Sister Mischief Read Online Free PDF Page B

Marcy,” Mary Ashley croons viciously. “Didn’t you see the new policy?” She throws a packet of paper at us. “It says the administration doesn’t want to see your lesbo man undies either.”
     
    “Mary Ashley, I can see two-thirds of your butt and three-quarters of your thong,” Tess slings back. “You better hitch up your skinnies or we dykes might get the wrong idea.”
     
    Mary Ashley glowers as she hikes up her jeans. “Tess, can you please just ditch the freak flock and come sit with us? We’re talking about the Save Unborn Lives event and you haven’t been around in forever. You even missed choir practice last week. We had the auditions for next month’s Sunday solo.”
     
    “I don’t need another episode like last month. Just lay off, Mary Ashley.” Tess throws up her hands. Tess always used to get the Sunday solos at their church because she has this kind of voice that can’t just sink into the curtain of a chorus: this bold, rangy, obscene voice, a voice that stirs something in you, the kind of voice you might say might make you believe. Except last month, Tess was apparently so stirring in her rendition of “Amazing Grace” that it made the church moms kind of uncomfortable, and they complained to the pastor that it was too
edgy,
by which they really meant too
sexy.
Tessie was heartbroken. She just sang it how she felt it. It’s not her fault she knows how to let music have its way with her.
     
    “Hey, I’ve got a great idea. Maybe you guys can perform at our Save Unborn Lives fund-raiser. Oh, I forgot — they’re all just a bunch of feminist lesbian vegetarian baby killers,” Mary Ashley hurls back. 12
     
    12. Text from Rowie:
i hate her. i hate her so much.
     
    Tess jumps to her feet, seriously pissed now.
     
    I grab her arm. “Don’t waste your breath.”
     
    “Where’d she get vegetarian?” Marcy laughs, taking a bite of her cafeteria cheeseburger.
     
    I turn to face Mary Ashley and the band of boneheads. “Look, your ignorance is ruining my lunch. Tess doesn’t want to hang out with you anymore. Deal.”
     
    “You also ain’t much at parking-lot dance partying,” Marcy says.
     
    “You can’t mess around with me,” Mary Ashley sputters, the right side of her face puckering slightly. “Don’t you know who my family is here? My dad’s going to be a state senator. I don’t need to sit here and take this just because you’re, like, angry athlete girls.”
     
    “I don’t play any sports,” I say. “I guess I’m just angry.”
     
    “Yeah?” Mary Ashley says levelly. “I heard you got a workout in the back of Charlie Knutsen’s car. And Marcy — well, everyone knows Marcy’s in great shape too.” 13
     
    13. Text from Rowie:
I’m going to poison her diet coke.
     
    “Mary Ashley, if you’re going to insult my friends, at least don’t be a dumbass while you’re doing it.” Whoa. Tess said
ass.
“Is she a lesbian or a slut?”
     
    “I call trash trash. You can call it what you want,” MashBaum spits.
     
    Marcy rises to her feet, glowering, and lets out a faint growl. “You hungry for mud, dollface?” According to varying accounts, during a marching band practice last year, Mary Ashley, who’s one of the flag girls, called Marcy either Captain Tranny or Fat and Manny. Marcy retaliated by stopping drumline practice to give her a mud swirly on the football field. A mud swirly is just like a regular swirly, except Marcy actually ran in a circle with Mary Ashley’s feet in her hands, wheelbarrow-style, to swirl her face in the mud. Some people say the drumline started marking time with Marcy’s revolutions.
     
    Mary Ashley stands up in Marcy’s face like she’s actually about to step to her. Marcy, my beautiful six-footer, has probably seven inches and forty pounds on Mary Ashley. “I should have gotten you expelled when I had the chance,” Mary Ashley says to her. “And Tess, honestly, what’s with these freaks you hang out with now?