Page 156 of Rock Bottom Girl
“Shonda is so into her stupid boyfriend, she thinks she can blow me off on a Saturday? We’ll see who blows who off when I tell everyone he gave her herpes!”
“That garden gnome Mr. Fester? My daddy owns him.”
“Get off the field,” someone yelled from the stands.
Someone else started chanting, “Asshole.” It caught on quickly.
But the tape continued. I grinned as my mix tape of Amie Jo’s greatest hits—gossiping about her best friends, discussing sexual encounters, and general bitchiness echoed through the stadium.
Travis looked pale next to Amie Jo’s full fury.
“You!” I couldn’t hear her over the crowd’s displeasure. She looked at me and pointed like a witch casting a spell.
I gave her the sassiest shrug I could muster. The villain was finally unveiled.
Looking back, it was probably the wrong move. I probably should have at least feigned innocence.
But I didn’t. And then Amie Jo was charging at me, closing the distance between us as fast as her heels would let her.
“Oh, shit,” Vicky whispered. “Don’t get suspended!”
But it was too late for that. Amie Jo stormed up to me and slapped me across the face.
It was a blur from there on out. I didn’t exactly remember tackling her to the ground. But that’s what Vicky swears I did. As we rolled on the grass, shouting insults and throwing elbows, I wasn’t worried about my punishment. I wanted to teach her a lesson. That there were consequences to treating people like garbage. Tonight, I was Amie Jo’s karma.
Her nicely painted talons dug into my neck as she went for my jugular. I threw her off me and rolled to reclaim my dominance. We were a tangle of teeth and profanity and pure hatred. I was dimly aware of the crowd as it reacted to my spectacle.
I wished I would have taken a self-defense class. Or a How to Kick a Bully’s Ass class. I didn’t want this to devolve into some embarrassing slap fight. I wanted to physically damage her horrible, nasty, cruel exterior.
Suddenly, there was an extra set of hands in the mix, and someone was trying to pull us apart. But hell hath no fury like two high school seniors locked in a battle for supremacy. We rolled again, and I swore it was Amie Jo that got her legs tangled up with the good Samaritan’s. I didn’t realize we were this close to the player’s bench.
There was a scuffle, a tumble, and an audible pop. And an “oooooh” from the crowd. The howl of pain that followed had me shoving Amie Jo off me and prying her hands out of my hair.
It was Travis on the ground hugging his knee to his chest.
“Oh, God. Travis, are you okay?” I asked.
“Leave him alone, you skank,” Amie Jo shrieked. She pushed my face into the dirt and crawled her way to him. “Travis, honey, are you okay?”
He wasn’t. And neither was his ACL.
A lot of things happened very quickly.
The two team mascots got into a shoving match that escalated into a brawl on the field. Referees and coaches and parents waded in.
Amie Jo and I were collared by Principal Fester and dragged off the field while Travis was carried off on a gurney.
“I am horrified at your behavior, ladies,” Mr. Fester hissed. “This is beyond intolerable.”
“I had nothing to do with this, Mr. Fester,” Amie Jo began.
“That was your voice on the loudspeaker, wasn’t it? Calling me a garden gnome?”
Amie Jo was prepared to lie, but Mr. Fester wasn’t having any of it.
“You’re both suspended for a week starting tonight.”
“But Homecoming! I’m going to be Queen,” she shrieked.
