Page 34 of My Rules for Revenge
She laughed aloud.
“Yes, I get it. That’s a clever one,” Heather admitted.
“I think so as well,” I added.
“I had no idea you were into those kinds of jokes,” Heather pointed out.
“When I discovered the forum when I was younger, I always liked to scroll through the dark posts. It made me feel bad, if that makes any sense. I’ve been sheltered for most of my life. When I scroll through the darkness of it, I feel at home. It’s not something my parents would ever approve of me doing, and as a result, it makes me want to do it even more,” I explained.
Heather remained quiet and gave me a curious stare. I never told anyone that. Heather was the first person. I was beginning to trust her more and more.
“I told you, didn’t I?” Heather boasted.
“What do you mean?”
“I told you that you would end up telling me something interesting about your life.”
I smiled. She was right.
“You’re like a wizard.”
“I wish I were a wizard. I could transform Newman into a frog and boil him into a frog stew,” Heather commented.
“That doesn’t sound like it would taste good,” I said in disgust.
“It wouldn’t, but how else would I hear him as a screaming frog?”
When we finished placing the knick-knacks and other related items on the shelf, Heather dove into her beanbag chair, face first. I sat myself down at a desk. Heather slowly turned herself around and didn’t bother to fix her messy hair, which covered her face.
“Do I look hot?” Heather asked.
“Sure.”
“You’re lying, but thank you.”
“Do you want to see more adult jokes?” I asked.
“Please don’t call them that.”
“Oh, sorry,” I said apologetically.
“No, it’s okay. It just sounds weird. What other memes do you have?”
“I found some dark memes having to do with war, famine, poverty, and flying goats.”
Heather flipped her hair and bulged her eyes in shock.
“Goodness gracious, lady. What type of crazy things are you into?”
“The craziest types,” I admitted proudly.
“You can send them to me later.”
“Okay, no problem.”
Heather jumped up and went to the teacher’s desk to organize the drawers. At a glance, I noticed that she had access to many college applications that belonged to other students. She had the duty of officially marking the student as “An Accomplished Master of English Literature.” This stood out on a college application, of course, as melodramatic as it sounded.
Heather informed me we would begin reading soon. Just then, I saw some movement from my peripheral vision and turned my eyes toward the tall, rectangular window on the door. I sneaked in closer to get a better look. I pretended to inspect a bookshelf so they wouldn’t notice my wandering eyes. There were many jocks in jerseys, sweating. I recognized some familiar faces from the basketball team. They formed a crowd and began talking amongst themselves. One of them was quiet. He was lean yet physically fit with scruffy brown hair and hazel eyes. He held a basketball and mostly listened while Frank Jackson did most of the talking, unsurprisingly.
