Whim Manor And the Boy Who Wasn't.

Wicked Step-Sister

Friday, October 8, 2013—West Hills High School Library.

"Jesus Dude, you're on your own." Justin backed away from me. We were peering around a stack in the library, peering at Nora. She was leaning against a bookshelf, reading. She didn't seem immediately threatening. But she was big in an Amazonian sort of way. That and she looked twenty-five.

"She can't be that bad, can she?" I asked, watching her push her straight dark hair back behind square shoulders.

"You remember the entire sophomore wrestling team running laps last week at lunch?"

"Yeah?" I said.

"That was Nora. She shows up at tryouts, guys try outs, they all laugh at her, and then she whoops all their asses. Every. Single. One."

I looked back at Nora. She was thumbing through a book—the book I needed—with a sort of amused sneer on her face.

"Did they let her on the team?" I asked.

"No, dude. She turned them down."

"Okay... Why'd she try out then?"

"Coach Smith gave her a 'B' plus," Justin whispered, shaking his head as his rotund body quivered beneath it.

"What, in Gym?"

"No, English. Coach Smith teaches English. My sister is in her class, said she was pissed about it."

"Wait... so you kind of know her then? You could talk to her, bring up your sister? Help me out." I nudged him toward her.

Justin dug in his heels. "No freaking way. I gotta go... to the bathroom." He backed away from me, turned, and raced out the door, his underarms so dripping with sweat, they looked like they'd been hit by water balloons.

If Justin was off to the large side of the body positivity scale, I was off to the other, being a little short and a little thin... or rail thin really. Honestly, just about anyone could beat me up—well, any of the boys... and, if I'm being really honest, a fair number of the girls too, Nora definitely included.

So, cowering and trying to look like I knew this, and there was no point in beating it into me, I took a step toward her, then another and another—

She spun, glaring at me. "Can I help you?"

"Um, no, I mean—are you going to check that out?"

"I was thinking about it. What's it to you?"

"That's the ah—Emily Dickenson collection, right?"

Standing up straight and taking a step toward me, she made the four-inch height advantage she had over me brutally obvious.

"Um," I said, "I got assigned that for a report. I could ah—pay you for it?"

She raised an eyebrow. "When's this report due?"

"Monday."

"Cutting it kind of close there aren't you... You got a name?"

"Um, Harper. My name is Harper."

She took an uncomfortable moment to look me over, then let her expression drop flat. "That's more of a girl's name these days, isn't it?"

Not this again. I groaned. "Yes, yes it is. But I was named after my grandfather."

She shrugged. "Alright, Harper, what's it worth to you?"

"Five bucks?"

She batted her eyes with smug amusement as her face pulled into a wolfish grin.

"It's all I've got." I opened my wallet, forgetting about the extra dollar that was my bus fare. We both saw it, making my previous statement seem like a now-exposed lie. "I can give you six, but..."