WINNER OF THE HALLOWEEN CHALLENGE IS...

The runner up of the Halloween Challenge is Taylor W.

One day, there was a Jack o’ Lantern. The lantern was very sweet, but it’s voice was blood-curdling. Even it’s luminous glow couldn’t distract people from the hideous sound he made. People considering listening to him a “thrill”. Only felines could listen to him without screaming in agony. To try to meet people, the Jack o’ Lantern, masqueraded himself as a witch and tried to make a conversation with some trick or treaters. The people looked like they had seen a specter and ran away. The Jack o’ Lantern slipped off into the shadows. From then on, the Lantern only talked to nocturnal cats.

The winning challenge was submitted by Grace O. Even though it's a little past Oct. 31, we hope you enjoy this spooky story!

The thrill came to George as he looked out from the jack ‘o’ lantern. The small mouse sniffed around. He stuck his head out the eye hole. His fur crawled when he heard a blood-curdling scream. In his surprise George fell, landing on top of his baby sister. They had run away when they were attacked viciously by raccoons. Now all they had left was this pumpkin, on Hallowe’en night.

The shadow of a giant loomed over the small home. This was the first Hallowe’en the mice had ever lived in. Batty, the bat, soared over. They were friends. Batty had helped George and Lily survive. Suddenly, a small shiny package fell from the sky. George wandered out from the the pumpkin sanctuary into the world of monsters.

When George finally reached the mystery package, Lily wandered out. Lily didn’t know that George would be back soon. She thought that he had left her for the night, she was scared. In her wanderings she felt a small chill trickled down her back. The Clouds swirled, and the gloomy trees ruffled. A small child masqueraded, he pretended to be a small dragon. The luminous pumpkin cried out to Lily with her light, warning her not to go any further. Just as Lily turned around she was swept off her feet.

George turned around after eating chocolate, his memory of the taste like a specter in the chilly evening air. The feline dropped Lily down into the melting chocolate bar. Nocturnal animals started to come out. Their noises frightened George as he hauled Lily to safety.

Saving Earth Part 2 by Isabel f. and Meg Y.

"Lindalia, we need to discuss what is happening to the earth,” stated the magnificent god Zeus.

“As we all know, we appointed you the goddess of all things made of mankind, but we have noticed you slacking on the job. The earth is unhealthy and full of pollution. What do you have to say for yourself?"

”Well, Great-Uncle Zeus, the humans have been polluting this earth for many thousands of years, and I have only been around for 3658." I squeaked. Even thought he is my great uncle, I was still greatly intimidated by him.

I shuffled my sandal-clad feet nervously as Zeus's powerful voice booms out over the council.

"Lindalia, you are to take a break from grammar corrections, and start working to repair the human habitat. I presume you are acquainted with the goddess of spring, Persephone?" I nodded quizzically. "You are to work closely alongside her during this assignment. Am I understood?" I nodded again, mutely. "The council is dismissed."

Ugh. This was going to be a nightmare. I better go find Persephone. Maybe Pan can help too. He would be really mad about this though. I scuttled out and mounted my transportation device. In 5 1/2 seconds, (rather slow, I must get Hepatitis to fix it), I was at Persephone's cloud and tripping on my toga to get to her.

"Persephone!" I screeched, "I was just at the Council of the Gods. And now we have a mission to fulfill." I quickly recapped what had occurred at the council.

"No!" whimpered Persephone, “I need to finish getting ready for spring and summer."

"Well, it will have to wait,” I stated, a little harshly. “Now here is what we have to do."

Crossing her arms in a huff, Persephone sat down on the cloud, obviously nettled at my bossiness. I continued triumphantly: "You know how for the last thousand years or so I have been slightly-just slightly- neglecting my duties as goddess of all mankind?" She nods, looking slightly-just slightly- bored out of her beautiful skull. "Well, Zeus has requested for me to reorganize my priorities, give up the grammar, and save the human environment!" I raise a fist in the air heroically. Persephone yawns." And I come into this.... how?"

"You are the goddess of spring, Persia! You grow trees, help the animals, and plant everything under the sun!" I sigh, with just as much desperation as exasperation. "Persephone, you are the only one who can help me."

" Am I really the only one who can help you? There is no other god or goddess who would suit the job just fine? What about.... my mother?"

"Persia!!! How could you say that?” I gasped in despair, knowing that she could help," Your mother hates me! Ever since I stole her seed pouch. And that was for you!"

