“I used to be kind of jealous of the way girls come at you, man,” said Stump, “but some of them are straight up nuts.”
“I don’t see you turning anybody down,” said Ephraim.
“You know this,” said Stump, and laughed.
They fist bumped, but Damon knew that Stump had a girlfriend who he had been with since they’d been in diapers and wasn’t nearly the player that he liked to pretend he was. Damon was a player by default. Ephraim fell in love every other week with a different girl who usually wouldn’t give him the time of day.
Stump suggested that one of them should design some underwear that served as anti-stalker wear and would buzz whenever the wearer got within ten feet of a girl who had stalker potential. They spent the next few minutes laughing and coming up with ridiculous suggestions on how to detect a stalker.
Finally, Ephraim said, “Nobody but Damon needs that stuff. He’s the one who attracts the Fatal Attraction types.” His voice rose in a cracking falsetto.
“Oooh, Damon, you so fine.” He batted his eyelashes.
Damon smacked him on the side of the head. Ephraim retaliated with a punch to the ribs and they wrestled for a few minutes before Damon’s mother yelled down the hall to knock it the heck off before they broke the furniture. Smothering laughter, they moved on to the newest video games.
To be in pimp status one had to be fly. Toeing the invisible line of cool rules was crucial for junior year. All decisions had the potential to make or break a sister’s reputation. Fall short of the latest trend and be relegated to the world of nerds and dweebs. Stumble across the line and become an outcast, may as well hang with the Goths and meth heads. And since Brielle Bronson was six feet one, wore a size eleven shoe and had very long monkey toes to boot, according to her less attractive twin sister Kyzie, (at least in Brielle’s opinion) she had to be very careful indeed. Hence the last minute wardrobe enhancement shopping trip. She and her sister Kyzie had been out all day long and were finishing up by looking for school supplies.
“What color binder are you getting?” asked Kyzie.
“I’m not sure.”
Brielle was standing in Target, looking at all of the different loose-leaf binders that lined the shelves in front of her. She had a red basket dangling over her left arm filled with other supplies and was staring down at her school supply list.
“I was thinking about purple, but then I’d have to look for all purple notebooks and they’re hard to find. Then I thought maybe turquoise, but that’s a hard color to match-,”
“Aw, forget it,” said Kyzie, in disgust. “Only you would make a major production out of picking a loose leaf binder. We’ve been shopping all day. I’m tired.”
“Well, I have to carry this for the whole year,” said Brielle. “It should coordinate with most of my new outfits.”
“Hello,” said Kyzie, waving a hand in front of Brielle’s face. “They are school supplies, not a fashion statement.” She, too, had a basket over her arm and was indiscriminately grabbing the first notebook or pencil she came to that fulfilled her class requirements.
Brielle cast her sister a look of acute dislike.
“Like I’d listen to you,” said Brielle. “Goths have better taste.”
Kyzie looked down at her black Capri pants, grey and white Michigan State tee shirt, and black and green polka dot ballet flats. Her natural hair was twisted in the front and pulled into a simple bun on top of her head. “My taste is eclectic and stylish.”
“Yeah, if you are from the planet Pluto,” said Brielle, and turned her attention back to the shelves of binders.
“Well, at least I don’t look like school supply Barbie,” said Kyzie. “And speaking of fashion statements, what’s with you all of a sudden being so concerned about matching and styling?”
“I like to look nice,” protested Brielle with a flounce and toss of her head. “And we’re juniors this year. I’m dressing for sixteen and success.”
She usually kept her hair in braids for swimming but she’d taken them out for first day of school yearbook pictures. Hair freshly curled, she wore her new yellow and white Capri ensemble. Her toenails, painted yellow also, gleamed up at her from yellow and black flip-flops.
Kyzie looked skeptical. She mumbled under her breath so her sister wouldn’t hear her. “Success with a certain knucklehead who shall remain anonymous, I’ll bet.” She poked her sister in the back with a long finger.
“Go away,” repeated Brielle, making a shooing motion with one hand. “You’re bugging me.”
Kyzie started to walk away and then turned back for one last dig.
“Maybe I’ll go and get something to eat,” taunted Kyzie. “By the time mommy and I come back, you should maybe have decided between wide rule and college rule paper.”
Brielle plucked the first thing she laid her hand on out of the basket and heaved a pack of erasers at Kyzie’s head. Kyzie nimbly sidestepped the package and watched as Brielle fumbled the supplies she had in her other hand.
“Uh-oh,” she said. “Now you’ve got to go back and agonize over erasers again.”
“Eeuwwww! I can’t stand you,” said Brielle, steaming with frustration. She picked up the pens.
“The feeling’s mutual,” said Kyzie. She picked up the pack of erasers and flicked them back in Brielle’s general direction before she sprinted out of the aisle, laughing. Brielle, in hot pursuit, almost collided with another girl who’d turned down the aisle.
“Watch it,” the girl hissed, barely avoiding the collision.
“Oh, sorry,” said Brielle. She steadied the shorter girl with one hand to her shoulder. “I didn’t see you there.”
“That’s obvious,” snarled the girl, tone so nasty that Brielle peered into her face, puzzled. The girl glared back at her.
“What is your problem?” asked Brielle.
The other girl snatched away and stomped off without responding. Brielle shrugged and walked out of the aisle and
