Oh. My. Gods. - Weebly

I know this shouldn’t bother me. I mean, she’s a jealous, vindic-
tive cow. Still, I have a feeling that she’s not the only student at the
Academy who feels that way. Since I can’t really argue that point—I
mean, I can’t like suddenly make myself the descendant of a god—I
resort to hitting Adara where it hurts.
In her superficial face.
“Wow, I have never seen pores that big,” I say with a gasp of
awe, tilting my head for a closer look. “Those blackheads look like
Dalmatian spots.”
While she struggles to think of some witty comeback—I’m not
waiting around all night for that—I take Troy by the hand and lead
him down the beach toward the blanket Nicole has spread out.
He stumbles a little as I tug him, but catches up quickly.
“She’s going to hate you.” He sounds genuinely concerned.
I roll my eyes. “She already does.”
From behind, she shouts, “At least I’m not wearing shoes from
the last decade.”
I glance at my footwear.
My Chuck Taylors are brand-new. In fact, they’re so new they
need a little wearing in and maybe a few scuffs. Besides, black All
Stars are always the height of fashion.
And the originals date back to the fifties. Adara could use some
work on her fashion history.
“You’re right,” I shout back over my shoulder, darting a glance at
her standing petulantly with her hands on her hips. “Those beaded
flip-flops you’re wearing are only two seasons old.”
“Aaargh!!!” Her scream echoes across the beach.
138