Chapter 13:

Why am I so unlucky in the first place?

Why couldn’t it have hit the INTENDED person in the first place? Like – uh, let me see - MARK WILCOX!

Not someone who was trying to help me. Not Harvey Ryder.

Argh.

The memory is still fresh in my brain – it keeps repeating itself over and over again.

I wish it didn’t – but that’s not much of a surprise since it has been only like a second after it happened. Harvey’s back was covered was dripping with icky goo, Wilcox had jumped back from the table and was staring at the mess that was Ryder, and the curly-haired girl was sprawled on the floor, her chair to her side on its side.

 And the rest of the class was either on their feet, or their jaws were hanging open. (It’s too bad there weren’t any flies around, or I could have told them to shut it because they might accidentally have had an interestingly disgusting pre-lunch, then).

And guess what Mr. Hudgens looked like? (Well, he has sparse, brown, graying hair and a stout body and a pale complexion, and a permanent expression which expressed something like ‘My wife’s nagging me constantly back at home!’ but I’m asking other than that, of course).

 The poor old man looked as though he could have fainted. I could have guessed rightly that nothing of this sort had ever happened in his classroom. Or maybe, even in his lifetime.

Oh, darn, I’m so busted if I’m caught, I thought, as I my eyes fall upon Ryder’s face. And then, as globs of yellowy substance drips onto the floor from Ryder’s lab coat, I think, I wonder how it feels like to have a wad of fizz-bomb-juice covering you from head-to-toe?

But I know I definitely don’t want to find out.

I watch his face, emotionless. Or probably, there was some emotion and I just can’t read it. I’m not good at telling how people feel, either ways.

I wait for someone to say something.

 Anyone.

 Anything.

 And then, Mr. Hudgens, beside me (my nails were digging into his flesh as I still clutched his arm – and I immediately let loose) says weakly, two words.

Just two words.

 “Potion. Error.” he sounded like some bionic person and I couldn’t help but let the corners of my mouth drift upwards. And that little drifting did it all. Soon enough, the whole class was roaring with laughter.

And I felt terrible.

 Because I knew they were all laughing at Harvey Ryder.

 ---

“Are you sure he’s okay?” Liv asks me, for about the trillionth time, as we stand by my locker, students milling around the hallway. I glare at her.

“Yes, he’s fine- God, could you quit being such a nag?” Her eyes grow round, offended, she answered, “Well, ex-cuse me for living - but at least someone doesn’t think of herself all the time”.

I whipped around at her, and slammed my locker door shut. This was going too far.

 “And what is THAT supposed to mean?” I whisper ferociously at her. She opens her mouth coolly, beginning to respond, when she freezes mid-way, her mouth half-open.

 Her gaze moves over to someone behind me – and I turn around.

 I continue glaring.

For the person who was behind me was someone I did not want to see right about now. “I know it was you”.

Wilcox glares back, his arms crossed over his broad chest, and his fans, the M ‘n’ M’s, standing beside him, hands on hips. He continues, eyebrows furrowing, “I know you did it – even though that old fool of teacher didn’t know it”.

 “Oh, congratulations for the great breakthrough, Mark Wilcox”, I say mockingly back, books clutched to my chest, aware that Livvie was beside me, cowering.

 “You’re going to pay for that one, you know. Don’t act all smart about it. You won’t know when I’ll get you” he answered back coolly, smoothly hiding his real emotions.

 “Right, Wilcox, thanks for the tip. I’ll watch my back. Now, get out of my freakin’ way, with your nasty twits –“, I replied, frustrated with everything. The M ‘n’ M’s all raised their perfectly manicured hands to their lipstick-coated mouths in shock as I shoved past Mark’s towering figure, not looking back and knowing Liv would follow me like a dog. He coolly let me through, his shoulder barely brushing mine briefly as I gaited past him.

 As I moved through the watching crowd of students, I shrug to myself.

Whatever he was planning, I’d be ready for it.

I’m strong and I’m ready – and I’m Cinderelle freakin’ Varde.

And no one can take that right from me – not even pathetic Mark Wilcox.

-          But -- first things first; I need to fix everything.

Firstly, I needed to find Jerry (thus, leading Liv to him, allowing myself peace and comfort without all that nagging).

Secondly, I needed to know how Harvey Ryder was doing (the last I saw of him was when he was being hauled off to the clinic by two burly sophomores – who were reluctant to go near him, even, but hey, who could blame them – he smelt like a rotten egg!).

And thirdly, I need to think things out. My brain is whirling around so much with all that has happened lately – maybe I needed to make a phone call when I got home.

Oh, yes, that’d do me good.

 Especially a phone call to my former bestie.

I need all the advice I can get.