Am I the type of girl to get angry over little things?

Yes.

Am I the type of girl to stand up for what I believe in?

Definitely.

Am I the type of person, who if you insult in any way, will do everything and anything it takes to make sure you get what you deserve so you will never ever, ever, EVER mess with me again?

Absofreakinglutely.

So, this goes without further comment – do not put me on edge. Because if you do, by the time you manage to escape my psychopathic self, you will either be a) emotionally scarred, b) mortally wounded, or c) dead. So why is it, that after knowing me since kinder garden (unfortunately), this still will not go through Chloe Jenkins’s hollow head? Maybe it’s because I hate her even more than I hate yellow underwear and the Muppets, or the mere fact that she is shoving her freaking tongue down my boyfriend’s throat, but standing here staring at her perfect shiny pony-tail swishing side to side, my cold glare burning a hole through her back, I can’t help but want to strangle her until her bobble-head head bursts right off her tiny body.

“Holy fudge balls,” Rita gapes, “In a world of Greek mythology, I’m Atreus, and Chloe is Thyestes.”

I glance sideways at her, my eyebrows raised in amusement at her choice of words. In a world of Greek mythology? Really?

“Except I’m way hotter than Atreus,” she says, rolling her eyes and flipping her long black curly hair over her shoulder.

“Oh, and I’m not a guy, either.”

“How comforting,” I say dryly, my gaze landing on Satan once again.

“I can’t believe her,” Rita exclaims, shaking her head, “She’s the type of person who causes people to fight with each other, which ultimately causes war, which makes all that global warming cr*p happen and the ocean to overflow and drown the whole world and the apes to take over the human race like in that movie and then we’re all dead and it’s all her freaking fault!”

I can’t even manage to smile, but say wryly, “What a lovely image for you to plant in my young, innocent mind.”

Rita gives me an innocent smile, her bright pink braces so obnoxiously vibrant that they hurt my eyes just looking at them.

“You know you love me,” she says, smirking smugly.

“Puke,” I say, pretending to gag myself with my finger.

Rita looks at me sternly, before throwing a library book at my head.

Yeah, she’s like that.

I squeal in surprise and duck down, trying to avoid the flying safety hazard, but in the end I somehow manage to get hit with the book and bang the side of my face on the shelf of books we’re hiding behind not-so-discreetly.

We’re peeking through the empty slots where books should be. If we each had cigars hanging from our mouth, it’d be just like “Sherlock Holmes”.

“That didn’t hurt or anything!” I exclaim, glaring at Rita before standing up from the dirty floor, which is probably filled with so many germs and diseases that I don’t even wanna know about.

I mean, I could get an STD just looking at it.

I rub my head dramatically and glare at Rita, who just ignores me and continues to peer through her binoculars.

I didn’t see the point of bringing binoculars – we aren’t on the top of the Eiffel Tower, admiring the wonderful view of the world below us; we are at our school library, glaring at Chloe who has her hands all over Conner, staring at her not-so-admiringly.

Okay, I mean, we both want to be in her place, so I guess it is kind of admiring, but whatever. The point is that Conner is my ex-boyfriend, and we just broke up last night, and everyone with even the tiniest brain knows that you just because you say that you’re broken up, does NOT MEAN YOU REALLY ARE! It’s just something people say to each other when they’re angry – Conner took it way to seriously.

And Chloe is just such a . . . Chloe. Of course she would lunge for my boyfriend the second he was available – heck, she probably would even if we were still dating.

Seriously – she is everything your mother teaches you not to be. She is so bad of an influence that in second grade, when Rita was in her class, Rita’s mother had Rita transferred because she told her she’d seen Chloe kissing this kid Garret behind the bleachers. And it certainly wasn’t innocent. This was your full out, spit-swapping, germ combining, PG-13 rated mess.

In third freaking grade!

Anyways – such a Chloe.

But back to the binoculars.