" We were just 300 years old. She won't care. And I can ask her about it if it makes you feel better,” sighed Persephone wearily.

With an overdone flurry of colored smoke, she poofed out. "That's not good for the environment!!" I shouted in a huff.

I moved like a cheetah to my transportation device. Who am I kidding? A slug could have beaten me to it. Remembering the earthworms that flew out of my desk the last time Persephone told me to do something and I did not, I picked up the pace. Well, I was off to see Greek mother and corn (grain) goddess associated with the earth, vegetation and agriculture, Demeter.

Did I mention she is also the goddess of death?

Camp Happiness by Sam W., Hether S., and Jenna W.

Camp Happiness is a fun and exciting experience in which young adults will build good skills for middle school. Your children can make long time friends, learn teamwork and respect, and all the while have fun. The meals are delicious, nutritious and served with a smile. After dinner, your child will learn how to clean up ketchup and wash dirty dishes. We have nightly cheesy sing-a-longs. The highly trained counselors teach the youngsters valuable skills and tactics for middle school. Safety is a top priority; so it is a rule that you may not run, only walk so that you don’t trip. Our highly trained belayers at the rock wall receive around 5 minutes of intensive training about how to catch a student before falling to their doom and smashing their head open. There is a fun and educational hike in which they will learn about wildlife. On the ledge, where the camper can get a beautiful view of the bordering skyscrapers, they will receive a notification that Camp Happiness was built on top of a possibly active volcano (The counselors will yak on about completely nothing until your little ones fall asleep). This is good because your loved ones will never get any sleep, as annoying fellow campers will keep them wide awake with snoring and endless talk. We encourage them to do this because we want them to make friends in this experience. The bathrooms are custom-made, and your child will be able to experience mildew and millions of flies and spiders. The showers USUALLY work, but we don’t count on it because 9 out of 10 showers come out as cold slime, not the warmish fresh pond water. It builds a lot of character. We have an on duty nurse, which is good because 1 out of 2 children complain of a very painful stomach aches, but we can’t imagine why. The raft building activity will lighten anyone’s spirit. Your child will be steered across uneven terrain guided by an untrustworthy pal while blind folded to pick up heavy logs. Then you will go out on your very own semi-sturdy raft with several paddles that don’t work very well, to go over to a canoe to get some soggy graham crackers. There is no adult on the raft, but don’t worry, they will probably be skilled enough to swim over in time. Another activity of ours is the Whale Watch Balance where your child will be put carelessly onto an unsteady, hard, splintery board. Your Snoogie Poo will be forced to cooperate with the children that they hate to keep the board from toppling over and probably smushing 3 out of 4 other cuties. In conclusion, your child will absolutely LOVE it here at good old Camp Happiness.

Strawberry Ice Cream: A Short Story By Jenna W.

“Oh, hi Britney. Uh… what are you doing here?” Ella’s voice trails off, but the unsaid question and awkwardness remains hanging in the air, as delicate as a soap bubble waiting to pop. I pop it.

“I work here.” It isn’t a statement, it’s an insult. To me, as well as to her. Usually I’m not this dramatic, usually I don’t use a bunch of fancy similes and metaphors and whatever, but usually Ella isn’t such a jerk.

“We’d… uhh… like three strawberry sundaes, with chocolate fudge.” Ella talks carefully; her quiet voice shaky and weak.

“Fine.” I shuffle over to the huge bins of ice cream and scoop ice cream with practiced ease. I make sure to appear calm and collected; to hide the tiny pocket of weakness, that I’m sure is some where in my iron clad heart. I have been building this wall for five long, hard years. From the day dad got sick, from the day he got laid off, from the day mom had to start getting child support checks and taking us on a roller coaster ride of countless charities, overly sympathetic faces, and shame. I had started working as soon as I could, but I wasn’t taking it home to the family. I’m saving it in my meager bank account, to go to college someday; and it’s not coming out even if my parents were to beg on their knees.

“That’s five dollars.” I mutter. Ella awkwardly pulls out a five from her designer purse.

“Thanks.” She says it in such a quiet, sweet voice that it almost saws through my defenses. Almost.

