Page 44 of Reality Girl, Ep. 3

She screeched and ran toward the fountain.

I scrambled to the dresser, got two more, and rushed to the window. “Bitch!” I shouted.

I tossed another melon toward her.

She pointed toward me, screamed something, and jumped to the side just before the melon hit the drive.

Splat!

Without warning, I tossed another.

It landed in front of her.

Splat!

Pieces rained onto her bare legs.

I ran to the dresser, grabbed two small watermelons, and carried them to the chair. I stuck my head out the window and gazed down at the cameramen. Ballerina legs had moved from the fountain to the porch. I couldn’t see her, but I could hear her talking to Eric. Eric, in all of his idiotic glory, was standing beside her car as if he was going to protect it from any random fruit that was tossed in its direction.

I was simply trying to get my ratings up, I wouldn’t hit her car with anything. She didn’t need to know it, though.

“That’s it,” I said. “I’m fruitless. You can leave now. Douchebag.”

He shook his head. “I can’t believe you did that.”

I pointed toward the porch. “I can’t believe you did that. Go home, asshole.”

As I wondered if asshole was able to be said on television, she came out from under the porch’s overhang.

I grabbed one of the melons and dropped it several feet in front of her. I cupped my hands to the side of my mouth. “Skank!”

She screeched and ran toward the courtyard.

Splat!

The watermelon shattered in a hundred pieces, splattering the sweet fruit all over her back of her dress.

I grabbed the other, and tossed it toward Eric.

He dodged left, and then right. The melon fell straight down, landing no more than two feet in front of him.

The residue showered his bare thighs.

I raised my hands to the sky. “That’s all, folks!”

And, it was.

I was done.