The Anti-Prom - By Abby McDonald Page 0,14
decorated with a few photos in heavy silver frames. Kaitlin and crew at the lakeshore. Kaitlin and crew hanging out by the pool. Kaitlin and Bliss, grinning widely in matching red bikinis. They look happy, like best friends should. Suppose you never can tell.
I glance over at Bliss, wondering again why she’s going through with all this effort and strategy, when she could just knee that ex of hers in the groin and be finished with it. It’s what I would do. When I found out my last boyfriend had been hooking up with the door girl from Club Ninja behind my back, I made like Carrie Underwood and dug a vicious scratch into his precious car. But maybe Bliss has her reasons. Just like I have my reasons for humoring her until I can get on with my own agenda for the night.
Finished with the tables, I’m just heading to the dresser when I look up. “Holy sh — ugar!” I jump, clutching my chest. A small kid is standing in the doorway, watching us silently with big, dark eyes.
“Avery, hi!” Bliss looks panicked. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”
The girl just stares. She’s sucking her thumb, dressed in a hideous lacy nightgown covered in ribbons and bows.
“What do we do? Just . . . ignore her?” I whisper. I’ve watched way too many demon spawn movies not to be freaked out by her pale skin and perfect little ringlets.
“I don’t know,” Bliss whispers back, so I tentatively take another few steps toward the dresser.
“What are you doing?” Avery finally takes her thumb out of her mouth.
“I’m your sister’s friend, remember?” Bliss pastes on an innocent smile, the same one that reduces adults to putty. Avery isn’t so easily convinced.
“Why are you looking through her stuff? She doesn’t like it when I look through her stuff. Mommy says it’s wrong.” The kid glares at me.
“I, umm . . .”
“We’re looking for something!” Bliss says quickly. “Kaitlin lost something very important. We’re helping her find it!”
“Mommy says I’m not allowed to look.” Avery takes a step back toward the hallway. She raises her voice into that high-pitched, bratty tone. “Momm —!”
In an instant, I lunge forward and grab her, clamping my hand over her mouth. She squeals, biting down on my fingers. Hard. “Owww!” I groan, struggling to stay quiet. Bliss stares at me in shock. “You want to shut the door?” I tell her, fighting to keep the kid in my arms. She quickly does it.
“What are you doing?”
“Saving your ass,” I tell her, wrestling Avery into an armlock. I’m careful not to hurt her, however much she kicks and flails against me. Then she throws herself to the side, and I lose my balance. “Mneugh!” I fall hard, twisting my body at the last minute so that I hit the ground beneath her, instead of the other way around.
This is why I’m never going to breed.
“You want to maybe keep trying?” I order. Bliss looks at me as if I’m crazy, but she starts hitting keys again. Which leaves the demon spawn to me.
Gritting my teeth, I try my best to sound friendly. “Hey, kid! Kid, I’m not letting go until you keep quiet.” I hold tight and eventually she stills. “Good.” I exhale. “Now, we’re going to make a deal here. You know what a deal is?”
She shakes her head against me.
“A deal is where you stay quiet, and I give you something. Anything you want. Do you like the sound of that?”
A pause, and then she nods. Ah, capitalism.
“OK. But if you call for your mommy, the deal’s off.” I slowly release her. Avery folds her little arms and glares at me, but she doesn’t scream.
“I want my present.”
“I’m sure you do.” I pick up my bag from where I left it on the bed, nursing my poor hand. Damn, that kid’s got teeth on her. “Bliss, status?”
“Nothing yet.” She’s rifling through desk drawers now. “I’ll check if she wrote it down.”
Great.
“Your present, OK. I have, umm . . .” I dig through my bag, flipping past the items that won’t — or, rather, shouldn’t — interest a preteen. But there’s nothing that might win her over. No sparkly gadgets or cool little toys or anything colored pink.
“How about a Twinkie?” I hold up the package with defeat. But she snatches it from my hand and happily tears off the wrapper. Soon, she’s sitting cross-legged in the corner, devouring the snack with rapturous abandon.
I raise my eyebrows