Okay, okay, I know it’s not a crime to get ice cream at the only ice cream shop in town, but could she be less tactless? A best friend should know better, does know better. She knows my shift, knows I refuse to admit or show I’m poor, knows I won’t take charity from her, won’t even accept her invitation to a fancy dinner party. Yet here she was in expensive, designer clothing, real diamond earrings that are at least a karat, and two snotty popular gossip girls who are all hiding smirks with little success.

I watch them leave, a herd of purses and cell phones, and another metaphor/simile occurs to me, as time slows down and I plunge into a black hole and a black, black mood.

*****

“How was work, honey?” My mom’s voice is tired and worn from her long day at work; and from the fact that she knows what my answer will be. I know I heard her talking at night; we don’t exactly have soundproof walls.

“Oh, it was absolutely wonderful, mom.” I chirp angrily, “I’m almost at $1,000 dollars; maybe I can get into a cheap college for one semester in five years!” I storm down the hall, not bothering to quiet my footsteps as I pass dad’s slightly open door. I think I hear him sigh, but it might have been a wheezy cough. I stomp into my room and flop down on my creaky old mattress; it gives a heavy groan and sinks down a few inches as I lay down.

“Why me??” I cry to the ceiling.

“Shut up!” Our upstairs neighbors cries, “I’m trying to sleep!” I kick angrily at the wall, stubbing my toe horribly. Biting my lip to keep from crying out I vaguely hear my mother shout,

“Don’t kick walls! You might kick them down one of these days!” I burst into tears. Home, sweet home.

*****

It’s closing time, and Jasmine, my cranky boss is coming out of her miniature office. She actually does a pretty good business, being the owner of the only ice cream store in town, but she leaves the customer interaction to yours truly. Jasmine would scare every little 3rd grader coming from soccer practice into tears, and I’m not just exaggerating. She is a fairly pretty Asian woman, but her face is marred by an ugly dragon tattoo down one side of her face. I used to gossip with Ella, wondering when she got it, and if she killed the tattoo parlor employee with some Japanese karate chop. Jasmine moved to America from some place in Asia when she was 11, and for years struggled hard to raise enough money to buy the little ice cream shop, as she is constantly reminding me when I complain about my meager paycheck (it’s some junk about how she worked for years for less, and now she’s a success story, sarcastically of course). At least we have one thing in common, we don’t buy the “poor kid who was genius gets big break and is rich chicken soup.” It’s so Hollywood. I ignore her as I close down, stewing in a rather poisonous soup of jealousy and anger.
At school Ella keeps trying to talk to me, to beg for forgiveness, and she is getting more desperate and pathetic. Today I found a simple note (not on her designer, perfumed stationary) taped to my locker. I’m so sorry, it was stupid, please forgive me. I hate her. I hate her stupid fancy cars and mansions and clothes and the fact that she is rich and I am poor. I turn to leave, swinging my sad excuse for a purse over one shoulder.

“Wait, Britney, I want you to stay for a moment.” If I hadn’t seen Jasmine’s lips move, I would have thought it was more likely to be a ghost of Christmas past.

“What?” I forget to sound annoyed and surly, I’m so curious about what she has to say. Am I fired, or does she want me to clean the bathrooms again?

“Why don’t you come outside with me?” Jasmine glides over to a metal bin of strawberry ice cream and neatly scoops two generous portions in large plastic bowls. My mouth starts to water as she pours hot fudge around and around. Jasmine tops it with a squirt of fluffy whipped cream and two cherries. “Come on.” She repeats and steers me out onto the back step, carrying the sundaes in one hand. There is a beautiful meadow out back, covered with freshly fallen snow gleaming in the sun. The sky is a pale cotton candy blue, with streaks of rippled clouds tinged peppermint pink. A pale moon hangs in the sky, as the sun is setting behind a sugar coated forest. Jasmine doesn’t talk at first and I lean against the rough wood stair, soaking up the last rays of the day, enjoying the brisk air and my ice cream. It’s so peaceful that I can almost forget about Ella, school, and the dingy apartment that I will have to return to soon. Then Jasmine starts to speak, “You’re like me, aren’t you?” I stare at her, wondering if she is trying to connect with me.

“Look, I don’t need a pep talk right now, okay?”

“I know. But we are alike. I moved here, as you know, when I was eleven. No money and everyone knew it. I hated my parents, I admit it, I blamed them, you see, I was trying to fit in, and make a new start for myself. It didn’t work.” She grins wolfishly, remembering some long ago fight or argument I guessed. “You’re struggling just like me, except you’ve got yourself a good friend who screwed up.”

