shuhaige
8
SERA
“Seraphine Gray!” Her voice is harsh, well, as harsh as Kelly can get. I feel like I’m being scolded by a parent, which is hilarious, given that she’s younger than me and typically the quiet soul of the place.
“What? Why are you talking to me like a mom?”
She puts her hands on her hips to complete the image. “I Can’t Believe you went along with this crazy scheme.”
“Kay, you have no idea what’s on the line. It’s a lot of money.”
“Sera! The only reason to marry someone should be for love!”
Maybe because I know she’s right, her accusation hits me like a punch in the stomach. Yes, Kelly is a true romantic at heart and an innocent soul, but she’s usually open-minded and the most understanding person I know. Granted, I have never confronted her with being married to my archenemy for a month.
“I get it’s wrong. Trust me, I do,” I say. “But again, it’s just for a month. Also, it’s not like I married a stranger.”Content held by NôvelDrama.Org.
“Who is it?”
“Eh…Colton Ashton, Mrs. Bianca’s grandson. We went to school together.”
“TheColton Ashton?”
“Yup,” I confirm.
“The horrible guy from school?” Kelly has never met Colton, but I have mentioned him a few times, no specifics, but never in a good perspective, of course.
“Yup, the very same one. So, see, nota stranger. I’ve known him my entire life.”
Kelly lowers her hands from her waist. “I just can’t believe you went through with something so crazy. Youhatedthe guy. That’s the exact opposite of love.”
Ihear his voice calling my name in the elementary school playground just as I’m inspecting the contents of my lunch box, trying to decide whether to eat the peanut butter jelly sandwich or the cheese one.
Mom used to make me two sandwiches every morning, one topped with cheese, tomatoes, pickles, and thin slices of boiled egg. I always discarded the latter because I didn’t like the wobbly egg whites, but I didn’t have the heart to tell Mom. The other one was made with peanut butter from the organic market and her homemade jelly, and it was the best thing ever. When I looked up, Cal-seven years old and already a schoolyard terror-was standing in front of me.
“Give me your sandwich,” he demanded.
“Are you crazy?” I closed the lunch box and hugged it to my chest, even though I suddenly wasn’t hungry anymore. “Eat your own.”
“Unfortunately for you, I’d rather eat yours.” He was too strong and too quick, and my back was against the wall. Not three seconds later, he had his loot in his hands and was opening the lunch box while I tried with all my might not to cry.
“Pickles… yuck,” he said, tossing the sandwich on the floor.
Do not cry. Do not cry. I clenched my fists.
Next, he looked at the peanut butter jelly sandwich, took a bite, chewed, and swallowed. “You know what, Nosy Sera, here’s your breakfast back. That fancy stuff isn’t for me.” He unfolded the slices of bread, spat on them, and then folded them back together.
It wasn’t enough for Colton to throw my cheese sandwich in the dirt and make the other one non-edible. He made me eat the latter too, and he got away with it because he was stronger than me, and because the break supervisor, Mrs. Crigler, was once again busy smoking in the corner by the bike racks.
I only cried once he was gone, and then I spent half an hour rinsing my mouth in the school toilet, making plans for how I was going to pay him back the next time I saw him.