Not only do they make me feel like a secret spy – which is a little weird – but binoculars also give off that kind of “stalker” vibe, and – let me make this a hundred percent clear – Rita and I are not stalking. We’re merely observing from afar. With binoculars and a camera.

So think of us as paparazzi. Very friendly paparazzi. Who are maybe kind of looking for a way to maybe kind of ruin Chloe’s life.

BUT WE DID NOT START THIS.

Chloe started this war – she threw the first bomb, and, trust me – Rita and I will make sure we toss her her fair share of grenades.

“Does she even have a soul?” Rita asks dryly, shaking her head in amazement. “She deserves some kind of award. ‘Chloe Jenkins crowned “Best Backstabber”’,” she quotes, trying to lighten the mood.

But a heavy cloud of doom has floated above us, and is there is no stopping the rain that pours down.

“I’m gonna rip her freaking head off,” I growl, glaring at Chloe, who still is having bundles of fun with Conner.

MY CONNER.

“I’m gonna rip her head off, and then rip Conner’s head off and BURN THEIR EYEBALLS IN A FIRE. It’ll be like one of those mosh pits. I mean, I’ll totally go to jail, but it’s so freaking worth it.”

“Hattie?” Rita asks, placing a hand on my shoulder. By now used to my momentarily freak-out episodes, she knows how to handle me so I don’t scream at anyone or do something I will regret.

Like chopping Chloe’s head off, for example.

“Let’s take some deep breaths, okay? Breathe in and out,” she says, sucking in air through her nose.

“Let’s try not to think about killing people, alright? Let’s think about cotton candy and unicorns and bunnies,” she suggests, using her sweet innocent voice that she saves for sucking up to teachers and parents.

“I’m going to set her on fire.”

“I think that’d be a safety hazard,” Rita suggests, not-so-helpfully.

“Oh, Rita,” I growl, shaking my head, “When I’m done with Chloe, I’m going to be the safety hazard.”

“What if we ditch the rest of school and go somewhere where the devil isn’t there?” she says soothingly, “You can let your emotions run free and all that cr*p. I could even buy you frozen yogurt from Freeze Berry,” she sings, nudging me with her elbow.

“Fro-yo can’t save me now,” I say, narrowing my eyes at Chloe, ready to march right over there and slap her right into the next freaking generation.

“Not even chocolate marshmallow?”

“Not even chocolate marshmallow,” I confirm, my intentions set on confronting Chloe as soon as I can.

“What about with rainbow sprinkles,” Rita taunts.

“Don’t bring rainbow sprinkles into this,” I say, knowing she’s hit my week spot.

“Oh, but they’re so good!” she exclaims, “With all their . . . rainbowness and what not.”

I glare at her.

“This is your first and only warning,” I say, my fists clenching, “Drag me out of here now, or there will be blood. And a trial.”







Rainbow sprinkles are my savior.

Seriously, they make everything better. People take them for granted, when really; they can heal everything from scraped knees to broken hearts.

I get a bad grade on a test, and where do I go?

To rainbow sprinkles.

Fall off my bike?

Rainbow sprinkles.

See Chloe Scum Jenkins jumping my unofficial ex-boyfriend Conner in the library right in front of my forever-scarred eyes?

Rainbow sprinkles.

They’re there for me no matter what, always sitting on top of a large cup of chocolate marshmallow frozen yogurt.

“So are you feeling less . . . killy?” Rita asks me from across the small round table, her eyebrows raised.

“How can anyone feel murderous when they’re eating rainbow sprinkles?” I respond, shoving another spoonful into my mouth.

After sneaking here after study hall – they make it so easy; Freeze Berry is right across the street from the school, everybody goes there during lunch – Rita bought me an extra-large chocolate marshmallow yogurt, swimming in chocolate syrup, and topped with a mountain of whipped cream. Not to mention the sprinkles.

