Oh. My. Gods. - Weebly

hug. Over her shoulder I see Mom take Damian’s hand and look at
me with pride, like they can already see us having sleepovers and
sharing secrets and painting each other’s toenails. She thinks we’re
halfway sisters already.
Only she doesn’t hear what Stella whispers in my ear.
“I hope you’re ready for a living nightmare, kako, because this
school will chew you up, spit you out, and smite the tiny pieces of
whatever’s left all the way to Hades.”
Mom smiles at me.
I whisper back, “I’ve survived beach bunny cheerleaders, a sluthunting
ex-boyfriend, and five years of cross-country camp. I’m not
afraid of some throwback to ancient myth with atrocious highlights
and a Barbra Streisand nose.”
Catching Mom’s eye I smile big, even as Stella squeezes me way
too tight around the ribs. One stomp on her pedicured toes and
I’m free.
“All ready,” I say, snatching my backpack off the deck.
As I sling my pack onto my shoulder I see a spark out of the corner
of my eye, just before the strap breaks, sending the bag flying
right into Stella’s nose. Sure, it was an accident—you can’t exactly
anticipate strap failure—but I couldn’t have aimed better if I tried.
Too bad, though. This is a brand-new backpack.
Hand cupped over her injured nose, Stella’s face turns bright
red. She growls and lifts her other hand like she’s going to point at
me—way rude, by the way.
“Stella,” Damian warns as he points a finger at my broken strap.
The torn fabric glows for a second before magically repairing
itself.
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