Almost One: Part 3
May 16th, 2009
Ivy rapped her knuckles against Edwen’s forehead. “I think you broke him when you punched him, Andi. He’s talking stupid, and his eyes are loose.”
“Nystagmus,” Eugenia diagnosed. “A malfunction of the ocular muscles. It’s often congenital.”
Edwen giggled. “She said ‘genital.’”
Ivy knocked him on the head again. “Yeah, that’s the kind of maturity I’d expect from a centenarian.”
“Hey, Edwen. What was the final match in the dirty geography championship?” Drew cupped his hands around his mouth and whispered, “Bangkok against Titicaca.”
A Little Bit After Midnight: Part 2
May 2nd, 2009
Growing up with four brothers, each gifted with a more warped sense of humor than the last, one either became a light sleeper or suffered multiple late-night noogie attacks.
When Andi’s mattress shifted beneath a weight other than her own, her eyelids snapped open. A familiar face hovered inches above hers, its pale, glittery sheen distinct in the darkness. The scrawny body to which it was attached pressed against hers. “Is that a unicorn in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”
“My darling Andrea, you dazzle me with your wit.”
Well, this was a minor nightmare. “You better hope this is a dream sequence.”
The face smiled. “Yes, a dream… a dream come true.”
She launched her fist at the intruder. It connected with a satisfying snap of nasal cartilage and with enough force to send him flying. He hit the floor with a meaty thud and a whiny whimper. Andi rolled off the opposite side of the bed and wrapped her fingers around the baseball bat propped in the corner.
The light on the little table between the beds clicked on. Ivy assessed the situation with one glance. “A bat will make a mess. I have strychnine.”
“If it doesn’t break this little turd’s kneecaps, I’m not interested. A few bloodstains on the carpet will give this place some character.”
Midnight: Part 1
April 25th, 2009
The Heroine Academy had a total of four hundred and sixty-eight—now sixty-nine—students; it said so on a big sign out front, and when I arrived, they flipped over a card to up the tally, like the score at a high school baseball game in a hick town that didn’t have the budget for an electronic scoreboard. Or maybe it was more. Ivy, at least, had arrived after me, so it had to be at least four seventy. I’ll take a head count tomorrow and get back to you later with hard data. Since the first sentence is devoted to it, that number must be of crucial significance later in the story, right?
Most of the heroines-in-training looked like they’d rolled off the same assembly line at Mattel. My roommates and I were the freaks, and let me tell you, it really tore us up inside to feel unwelcomed by four hundred and something Malibu Barbie clones. Or it would have, if any of us were so lacking in personality, we’d never had a friend in our whole entire lives. But since each of us made three new friends in a span of maybe ten minutes earlier that day, we spent the rest of it getting settled into our dorm suite, feasting on nachos and some beer that mysteriously materialized, as opposed to bawling all night over our lack of popularity and checking ourselves out in the bathroom mirror like we reached this stage of our lives without previously noticing what we look like. I can’t speak for all my roommates, but I can brush my teeth and comb my hair and dress myself without once consulting my reflection. I might look if I have to pop a zit, but that hardly ever happens, since my skin is so clear, it’s practically translucent, like a newborn rat when you can see its pulsing veins and bulging black eyes through its pretty skin.
Orientation: Drew Leslie
April 18th, 2009
He was in.
Like the lone female who managed to sneak undetected in the University of Gallantry and Heroism every year, Drew had successfully infiltrated the Heroine Academy. Soon he would learn if his inevitable outing was greeted with Oh, haha, how cute or a newsworthy demonstration of hypocrisy and sexism.
He had experienced second thoughts at several points between conception of his scheme and his arrival at the Heroine Academy.
Since dressing like a woman was crucial to the execution of his plan, he overcame his knee-jerk manly resistance to the concept—at least until he actually had to try on the clothes. Every woman he’d ever dated had complained about the difficulty of finding clothes that fit, and he’d dismissed their whining as a cousin of the I don’t have anything to wear despite two closets, three dressers, and four laundry baskets full of clothes gripe. He quickly learned his personal size issues weren’t the only obstacle in finding well-fitting women’s clothes. The designers were engaged in a competition to outdo each other in the field of vanity sizing, making shopping with one convenient number in mind impossible. As a general rule, the more expensive the clothes, the smaller the size. He’d walked out of one frou-frou boutique when its sizing system declared him a two.
He’d played college football. He engaged in recreational hockey, soccer, and handball. He hit the gym twice a week. He was a strapping guy, a far cry from a half-starved, noodle-bodied Old Navy model, and there was something emasculating about being labeled a two.
