn’t find sexy.

She was wrong.

“Less than zero, huh?”

“That’s what I said. Zero. Less than.” Her expression is resolute but interestingly enough, she makes no move to push my hand away. I can see it’s going to be a challenge trying to untangle this obstinate little ball of contradictions.

“You haven’t changed much, have you?” I observe dryly.

She seems to take offense to that. “How can you presume to know anything about me? You haven’t even seen me in nearly a decade. Yes, I’ve changed. We all change. It’s inevitable.”

“True. For instance, I’ve learned to work with negative integers since you last saw me. So anything less than zero won’t be a problem for me.” Pulling my legs up, I drop my bare feet to the floor and stand with a leisurely stretch. “Might as well go ahead and bring in my stuff. Which bedroom are you using?”

I hear a sharp intake of breath as her eyes narrow. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No, I’m not kidding. I want to make sure everything’s secure here in case we do get a direct hit.”

She stares at me blankly.

“The hurricane. Remember?” It’s hilarious how easily flustered she is. I gotta say, I love knowing I have that effect on her. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch. I won’t be around for long. Three or four days, tops.”

“Three or four days. Great. Just great.” Shaking her head, she closes her eyes and mutters to herself, “I’m gonna kill Leah.
Kill
her. And then resuscitate her just so I can kill her again.”

Heading outside to grab my bags from the car, I leave her with one last thought. “In the meantime, we have a lot of catching up to do. Don’t we, Felony?”

7th grade

“Dude. If you’re gonna go to all the trouble of copying my homework, at least do it right.”

“What’re you talkin’ about?” Confused, I look over at my buddy Craig who’s sitting beside me with his back against the lockers.

He points to the paper balanced on my knees. “Why’d you write 33112? It’s 83772. Wake up. My handwritin’ ain’t
that
bad.”

“Oh. Shoot.” Turning the pencil over, I hastily erase what I’ve written and redo it. I feel bad for asking to copy his homework again. I just couldn’t seem to make myself concentrate last night. The more I stared at the book in front of me, the more my head hurt. I finally just gave up and went and watched TV instead. Screw homework, anyway. It’s such a stupid concept. Isn’t seven hours of school five days a week enough torture to put any kid through?

I’m so busy writing, I don’t notice that the Bitch Patrol has arrived. Above my head, head bitch Melanie Lane is twisting the combination into her lock.