I was dreaming about chocolate marshmallows. I don't understand how such a thing hasn't been invented yet. All of a sudden, the Mother of all chocolate marshmallows began reproducing into mini blue marshmallows who all had Ellen's face on them. It was slightly disturbing.
"We're blue, we're blue," they were all chanting squeakily when their voices morphed into blares and hoots. It was annoying and it seemed to be getting louder and louder. I finally punched one of the annoying little marshmallows and instead of the soft mushiness I had been expecting, my fist connected with something hard.
"Oomph!"
I jerked awake to see my uncle lying on the ground at the foot of my bed, doubled over. "Good morning," I said groggily. "I had the weirdest dream, and I went to punch a marshmallow..."
I trailed off in horror. I hadn't punched a marshmallow. I had punched my uncle, and he had a nice blue bruise beginning to bloom on his cheek. I seem to turn everyone I touch into a one blue shade or another, all through various means.
I realized with another start that the tooting and blaring hadn't been a part of my dream, either. Someone was wearing out their wheel by honking it right outside my window.
My uncle cautiously stood up and immediately put some space between us.
"Courtney," he grimaced, lightly touching his jaw, "since Grace lives right across the street from us, she volunteered to drive you to school today. I called to you up the stairs half an hour ago to ask if you were up and you told me to stop yelling across the whole house because it was rude."
I was more confused than ever. I hate waking up, things like this always happen.
"So I decided to check that you actually were awake, which you weren't, so when I leaned over to nudge you, you punched me!" he wore an aggrieved expression.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I moaned. "I thought you were a marshmallow."
"On second thought, I'm not going to ask," said my uncle as the hoots got even more persistent and loud, if that were even possible.
I crossed to the window and shoved my head outside. "OI! HONKER! GO SHOVE YOUR HEAD IN A PUBLIC FOUNTAIN WHILE I COUNT TO A MILLION!" I yelled at the top of my lungs. The beeping stopped and the passenger door of a sweet Lexus opened.
Grace stuck her head out. "You can't count that high, remember?" she shouted back.
I scowled and gave her a gesture that my uncle unfortunately caught through the open window.
"Courtney Elizabeth Meyers, enough with the obscenities on the roof! Please reattach yourself and get dressed; you're making Grace late!" With that, he turned and stomped his way downstairs.
I sighed. Déjà vu.
I hurried to my closet and frantically searched for clothes, tossing the humiliating Caution jeans aside. "Snowballs," I muttered, pawing my way through a pile of shirts.
I tugged on skinny jeans, leg warmers and a plaid shirt. On top went a denim jacket and cut-off gloves. After brushing out my wavy hair and applying some mascara, I jammed a checkered cloth cap onto my head and rushed down the stairs, careful to avoid getting the laces of my shoes stuck in the doorway.
My uncle was waiting for me at the entrance.
"I'm giving you some money," he told me, as I put on my Keds, "in case you want to buy lunch. Take Grace out or something, you know, for putting up with you." I aimed a scowl up in his general direction as I yanked the leg warmers over the shoes.
YOU ARE READING
The Ivy League
Teen FictionThey are the elite: the people to be, the group to be a part of. They are The Ivy League. When sarcastic, headstrong Courtney Meyers receives an invitation to join them, nothing is ever the same again. Laughter, tears, obnoxious pranks, love and bet...