51 Shades of Mumu

Chapter 25

    I didn't spend any more time with Benny in the bathroom; I didn't want to succumb to the pandemic Gryzbowski virus that was contaminating Hempstead High School with shady drugs made while on drugs. I merely scoffed at him and strutted towards the exit, my head held high while my twenty-dollar, five-inch Louie Vuitton heels clicked against the tile floor.

    When I exited the bathroom, I was met with none other than Benny's older brother, Chase, whose face contorted from worry to disgust the moment I appeared from the filth joint known as the girls' bathroom. If he wasn't such a full-time stimulant scientist, and if he wasn't seeing my friend, I would've seriously considered making him the captain of my man army.

    "If you're looking for Ronan, she's probably already heading to class," I muttered. If this conversation wasn't going to be about me or my zesty, juicy Berger, then I seriously couldn't be bothered.

    "No, I'm looking for Benny. The little shit's gonna sell that Special Q I had been reserving for Babington," he explained normally. Babington? That name sounded oddly familiar; I just couldn't put my finger on it.

    "He sold it to some feminine kid named Ashley Cohen," I informed him. Chase glared at me for a while with those penetrating, glassy lapis lazuli eyes. "Uhm, why are you even in Hempstead High? You're so not a teenager." I would know; my older hunk radar went off when he entered the premises. "You're like...like a pedophile." I shuddered.

    He didn't answer me. Instead, he ran off towards the nearest staircase and yelled at me, "See ya later, meat-sucker." God, I want to pee on everything he loves, I thought, my anger towards him boiling more than a succulent lobster at a sauna. Except for Ronan, of course. But then again, I doubted he seriously liked her like my sombrero-sporting Berger loved me, which was as depressing as it got.

*

    The sensation about Trixie Dahlman's untimely death circulated throughout the school quickly, and by next Friday, most people had forgotten about it; girls like Trixie, with their cheesy dip-dyed hair and seemingly hipster looks were as commonly found as gum embedded in a New York City sidewalk. Even Ronan forgot that she felt guilty for one of her first enemies at Hempstead High School. In fact, she was smiling by the end of the day, chirping about how perfectly cloudy it was outside. I began to suspect that may have had something to do with the death; recently, she had been making a lot of morbid, uncomfortably awkward comments. But after we left school, it was Lydia who made the shocking confession.

    "I did it," she blurted, fingering the shoulder strap of her Urban Outfitters canvas backpack. "I killed her...using voodoo." Kigurl, Ronan, and I looked at her for a while, our mouths hanging open and our eyes bulging.

    "LYDIA? WHAT THE FUCK, QURL?" Kigurl finally barked. "Did you not say you wasn't gonna use voodoo fo' killing?" Lydia looked down. "DID YOU OR DID YOU NOT?"

    "I DID, I DID!" She finally cracked. "But...but...I don't know, I couldn't deal with her anymore. She was so annoying! She just had to be exterminated."

    "You don't just kill someone because they're annoying," I spat, crossing my arms against my chest.

    "Look, you guys don't understand. She can really get on your nerves! At some point, you just can't deal with it anymore. She has this...aura that cripples you if you don't kill it first." At this point, Lydia was babbling like a maniac.

    "I understand," Ronan finally chirped up. Both Kigurl and I glared at her, and she dejectedly looked down at the ground. "She is annoying..."

    "You know, I didn't expect you guys—most of you guys—to get it. Just promise me you won't tell anyone."

    "Promise," Kigurl, Ronan, and I said in unison. Internally, I was shocked. I couldn't expect my friend, a fourteen-year-old girl, to have committed murder, and through magic, as well. It was so surreal, and it'd take a while to get used to.

*

    All throughout the walk home, I thought about Lydia's atrocity. It was unnerving, to think that she would be capable of such a thing, and it would be hard to not spill the beans. But I'd have to endeavor, just because she was my friend. I've have to make sure not to—bzzz! My phone's lustful vibration broke my train of thought.

Harry<333: I asked Mom. She said you can come over right now.

Mumu: now??? I just got out of HHS!!!

Harry<333: My bedtime is six o'clock so you need to hurry.

Mumu: lo0l okiii XD I'm coming ;)

    I prayed to the goddess Aphrodite that he understood my sexual reference. You see, I wasn't solely planning on practicing amorous piano ballads with him; I was planning much more than that. I was concocting lewd acts we could engage in, ones that would make his pubescent boy dreams come true.

    When I arrived at the Pitt-Berger home, a grand three-story colonial house, I was greeted by a steely-gazed Mrs. Berger, my music teacher. I anxiously said "hello" to her, stating my purpose with a bright smile. She stared into my soul for a while, and just when I thought she figured out my true, salacious motive, she allowed me inside. I'm in, baby, I thought, relieved that the hard part—getting past Mama Berger—was over. Now came the fun part.

    After warning me not to pull anything funny, she lead me towards an airy, all-white salon, where my handsome prince Harry was sitting by a shiny, black grand piano. He looked gorgeous, with his golden mop of hair combed back and his P.S. from Aerospostale shirt spotless and without a single sweat stain. Sweat. My stomach lurched when I thought about Hyundai, my longest relationship ever, my most heart-breaking so far. No, I now have Harry, I thought, reaching out to give him a hug.

    "Hey!" he greeted, squeezing me tightly just as his mother left us alone. "Ready to practice?"

    "By practice, you mean...?" I fluttered my eyelashes, smirking seductively at him.

    "The piano? What else is there to practice?" he answered with a chuckle. I rolled my eyes, sighing heavily. "What? What's wrong?" Is this boy serious? I knew he wasn't as oblivious as he acted. He was just afraid because his mother was most likely lurking around.

    "Harry, where's your mom right now?" I innocently asked, playing with the collar of his soft shirt.

    "Err...probably tending to her petunias out in the garden," he replied. "Why do you wa—" At that moment I pulled him into a heavy makeout session. His lips weren't over-sized suction cups like Hyundai's, but soft and smooth, like a baby's tushie. I felt like I was on a cloud, and Harry was lying there with me, feeding me chocolate-covered strawberries. He put his flailing, noodle-like arms around me and I giggled into our French kiss; he couldn't resist me.

    I felt so happy all of a sudden. I felt secure and blissful and without a care in the world. I couldn't even think about Lydia's homicide. All I could consider was Harry and his tushie-like lips and the bulge in his cargo pants and—

    "HAROLD CORNELIUS PITT-BERGER! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

    Shit. I was done for.