Excerpt from a new WIP, Gossamer Boy.
I did. At least, I made an honest effort. Smiling wasn't one of those easy things like breathing or throwing up. Smiling was actually pretty hard to do. Well, for me it was.
"Thanks honey. Get up so I can shoot someone else."
It was picture day at Hell High, er, Hellman High. Right before going into the guillotine two girls looked at me and said, "You're gonna have you're picture taken looking like that?"
There's no answer to give in a situation such as this. I did my usual blank stare and they left me alone. Hey, it worked for skunks, and now it was working for me.
I knew my hair looked awful. How was it possible I could make it worse than it usually did, especially after hours of gel, flat irons, hair pins, and aqua net? A greasy burn spread through my stomach when I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the angle of Haley Dodd's compact. I saw a pale thin face with freckles on the nose, stringy auburn hair and tired-looking brown eyes. The compact snapped shut.
But they had to like the shirt I was wearing, it was bedazzled like a sick Vegas girl. My mom had several hobbies that kept her—and me—from going nuts. She bedazzled everything, even the towels, she played online poker, and she collected Star Wars glasses from Burger King, circa 1979 . . .