Page 14 of My Rules for Revenge (Twisted YA Mysteries #1)

A fter we cleaned the giant penis that had been spray-painted on the wall, we decorated the room. I still couldn’t believe that someone would go out of their way to do something stupid like that. Unfortunately for me, it happened again.

I stayed quiet while I helped Heather build a new shelf where she wanted to place knick-knacks, comic book figurines, and other related items. She wanted to put up a Dark Lord helmet, a bust of Freakzilla, and a picture of Principal Newman’s face on the body of a donkey she had edited.

I managed to convince her not to put it up.

She instead opted for a miniature sword statue she ordered online.

She told me that if anyone messed with her, she hoped it was sharp enough to stab people.

I came to realize that she was pretty violent.

While we worked, Heather told me a story about a student who tried to expose Principal Newman for granting favoritism to the sports teams, but he unfortunately failed. He soon disappeared afterwards. He was most likely forced to transfer schools.

“His name was Aidan. What happened to him was not fair at all,” Heather commented.

“Hmm,” I muttered.

“What do you think about all that?” Heather asked.

“I think it sucks. Aidan shouldn’t have been silenced.”

Heather nodded.

“You don’t have to be quiet, Indira. I don’t bite. Well, I do bite, but I won’t bite you. I promise,” Heather joked.

“You bite people?”

“I have before, like in middle school when some guys tried to touch my ass—it wasn’t gonna happen, Indira. They avoided me for a whole year after that, and I remember them sprinting in the opposite direction whenever they saw me,” Heather said with a smirk.

“Wow! That’s intense,” I commented.

“If you don’t try to touch my ass, you won’t be bit,” Heather joked.

“You don’t have to worry. I keep my hands to myself."

Most of the time, anyway, I thought.

“I’m talking way too much about myself. Tell me about yourself, Indira. I want to know things,” Heather remarked.

The question took me by surprise. I couldn’t recall the last time someone genuinely asked me to open up about myself. It felt good.

“I’m not that interesting, Heather.”

“I don’t believe you. Everyone’s got a story. I bet you’ll tell me something that I’ll find to be very interesting.”

“Well, I’m from Nicaragua. My parents immigrated here when I was very young. They’re religious and conservative people. I guess I’ve inherited that to a degree,” I admitted.

“You’re religious?” Heather asked.

“I was religious at one time in my life, but not anymore. It felt too restricting,” I replied.

“I feel that. I’m not religious at all. I want the freedom to act like an absolute madwoman,” Heather explained.

I giggled. Heather just had a way of saying things that sounded hilarious out loud.

“I get it,” I nodded.

“You wanted the freedom to act like an absolute madwoman as well?” Heather asked.

“I understand the need to let loose every once in a while,” I replied.

“Whoa. Do you like to party? That sounds like you like to party.”

“I don’t enjoy parties, but I do like dancing,” I clarified.

“Where do you dance?” Heather asked.

“I…I dance alone in my room.”

“Oh wow.”

“Yes.”

“That’s depressing.”

“I know,” I responded quietly.

“Oh, I’m joking. If that’s what you like to do, so be it,” Heather assured me.

“It is. But my father comes into my room sometimes and tells me to stop. He believes I listen to satanic ritual music and that I’m performing a dance for the demons in hell,” I explained.

“Your dad tells you to stop? That’s crazy. If I were you, I’d dress up as a demon. If he’s gonna be mad about it, might as well drive him nuts. That’s just me, though. I’m a madwoman.”

“I could imagine you doing that. That would be very funny,” I chuckled.

“Yeah. My mom’s kind of like that, though. She’d probably tell me to stop dancing, but I would be blasting my heavy metal music, of course, just to annoy her.”

We finished building the shelf and began to place the knick-knacks on top of it.

To joke around, Heather put the Dark Lord helmet on her head and made the famous heavy breathing noises.

We freaked out when she couldn’t take it off.

Thankfully, we were able to slide it out eventually and had a good laugh about it.

In the back of my mind, I hoped that our growing friendship would last. I needed something like that in my life, very badly. I suppose most people did.

“So, any guys you like? Any guy you’re into?” Heather asked.

“I’m not into any guy right now, but I have a hard time talking with them. I’m a quiet person. I don’t know how to approach them,” I admitted.

“To be honest, I don’t know how to do it either. I just make cringy jokes and hope for the best. Sometimes it works, and sometimes they look at me like I’m a circus freak.”

“Do you ever get embarrassed?”I asked.

