furious, outraged. And I can imagine myself telling Jordan off too. I can just hear myself saying, “Jordan Ferguson, you are such an egomaniac! You are selfish and shallow and narcissistic and vain! I don’t know how I ever believed you were my friend. But I am so glad that I figured it out. I hope you and your new friends are happy together, because I’m sure you all totally deserve each other!” And then I will turn on my heel and just storm off. Ah, that would be such a good feeling.
However, I doubt that I’ll be able to pull it off. So I will have to console myself with my petty little vengeance daydreams. I have several of them now. One of my favorites is set at a pep assembly. I think we’re actually supposed to have one next week. Anyway, I imagine the cheerleaders doing one of those pyramids. Naturally, Jordan, little sprite that she is, will be on top, but as soon as she climbs up there her pyramid will collapse and she will fall flat on her face, maybe even break her cute little nose. Then Amber will stand up and say, in a very loud voice, “Been putting on a little weight, have you, Ferguson?” And the whole school will laugh.
Another one has Jordan walking down the hall at school and she drops a book. She bends over to pick it up and her jeans are so tight that they just split wide open right down the middle, totally exposing her rear end. And she is wearing these ugly granny panties and everyone just stares at her in horror then laughs.
Okay, I do feel a teeny bit of guilt when I harbor such horrendously mean thoughts toward my ex-best friend. But then I simply remind myself, she deserves it!
Before I go to bed I drop hints that I’m not feeling too well. “I think I’m getting a bug or something,” I tell my mom as I make myself a cup of ginger-chamomile tea. (Mom is always trying to get us to drink this awful stuff when we’re sick.)
She puts a hand on my forehead. “You don’t feel like you’re running a fever.”
“She’s got grouchitis,” says Bree, making a face behind Mom’s back.
“Sometimes people get grouchy when they’re sick,” offers my mom.
I take a sip of tea and attempt to look pitiful.
“What is it that’s bothering you?” asks Mom.
“My stomach and my head. I think I’m getting the flu.”
She frowns. “It seems a little early for flu season, but I suppose . . . ”
“She’s just mad that Jordan dumped her,” says Bree in a taunting tone.
“Shut up!” I glare at her, controlling myself from wanting to reach out and really smack my smart-mouthed little sister.
“We don’t say ‘shut up,’” my mom reminds me.
“Well, I wish she would bug off then.”
“Bree, why don’t you go to your room so Kara and I can talk.”
“Yeah, fine, send
me
to my room,” whines Bree. “Like
I’m
the problem here. Well, at least
I
have friends!”
“Bree!” I hear the warning in Mom’s voice, then Bree’s door slams behind her.
I squirt some honey into my tea, stir it, then take another sip.
Mom sits down at a stool by the counter. “What’s the problem, Kara?”
“The problem is that I feel like crud, Mom.” I say this with all the emphasis I can muster, then set my mug down loudly on the countertop and look at her, hoping I look pretty sick.
“But I can tell that something else is going on, Kara. I’m guessing Bree is right. Does this have something to do with Jordan?”
I make a dramatic groaning sound. “Why do you have to keep thinking everything is about Jordan? Sheesh! Yeah, we used to be friends, but we’re not anymore. It’s no big deal, Mom. Get over it.”
She frowns. “I’m not the one making it a problem.”
I hold up my hands. “Well, neither am I. I’m just telling you I feel kind of sick. You’re the one blowing everything out of proportion here.” I know this is a good tactic to distract my mom. I throw whatever it is right back in her face and often it can really confuse things.
“I’m not blowing anything
However, I doubt that I’ll be able to pull it off. So I will have to console myself with my petty little vengeance daydreams. I have several of them now. One of my favorites is set at a pep assembly. I think we’re actually supposed to have one next week. Anyway, I imagine the cheerleaders doing one of those pyramids. Naturally, Jordan, little sprite that she is, will be on top, but as soon as she climbs up there her pyramid will collapse and she will fall flat on her face, maybe even break her cute little nose. Then Amber will stand up and say, in a very loud voice, “Been putting on a little weight, have you, Ferguson?” And the whole school will laugh.
Another one has Jordan walking down the hall at school and she drops a book. She bends over to pick it up and her jeans are so tight that they just split wide open right down the middle, totally exposing her rear end. And she is wearing these ugly granny panties and everyone just stares at her in horror then laughs.
Okay, I do feel a teeny bit of guilt when I harbor such horrendously mean thoughts toward my ex-best friend. But then I simply remind myself, she deserves it!
Before I go to bed I drop hints that I’m not feeling too well. “I think I’m getting a bug or something,” I tell my mom as I make myself a cup of ginger-chamomile tea. (Mom is always trying to get us to drink this awful stuff when we’re sick.)
She puts a hand on my forehead. “You don’t feel like you’re running a fever.”
“She’s got grouchitis,” says Bree, making a face behind Mom’s back.
“Sometimes people get grouchy when they’re sick,” offers my mom.
I take a sip of tea and attempt to look pitiful.
“What is it that’s bothering you?” asks Mom.
“My stomach and my head. I think I’m getting the flu.”
She frowns. “It seems a little early for flu season, but I suppose . . . ”
“She’s just mad that Jordan dumped her,” says Bree in a taunting tone.
“Shut up!” I glare at her, controlling myself from wanting to reach out and really smack my smart-mouthed little sister.
“We don’t say ‘shut up,’” my mom reminds me.
“Well, I wish she would bug off then.”
“Bree, why don’t you go to your room so Kara and I can talk.”
“Yeah, fine, send
me
to my room,” whines Bree. “Like
I’m
the problem here. Well, at least
I
have friends!”
“Bree!” I hear the warning in Mom’s voice, then Bree’s door slams behind her.
I squirt some honey into my tea, stir it, then take another sip.
Mom sits down at a stool by the counter. “What’s the problem, Kara?”
“The problem is that I feel like crud, Mom.” I say this with all the emphasis I can muster, then set my mug down loudly on the countertop and look at her, hoping I look pretty sick.
“But I can tell that something else is going on, Kara. I’m guessing Bree is right. Does this have something to do with Jordan?”
I make a dramatic groaning sound. “Why do you have to keep thinking everything is about Jordan? Sheesh! Yeah, we used to be friends, but we’re not anymore. It’s no big deal, Mom. Get over it.”
She frowns. “I’m not the one making it a problem.”
I hold up my hands. “Well, neither am I. I’m just telling you I feel kind of sick. You’re the one blowing everything out of proportion here.” I know this is a good tactic to distract my mom. I throw whatever it is right back in her face and often it can really confuse things.
“I’m not blowing anything
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