So what, I’ll gain a couple pounds, no doubt. But I am in a time of crisis – this is no time to be counting my calories.

Rita pours the last of her super ginormous pixie stick into her open mouth, tilting her head back in not the most attractive way.

“I don’t see what the big deal with you and rainbow sprinkles is,” she says, shrugging.

“It’s like you and pixie sticks,” I explain, “Try to imagine living without them.”

She screws her mouth to one side – her thinking face – and then shudders.

“The world would be a horrible place,” she declares, her eyes wide.

“Exactly,” I say, nodding my head knowingly.

Okay, so we’re not the most normal teenagers, but whatever.

“So,” Rita says, clearing her throat, “No matter how much you love sprinkles, and I love pixie sticks, we gotta stop with this side talk. What are you gonna do about Chloe?”

My stomach churns just thinking about the horrendous sight of her and Conner.

Conner and I’ve been dating for three months – or had – and, even though I never do admit it when I’m wrong, this fight was totally a hundred percent Conner’s fault. We were going to see this new movie, right? If you’re even the slightest bit “in the loop”, I’m sure you’ve seen it. It’s called “Shattered”. Okay, so it wasn’t the best, it was basically a rip off of Twilight and Vampire Diaries, but whatever. All the girls wanted to see it because, well, if you saw the main character, you’d know why. He’s not even that famous, I mean, I’ve never heard of him before last night, but OH MY FUDGING JESUS HE IS SUCH AN ATTRACTIVE PERSON. I’m not exaggerating even the least bit. He breaks the one to ten scale. And then the one to one hundred scale? He totally breaks that too! No matter how high you make the standards, he’s about an infinity higher.

He’s a scale-breaker!

I mean, how hot is that?

The point is that it was so totally obvious that Conner was so totally jealous. But I guess if you’re going to a chick flick where the whole time your eyes will be glued to the shirtless God on the screen, it’s not the best idea to bring your boyfriend.

But he asked me to go!

Was it some sort of test to see if I enjoyed staring at the hot guy on the screen?

BECAUSE I CERTAINLY DID.

I think the part when Conner got really p*ssed was when he asked me if I wanted to come with him to get some more popcorn.

“Uh,” I responded, “No thanks. I’ll stay here.”

Okay, so maybe that wasn’t the most thought-out response. But I never think before I talk, so what else would he expect? Plus, my head was all fuzzy from looking at the miracle of Blake Collins.

After the movie, when we were back in his car, he started interrogating me. I mean what the fudge?!? He was acting like a cop who’d caught me with pot.

“So, did you like the movie?”

“Yeah, it was good,” I replied, “Did you?”

He completely skimmed over my question.

“What was your favorite part?” he asked.

“Um . . . when they were in the forest,” I said uncertainly, vaguely remembering that scene. Honestly, my favorite part was any second that Blake Collins had his shirt off, but I wasn’t going to tell my boyfriend that.

“Which time?”

“The second time,” I said, nodding.

“Oh,” Conner replied breezily, “Cause there was no second time.”

Like, whaaaat?

“Then I meant the first one,” I said, quickly backtracking.

“Oh, well it seems like your eyes were glued to the screen.”

Have you seen Blake Collins? How could they not?

“No,” I protested, “What is with the twenty-one questions?”

“Nothing,” Conner said, waving his hand, “It’s just, you seemed way more interested in him than in me.”

I rolled my eyes at his melodramatics. (Tip: Never date a boy who went to acting camp).

“Conner,” I sighed, “Calm down.”

“What do you mean, ‘calm down’?” he exclaimed, “I’m perfectly calm!”

“Really?” I asked, raising my eyebrows, “Then why are you yelling?”

“I’m not ye –,” he began, and then realized that he totally was.

“Look,” he sighed, “I’m just – well – I – did you find that guy in the movie attractive?”

“Yes,” I said, honest, “I did.”

“SEE?” he yelled, throwing his arms up, “That is so not what you are supposed to say!”