Orientation: Eugenia Templeton
April 5th, 2009
Eugenia’s dominant cardiovascular organ descended with the announcement that dormitory assignments would not be allocated by the administration. Self-selection in such circumstances served the socially skilled. Disadvantaged in that capacity, she remained seated while the auditorium buzzed with the formation of alliances. Someone would choose her eventually, either because she projected the image of a person who might be useful or because they would be denied a room until they had a foursome and she was the only single still available.
She was startled by the alacrity with which she was pounced upon by the dominatrix bounty hunter, Ivy, and her associate, Andi, who could have passed for an adolescent male if not betrayed by the pertness of her nose. Their instantaneous interest in her aroused her suspicion, which stimulated anxiety, which in turn provoked an elevation in body temperature that caused her glasses to fog with condensation.
She tucked her chin and peered through the minuscule clear spot on one lens rather than removing her glasses and cleaning them. “There’s a plethora of potential lodging partners from which to choose. What’s your motivation for selecting me at this juncture?”
“I had a great analogy going, but some people didn’t appreciate it,” Andi said, shooting a reproachful look at Ivy, “so let’s just say there’s Us and there’s Them, and Us need to stick together.”
“That is an egregious abuse of grammar.”
“Is you saying me don’t talk good?”
Orientation: Andrea “Andi” Squire
March 28th, 2009
Amaryllis Honeywell-Sterling, headmistress of the Heroine Academy, delivered her welcoming address behind a rose- and ribbon-festooned podium centered on the stage spanning the front of the auditorium. The icon of womanly virtue recited a long list of virtues to live by. Tall, skinny, and straight as a pole herself, it came as no surprise when she placed a lot of emphasis on proper posture.
Andi might have taken it as a suggestion to rectify her own splayed-leg slouch, except there was no way the old bat could see her all the way in the back row, shielded by the impenetrable wall of Aquanet-reinforced hair formed by the Barbie Brigade occupying the next-to-last row.
One of the dolls turned and gave her the stinkeye, from her shaggy mop of brown hair to the dirty sneaker braced against the back of said Barbie’s chair. Disapproval tightened her lips like a sphincter. “You shouldn’t sit like that. It’s not ladylike.”
Andi scratched her armpit and burped—not up to the standards of the bellowing expulsions of gas any of her brothers could call forth at will, but they were disgusting manimals, whereas she was a lady. “No shit?”
Barbie blanched beneath her spray-on tan and faced forward, rigidly erect. From the rear view, with her pink sheath dress and helmet of hair, she looked kind of like a penis.
Orientation: Ivy Armstrong
March 22nd, 2009
Ivy had long suspected the existence of a nexus of evil, the wellspring from which the majority of the world’s manipulative, deceptive, irrational beings originated. She devoted a decade of her life to discovering its whereabouts, a decade that began the night of the homecoming dance in her sophomore year of high school when Warren, her best friend since preschool and fallback date for all social functions, succumbed to a creature spawned from its seething womb.
She never made it to that dance.
She never saw Warren alive again.
That night, she vowed neither she nor anyone around her would know peace until the devil responsible perished by the razor’s edge of her unforgiving blade.
“I have to confiscate your weapons, sugar.”
She leveled a lacerating glare at one of the sentries guarding the portal separating her from at long last realizing her objective. “You’ll take my sword when you pry it from my cold, dead hands.”
The sentry—the badge affixed to the lapel of her pink blazer identified her as Hi! My name is LiSBETH, the inexplicably lowercase “i” dotted with a tiny pink heart—maintained her relentlessly sunny disposition. “We must consider safety first. You could put somebody’s eye out.”
“I’ve never tortured, maimed, or killed anyone who didn’t deserve it.”
The toothpaste-commercial smile never wavered. “Be that as it may, I’m afraid I must politely insist.”
Welcome!
March 21st, 2009
Dear Future Heroine:
Congratulations on your acceptance to the Heroine Academy. Only a small percentage of applicants possess the qualities required for admittance into our prestigious institution.
You are to be commended for your achievement, but this is no time to relax your performance standards. The role of an undergraduate Heroine carries with it great responsibility. We expect the very best from you.
On behalf of the entire faculty, I extend our warmest welcome to you as we embark upon this exciting journey together. I look forward to seeing you at orientation (details of which may be found in your New Student Acclimation Kit, shipped separately).
Most cordial personal regards,
Headmistress, Heroine Academy
P.S. Please take this opportunity to commit our school motto to memory, as these words form the foundation upon which your future success as a Heroine will be constructed.