“No I’m not, and mind your own beeswax.” I snap, sounding like a 2nd grader. “And you bet Ella screwed up. I hate her.” I snarled.

“Don’t.” I stare at her, shocked. “She’s a good friend to you, and those are rare these days. Sometimes distancing yourself from others leads you to owning an ice cream parlor, bitter and grumpy. Sometimes it leads you to getting a rotten tattoo.” Jasmine touches her tattoo, thoughtful. “Sometimes you forget who you are.” I want to roll my eyes, but they seem to be permanently glued to her face. “You talk to your parents much?”

“N-No.” I stutter, shocked at the sudden change in subject. Jasmine gives me a sad little smile, and we sit there in a comfortable silence for a while. The sun is really setting when Jasmine stands up.

“You should go, and I should be getting home too.” I slowly get up, and the funny thing is, I don’t want to leave her rough wooden step, I don’t want to go home, and I don’t want to leave Jasmine sitting there alone. I throw out my ice cream bowl and head out the front door slowly, dragging my feet. When I look back, she is still sitting by the meadow, stroking her tattoo.

*****

“Where were you honey? We were so worried!” My mom throws herself onto me, hugging me tight.

“I’m fine, Jasmine made me a sundae and we talked a bit.”

“Jasmine! She wasn’t mad at you, was she? She’s a moody snake, I swear. If she fired you…” Dad trails off, looking worried.

“No! We just talked about my fight with Ella. She’s really not that bad.” I defended her.

“You and Ella are fighting? Oh honey, what happened?” I don’t answer mom right away, wavering between snapping and finishing the story. Jasmine’s tattoo seems to swim in my mind, its detailed face snarling in disapproval.

“None of your…” My voice trails off. I sigh and start to talk. Mom pulls up a chair for me, and I sink down nervously. Dad leans back in his chair, but his eyes are on mine and he nods often. Mom sits, worry etched in every line of her face.
“And so now she wants to apologize and I don’t know what to do.” I finish lamely. Dad and mom sit quietly for a few minutes, and I think I spot a look flash between them. It’s a good look though, one of relief, and a little hope. It’s a look I haven’t seen for a long, long time. It feels good.

Dad speaks first, “That’s one heck of a problem!” He sighs, “I used to have fights like that, ‘cept my friends were jerks.”

“You don’t think Ella’s a jerk?” I ask, not sure if I should feel betrayed or just plain mad. Why the heck is everyone defending her?

“Well, heck yeah, I’ve know lots of jerks in my life, everyone has. But I’ll tell you one thing, that Ella is at much of a jerk as I am.” He stops suddenly, and another look flashes between my parents, not as good anymore, but way more familiar. It’s a look of, oh no, we’ve set her off again, or set ourselves up for an insult.

“What we mean honey,” Mom coos, as if she expects me to hit her, “Is that dad and I are behind you.” It’s such a corny movie moment, one where the directors are too lazy to think of an original ending and have to have some scene to tie the whole cheesy movie together; but I try not to be too critical because I know that’s just what parents do. I look at my parents, hard. They have too many lines on their faces, and too many gray hairs. I know, right then, that this is their best apology to me. For being poor, and being sick, and the fact that they’re too prideful to apologize for real, because they don’t know what to apologize for. I realize right then that we have a lot in common, we both need to apologize and be apologized to, and neither of us knows what we need to be apologized to for. But the fact is I know I must apologize too, because my parents need to hear it, just like I did.
“Thank you.” I say, and I try to put some feeling into it, “I’ll apologize to Ella, maybe I was too hard on her.” But what I really mean is, I’m apologizing to you, maybe I was too hard, too many times on you. I think they know because the first look, the magical, wonderful look flits across their faces again. I get up, my chair squealing on the floor. I pull on my coat and step outside, my parents know where I’m going, and won’t worry. Skipping down the street, skidding on the ice, I catch a glance of myself in a frozen puddle. I see a tired, thin girl with the biggest smile I have ever seen. It’s the first smile I’ve seen on her face in a while. It was missed, but now it’s back. And it doesn’t look anything like a dragon.

Saving Earth Part 1 by Isabel F. and Meg Y.

