www.darkwishdesigns.com
Editing Services provided by Angie Wade of Novel Nurse Editing. www.novelnurseeditng.com.
ISBN-9781688595224
Maleficent (adjective):
working or productive of harm or evil
Part I
“You know what, Malia?” Carter Jones says to me as I walk to the bus. I try to do what Mom says and ignore her, but then she grabs my arm and says, “Look, girl, when I’m talking to you, you listen.”
I have no choice but to stop walking, as she is holding my arm so tightly. Carter is a year older than me and, frankly, my worst nightmare. For some reason, she believes I am inferior to her, and she makes it known just about every day. And some days, more than once.
“What now, Carter?”
She glares at me. “Don’t take that tone with me, girl. It will not end well for you.”
I have no choice. If I want her to go away, I must at least humor her. I hate it because I am submitting to her bullying tactics, but really, what else can I do? “I’m sorry, Carter. You were saying?” I smile at her, hoping to soften the blow of her harsh words.
“You’re ugly, Malia. And just because you got special privileges to attend this school, you don’t belong.” She looks around at her posse of friends who have joined in. Laughing, she says, “I mean really, look at your clothes. Did you get them from the secondhand shop?”
All the girls who have gathered laugh as tears well in my eyes. I fight with everything in me to hold them back. The last thing I want to do is show her she has succeeded in making me cry. I take a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Carter, that I am so offensive to you.” I pause. “May I please get on the bus now?”
She releases my arm. “Get outta my sight. You’re disgusting.”
I hurry toward the bus, and once I am safely inside, my tears flow. Every freaking day it’s like this. I have no idea what I have done—except exist—that bothers her and her friends so much. I move to the back of the bus and take a seat. There are only a few other kids on the bus, none of whom are my friends. Luckily, they leave me alone.
I watch out the window as Carter and her friends, Shanna, Cady, and Kristen, also known as The Mean Girls, are all standing around, still laughing.I hate this school.
The bus finally pulls out, and I am thankful I don’t have to deal with them until tomorrow. At least I will have a few hours of peace—that is if I stay off Facebook and Instagram.
My stop is the last one. I don’t live in the school zone limits but on the outskirts. I should be attending the public school in my town, but Mom wanted more for me. She works for the State Board of Education and was able to pull some strings to allow me to attend the Wilton Academy for Girls. It’s a private school, and some girls live there. Part of the agreement was that I could not take residence there and would have to be bused to and from school. That is perfectly fine with me. I can’t even imagine what my life would be like if I actually lived in the dorms at school.
When the bus pulls toward the front of my house, I gather my things and make my way to the front. As I step out, the bus driver stops me and says, “Malia, I heard what those girls said to you. I’m sorry. You shouldn’t believe what they say.”
I can not believe what I am hearing. This woman, although I believe her intentions are good, has no idea what she has just done. No longer able to hold my tongue, I snap back. “Thank you, Doris. I truly appreciate your kind words. However, if you were any kind of grown-up, you would have stepped in and stopped Carter in the first place.” I don’t give her a chance to respond and turn and step down off the bus.
Nothing makes me madder than someone who enables bad behavior.
I walk along the sidewalk and rush into the house. My mom is in the kitchen making dinner. It’s just Mom and me. I lost my father when I was twelve, five years ago. He had cancer for a few years until he lost his battle. It’s been hard without him, but Mom tries her best to make up for it. I tell her all the time she doesn’t have to overcompensate, but sometimes she still does.
“Hey, Mom!” I drop my backpack onto the kitchen table.
She turns back toward me and says, “Malia, you’ve been crying. What’s happened?”
“Carter Jones, that’s what’s happened.”
“Oh, baby, I’m so sorry. I really thought that when I spoke with your headmistress, this would stop.”
“Yeah, me too. But it only lasted a day.”
“You never said anything about it still happening.”
“It’s my problem, Mom. I’ll deal with it.”
“Malia Centura, you listen to me right now. It’s not your problem. It’s our problem. Do you think I want some uppity, stuck-up rich girl messing with my baby? You’re all I got, and I won’t stand for it.”