“I used to, but I think I grew out of it. I just make light of the situation. If the guy doesn’t awkwardly laugh with me at my awkwardness, I yank out their ball hairs with tweezers.”

“That’s kind of disturbing,” I remarked.

“Not to me.”

We both laughed.

“See? It works.”

“Heather, can I show you a dark joke?”

“What is it?” Heather asked.

I quickly retrieved my phone and scrolled through this blog. I found the meme and showed it to her—it was a picture of a crushed snail. She read the caption aloud.

“I always die a little inside when I step on a snail. They do, too,” Heather scoffed.

“Do you get it?” I asked.

She laughed aloud.

“Yes, I get it. That’s a clever one,” Heather admitted.

“I think so as well,” I added.

“I had no idea you were into those kinds of jokes,” Heather pointed out.

“When I discovered the forum when I was younger, I always liked to scroll through the dark posts. It made me feel bad, if that makes any sense. I’ve been sheltered for most of my life.

When I scroll through the darkness of it, I feel at home.

It’s not something my parents would ever approve of me doing, and as a result, it makes me want to do it even more,” I explained.

Heather remained quiet and gave me a curious stare. I never told anyone that. Heather was the first person. I was beginning to trust her more and more.

“I told you, didn’t I?” Heather boasted.

“What do you mean?”

“I told you that you would end up telling me something interesting about your life.”

I smiled. She was right.

“You’re like a wizard.”

“I wish I were a wizard. I could transform Newman into a frog and boil him into a frog stew,” Heather commented.

“That doesn’t sound like it would taste good,” I said in disgust.

“It wouldn’t, but how else would I hear him as a screaming frog?”

When we finished placing the knick-knacks and other related items on the shelf, Heather dove into her beanbag chair, face first. I sat myself down at a desk. Heather slowly turned herself around and didn’t bother to fix her messy hair, which covered her face.

“Do I look hot?” Heather asked.

“Sure.”

“You’re lying, but thank you.”

“Do you want to see more adult jokes?” I asked.

“Please don’t call them that.”

“Oh, sorry,” I said apologetically.

“No, it’s okay. It just sounds weird. What other memes do you have?”

“I found some dark memes having to do with war, famine, poverty, and flying goats.”

Heather flipped her hair and bulged her eyes in shock.

“Goodness gracious, lady. What type of crazy things are you into?”

“The craziest types,” I admitted proudly.

“You can send them to me later.”

“Okay, no problem.”

Heather jumped up and went to the teacher’s desk to organize the drawers.

At a glance, I noticed that she had access to many college applications that belonged to other students.

She had the duty of officially marking the student as “An Accomplished Master of English Literature.” This stood out on a college application, of course, as melodramatic as it sounded.

Heather informed me we would begin reading soon.

Just then, I saw some movement from my peripheral vision and turned my eyes toward the tall, rectangular window on the door.

I sneaked in closer to get a better look.

I pretended to inspect a bookshelf so they wouldn’t notice my wandering eyes.

There were many jocks in jerseys, sweating.

I recognized some familiar faces from the basketball team.

They formed a crowd and began talking amongst themselves.

One of them was quiet. He was lean yet physically fit with scruffy brown hair and hazel eyes.

He held a basketball and mostly listened while Frank Jackson did most of the talking, unsurprisingly.

There was something about him that drew me to him. Perhaps it was because he seemed to be quiet like I was. It also helped that he was handsome with a muscular body. I found Frankie to be a good-looking guy, but he was full of himself. This was hardly an attractive quality to me.

“I see you. You want to scoop them up like ice cream and lick them dry,” Heather said as she snuck up behind me and startled me.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t stare.”

“Why not? They do it all the time. If it’s alright for them, it’s alright for us,” Heather pointed out.

“I guess that’s true.”

“So, who’s your favorite?” Heather asked.

“I’m not sure. They all seem a bit loud to me.”

“A bit loud? What’s your criteria for romance?”

“I don’t like boys who draw too much attention to themselves,” I commented.

“Huh. It’s good I’m not a boy, then.”

“Yes.”

“Before we get started, I have a quick question for you,” Heather expressed.

“Okay. Is something wrong?”

“Oh, no. Not at all. I was wondering if you wanted to see a movie this Friday night. My friend Vivian’s also going,” Heather offered.

“I’m not sure. I might have to help my mother with something,” I said.

Heather groaned loudly.

“Boo-hoo! Indira, please tell me you’re joking.”