Chapter One

"Aaaaaahhh...humans are so...uninformed," I sighed resignedly, perched atop my fluffy cloud, aka office. Leaning back languidly into the creamy lavender waves, I wonder why I even get up in the morning. As the goddess divine, I know perfectly well that my job is to spread the views of mortals to their peers, oh, and correct their abominable grammar. I was assigned this job at birth. But why, oh why, couldn't I have been made the deity of spring, like my best friend, Persephone? Why, oh why, do I have to be the goddess of grammar?

It’s not like I don’t sometimes enjoy ameliorate comma placement or adding some adverbs to a story, but it can be tedious. No one ever prays to me or begs for forgiveness and to make their grammar perfectly proper - never! Well, maybe once, from some kid in Athens about to flunk his Greek exam. But that is just about how much people really necessitate my power.

While feeling melancholy and slowly moving through my work, Persephone runs in. Sighing, she runs a manicured hand through her thick golden locks, which to me seem reminiscent of a flourishing cornfield on a summer's day. Now, all goddesses are beautiful, but there is something about the youth and pureness of Persephone that makes her especially ravishing. I listen to my companion complain of how she is just so busy with the dawn of spring less than a week away, and with Hermes pestering her day and night, her duties were growing increasingly oppressive.

”Persephone, would you really like a longer winter?" I said.

With a gasp she ran out of the room, shouting back to me," I must make some more olive tree buds! I can't stand any more winter!"

I sit back down at my rolling blue desk, made of really water, a gift from my great uncle Poseidon. Now to get down to business. The moment I pulled out my pen to correct a scribe's essay (which was a disorderly array of improper punctuation) my mother, Calliope, one of the seven Muses and the goddess of epic poetry ran in..

”Auntie Erato will be stopping by to compare notes with me on a new poem. Oh and the Council of the Gods will be needing you in about ten seconds.."

"Ahhhhhh!" I shouted as I pulled out my divine power of invisible White-Out. Can I complete this correction in time to make it to the top of Mount Olympus?

Stress, stress, too much stress. You'd never think that grammar could cause so many hullabaloos, but my days are filled with mishaps and new tasks to attempt. As I penned the final mark on the scribe's heartfelt, but quite incorrect essay, gusts of worry sped windily through my mind. I am one of the few deities who has the ability to view all of mankind, everywhere, from the birth of Chaos to the Big Crunch. It's quite handy in the art of spreading thoughts, for I can read the minds of every human that's ever existed in the blink of an eye. I only wish I could get to the council in that time!

"Well, I must do my best," I thought woefully as I hopped upon my purple fluffy cloud.. "Zoom, zoom! I have to be somewhere!" I impatiently urged the trusty transportation device. In four seconds flat, I was hovering above the twelve Olympians in their mighty thrones. Clumsily dismounting, I brushed off my toga and made my way in front of the gods. As I approached the Council of the Gods, I noticed that they did not look happy.

"The End of the Girls" A Story by Isabel F.

Bianca thought of herself as sweet. Well, wasn’t she? Bianca was the kind of girl who would tutor a friend in math or compliment someone on an accomplishment. But standing behind Joyce and Mallory, watching Colbert cower in front of them, she didn’t feel sweet. Not at all.

Bianca, Joyce, and Mallory had always been “the girls”. They were a set, a threesome, a package. Not one of them could ever imagine life without the other two. But this year, Bianca started to notice an unwelcome change in her friends. In addition to now spending hours on clothes and hair, they were simply becoming… well, mean. Mallory giggled when Joyce openly sneered at another girl’s haircut; Joyce echoed Mallory’s words of hatred for an innocent boy who blushed whenever a girl looked at him.

Bianca started to become more and more uncomfortable around her old friends. She felt compelled to break away from Joyce and Mallory, but after all, they had never said a mean word to her. And besides, if “the girls” were gone, who would Bianca have left?

At lunchtime today in the cafeteria, Bianca, Joyce, and Mallory stood in the lunchroom line, up to their usual tricks. A geeky but pleasant boy named Colbert stood behind the three girls. He and Mallory simultaneously reached for the last Caesar salad. Almost instantly, Colbert let go. He would never dare to challenge Mallory. She was developing quite a reputation among the other students as somebody not to cross. But that split-second of tugging proved to be all Mallory needed. “Colbert! How rude!” she exclaimed with an air of distaste. “A guy should always let a girl have the last salad. Don’t be such a pig.”