“Conner, have you noticed; I NEVER DO WHAT I’M SUPPOSED TO!” I exclaimed, “And can you honestly tell me that you don’t find any other girls attractive?”

He had said yes.

Which was so obviously a big fat ugly gross stupid slimy lie, because who did I just see him sucking face with?

Another girl. Who was so not me.

I mean, I guess I could’ve been more discreet, and not have been drooling over Blake right in front of Conner’s eyes, but whatever.

So dramatic.

So after a few more minutes of yelling at each other, he started up his car angrily, and we rode to my house in silence.

Pulling up to my street – what, he couldn’t even be decent enough to pull into my driveway? – Conner said, “Look, if you’re so interested in other guys, maybe we should take a break.”

“Fine by me,” I sneered, glaring at him.

“Good,” he said.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“OKAY.”

“Bye.”

“See ya.”

“Okay.”

“OH MY GOD STOP SAYING THINGS!” I exclaimed, throwing my hands, “WE ARE BREAKING UP AND I GET TO GET THE LAST WORD OKAY? NOW BYE.”

I got out and slammed the car door before he could say anything else, I mean, I was really sad that we had a fight, but I was still happy that I got the last word.

I’m one of the most stubborn people you’ll ever meet. And you either love me for it, or hate me.

“Hellooooo?” Rita sings, snapping her fingers in my face. “Are you dead?”

I jolt out of the ugly memory and say, “Nope. Just replaying the horrible events from last night.”

“He shouldn’t have asked you to the movie in the first place,” Rita says, rolling her eyes, “I swear, guys are the most stupid things alive.”

I nod, totally agreeing.

“But what are you gonna do? Talk to him?”

“Uh YES!” I exclaim, like – no duh.

“I’m gonna yell his freaking ears off. And I will choke Chloe to death with that Gucci scarf she was wearing.”

“Ah,” Rita says smugly, “See? Those illegal thoughts are coming back,” she tells me, nodding. “How about some more of those rainbow sprinkles?”

I glance down at the cup I asked the guy behind the counter to fill with just rainbow sprinkles.

“That’s it?” the dude asked.

“YES,” I snapped angrily, so not in the mood to be tested.

“They’re gone,” I say now, looking at Rita, “There’s nothing stopping me from being a psychopathic killer now . . .”

“Oh . . .” Rita laughs, “You don’t wanna do that . . .”

“I really do.”

“No, you don’t.”

“But I so do.”

“I have an idea!” Rita exclaims, clapping her hands, trying to change the subject. She puts on her serious face, and I can already see where this is going.

“I am your therapist,” she announces, her arms folded on the table professionally, “So tell me, young adolescent, what seems to be worrying you?”

“Oh, well, I don’t know,” I say sarcastically, “Maybe it’s the fact that the person I most despise was making out with my boyfriend who is not officially broken up with me yet and Chloe has always tried to steal everything from me and she keeps winning and I do NOT like to lose?”

I say this all in one big breath, and it makes me sound kind of crazy, I’m guessing, because Rita has this slightly terrified expression on her face.

“Oh.” She clears her throat, “Well, what are you planning to do about this obstacle?”

I almost laugh out loud at her therapist-talk. Obstacle?

“I don’t know, Rita,” I say, running my finger through my long brown hair, “I just wanna punch a wall, you know?”

She switches out of therapist-mode, and back to Rita.

“Totally,” she says compassionately, nodding, “So than why don’t you do it?”

“Punch a wall?” I ask, crinkling my forehead.

“Sure,” she shrugs breezily, “I have five holes in my wall from times that I’ve wanted to strangle someone.”

Rita just moved here about three months ago, which also happened to be the time that my best friend Abby moved away, and we haven’t known each other for a while, but I like her already.

“Alright,” I say, raising my eyebrows.

And that’s how we get kicked out of Freeze Berry.