A Little Wicked

Ry - Chapter 1

There's something really fucked up about crying. When a baby does it, it's adorable. Everyone gushes and coos and hugs the stupid thing until it stops. When you do it, it's ugly and loud and people brush you aside and tell you to get a grip on reality. So, what happens between ages "Baby" and seventeen? What fucked up thing happens that switches you from "awhhh" to "ewww"?

When someone cries in front of you, there seems to be an unwritten rule on how you should react. And for seventeen years, I've never had a clue what that rule is. How come everyone in the world gets to know what it is, and I don't? I demand an answer. Is there some kind of fucked up "Crying, and how to react!" novel that I don't know about? Assholes. All of you.

Am I supposed to cry too? I usually just sit there and wait for it to be over. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm not some kind of stone cold zombie kid. I cry a lot. I probably cry three hundred million zillion more times than the average person. It's ridiculous. Stub my toe? Cry. Get in a fight? Cry. Fail a test? Cry. But I like crying. It's special and calming. And private.

Anyway, if there's some hidden book that everyone in the world has read and I haven't, how come people still come cry to me? Like today, for example. There I was, in the dark cafeteria, sitting in front of a bawling transvestite. He's crying that kind of ugly, loud, stupid, annoying sob; nothing comparable to a baby.

"Your makeup's running." I muttered, picking the lint off of my jumper.

He stared back at me, an unimpressed look planted on his face.

"That's it? Really?" Jephree spat back. "I tell you that I got dumped, and your reaction is 'Your makeup's running'?"

"Well. Jephree, it is." I flicked the lint at him. "What am I supposed to do for you?"

"I would like you to be a little more compassionate. Maybe get me a brownie or something?" He smiled through the tears, a mischievous flicker in his eyes.

"If I get caught stealing you sugar again, they'll separate us." I mumbled. "Again."

"And Mr. Ryland, how did that work out last time?" Jephree beamed.

Jephree is, what some might call, a sugar-holic. Or an anything-holic. He is extremely susceptible to getting addicted to pretty much anything you can imagine. For example, three years ago he was madly in love with everything related to frogs. His house was filled with frog toys, frog keychains, pottery frogs, and even real live frogs. A month after this addiction started, he went missing. The CNN found him four days later, living inside the aquariums amphibian exhibit, his skin slightly green. This addiction lasted for two months before it was switched to china plates, and then eventually to cocaine. His current addiction is miniature ukuleles, which (from what I've gathered) is why Lily broke up with him.

"She told me she wouldn't judge."

"Jephree, you collect miniature ukuleles. If she didn't judge you, she'd be the one with the problem."

He stuck his tongue out at me before wiping his overdramatic tears away with a rag. When he put it back in the pocket of his dress, he stood up and collected his tray.

"I've got How to Cope with Hating Yourself." He groaned. "You?"

"Gym."

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Hey guys! Welcome! 

Thanks so much for reading the first chapter of my book! If you have any suggestions, feel free to comment or shoot me a message. I'd love to know what you think!