Colbert’s cheeks went scarlet, and he pushed his glasses up nervously. “Oh, look, Mal! See, he’s turning pink! Just like a pig!” Joyce cried, finding the disdainful comment hilarious. Colbert’s two attackers erupted loudly with laughter. Bianca slunk away from the scene in horror. As soon as she sat down at a table, she regretfully wished she had stood up for Colbert. Why couldn’t she be brave? As soon as Mallory and Joyce started their evil torments, all of Bianca’s courage popped like a balloon.

Emerging out of the lunchroom, Mallory and Joyce joined their friend in the cafeteria. They were still snickering about Colbert. “Oh, Bibi, was that funny or what?” Joyce asked lightly. Summoning all the guts she had, Bianca replied,

“Not really, actually.” She immediately ducked her head. Joyce frowned, looking over at Mallory, who spoke next.

“What did you say, Bianca?”

“I said that wasn’t that funny. It was mean.” Bianca repeated. Mallory raised her eyebrows, a scowl creeping on to her otherwise pretty face.

“Get a life, Bibi. We were kidding.”

“Yeah, seriously. Can’t you like, take a joke?” Joyce said nastily. Bianca shrugged.

“Whatever, guys. Just for me, can you find something else to joke about?”

“Sure, I guess,” said Joyce.

“Fine, Bianca. We won’t diss Colbert anymore. In fact, we won’t pay any attention at all to Colbert. We’ll just act like he’s just not there,” Mallory agreed, with sugar in her voice.

“Thanks so much,” said Bianca, relaxing back into her chair.

By lunch the next day, Bianca realized something was up. Nobody was meeting Colbert’s eyes when he gave his usually awkward half-smile or replying when he addressed them. In fact, nobody was paying any attention at all to Colbert. They were acting like he just wasn’t there. Mallory had kept her word.

Bianca made a point of smiling at Colbert in English class, and greeting him in the halls. It wasn’t much help, but at least she wasn’t overlooking him like everyone else. How did Mallory and Joyce manage to get the whole grade under their manicured thumbs?

At lunch, Bianca questioned her friends. “How did you get everyone to ignore Colbert like this?”

“Simple. We just told all the girls we would let them into Club Runway,” Joyce explained smugly. Club Runway was a fashion design club Bianca, Joyce, and Mallory had founded back in September. Bianca had never wanted it to become so exclusive, but the wiles of Joyce and Mallory proved otherwise. Only the best and the brightest were admitted into “the girls’” private association, and so far, that was just a very select few.

“And what about the boys?” Bianca inquired in wonder. Her friends showed their cunning side with this. Mean but clever, that’s what Joyce and Mallory had become.

“We separately promised them we would go with them to the spring formal. As if!” Mallory laughed out loud at this one. Bianca frowned. If the girls knew Club Runway was remaining as exclusive as ever, and the guys realized Joyce and Mallory would never consider them as spring formal dates, maybe they would warm up to Colbert.

Bianca enlisted somebody to help spread the word. Kate, a graceful, intelligent girl, was Bianca’s closest friend beside Joyce and Mallory. They had attended the same ballet class since age seven, and had grown into advanced dancers together. Kate and Bianca went to separate elementary schools, but were happy to now see each other every day in middle school. Kate had her own set of friends, but she and Bianca still socialized, even though ‘the girls’ didn’t like her much.

Since Joyce and Mallory were becoming so snobby, Bianca had found Kate to be even more giving and friendly. They started to have sleepovers after ballet class, and instant messaged regularly. Bianca frequently considered dropping Joyce and Mallory for Kate. And, Bianca thought sadly, this Colbert incident was the last straw.

After school, Kate and Bianca got to work emailing and calling the other kids with the news. They were all appreciative, but obviously disappointed. It seemed pretty sweet to be a member of Club Runway, or go with Joyce or Mallory to the spring formal. But Bianca felt like she was betraying her long-time friends. Kate helped to convince her otherwise.


“Come on, Bianca. You’re doing a good thing for everyone, not to mention Colbert. And really, are girls who would torture somebody like that really such good friends? You never know, tomorrow they could turn on you.” Kate put an arm around Bianca, who sniffled.

“Thanks, Kate.” Bianca said gratefully. Really, Kate was the truly sweet one. Bianca now knew what to do. She would gradually slip away from under Joyce and Mallory’s grasp, in favor of the pleasant company of Kate and her friends. Maybe being admired (and feared) by the other students was good enough reason for Joyce and Mallory to be bullies, but Bianca knew she was better than that.