Murder Hornet: Chapter Four
💡 This story is part of my ongoing series, Murder Hornet, a novel-in-progress unfolding one imperfect chapter at a time.
Chapter IV
“You gave him a ride yesterday,” he asked me not even trying to mask his surprise. “To his house?”
“I did. Didn’t you see it?”
Allen sounded annoyed. “I got a life, you know?”
I started laughing.
“What, you think I spend all of my time keeping tabs on everything you do,” he continued.
“You could, but that would be just too creepy.”
I could tell he wasn’t in the mood for joking. “Humph. Well, I guess I’m just going to find something else to do this morning then. I’ll see you around, Allison,” he called out as he started moving to the other side of the street.
“Sheesh, why are you in such a bad mood?”
“I’m not in a bad mood,” he shouted, “but apparently you are, Allison Engelhardt.”
What a drama queen I thought. “Allen, come on” I said using my best let’s make up voice. But he just ignored me and stopped to look at some flowers.
“Only my mom calls me by my full name, and that’s reserved for special occasions, like when I’m in trouble,” I joked, but he kept walking. “Allen Pedahel,” now it was my turn to use his full name. “Are you jealous of me?”
His head jerked up and he is slowly turned around to look at me.
“Are you jealous that I talked to Thomas,” I said this last part a few decibels higher knowing full well that I now had his full attention, “and you didn’t?”
He crossed the street in a heartbeat and started walking next to me.
“First off,” he hissed, “shhhh”. He held a chubby finger to his lips. “Do you want the entire neighborhood to hear you?”
“What? About your boy crush?” I teased.
“It’s not a boy crush,” he insisted.
“Yeah right.”
“It’s not.”
“Is Thomas the same guy you stalked—”
“I wasn’t stalking him,” he interjected and paused. “I happened to be in his neighborhood when he was moving in.”
“Sorry,” I held my hand up in exaggeration. “Is Thomas the same guy luck would have you saw moving in last week and just couldn’t stop talking about? The guy, and I quote, with the strong arms and tight ass?”
He looked down in embarrassment and mumbled something inaudible.
“Did you say something?” I put a hand to my ears. “Your lips are moving but I can’t hear you, my friend.”
“…yes.”
“Yes to what?” I knew perfectly well what he said but I was having way too much fun seeing him squirming like that.
“Yes. I think the person you gave a ride yesterday and the guy I saw moving in the other day are one and the same. There, happy?”
“How cute,” I clapped my hands in excitement. “Your first boy crush,” I smiled.
“Well, technically second, but that was such a long time ago.” He stopped walking and I stopped next to him knowing fully well that the memory of that first relationship was still too painful to remember for him.
“I’m sorry, Allen.”
“It’s okay,” he shrugged and started walking again. I caught up to him determined to show him I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings.
“I was just messing with that whole boy crush business,” I said gently. “I’m sorry,” I apologized again.
He looked at me with tenderness in his eyes. “I know, Ally.”
“Are we good?”
“Yeah,” he smiled. “We’re good.”
“Great! By the way,” I said matter-of-factly, “you haven’t denied that you were jealous.” I ran laughing before he could reply, but he caught up to me quickly shaking his head with a smirk on his face.
“Why did you give him a ride, though? That’s just not you, you know?”
“I told you. I almost killed the guy.”
“Well, I’m certain your fans would really enjoy if that were to happen, huh?”
I know he meant it as a joke, but it still stings.
“Not that you would,” he added quickly probably seeing the hurt in my face. “But can you imagine how all those phonies who like to talk behind your back would all come out to say how they always knew you’d kill again? ‘Told you that bitch was crazy,’ they’d say to the reporters.
“So now we have reporters involved too, huh? What else will your imagination conjure in this fictional world of, Mr. Capote?”
“Mr. who?” He asked.
“Never mind,” I waved it off. “Are you joining me for lunch at the track field today?”
“Maybe,” Allen replied lost temporarily in thought. “Why are you in such a hurry this morning, anyway?”
“I got chemistry lab and I want to make sure I get a nice set of test tubes and a working Bunsen burner. What?”
He rolled his eyes. “Has anyone ever told you’re such a dork?”
“Shut up,” I pretended to shove him.
“See you later, Ally-gator.”
I flashed an upside-down peace sign but he was already gone. I was deep in thought about the experiment Mr. D. had planned for our class—bioluminescence—when I was jolted back to reality by Mandy and her posse.
“Hi, Allison,” she chirped. “Oh, I’m sorry to startle you, sweetie,” she covered her mouth with her hand pretending to be really concerned for surprising me, her voice full of concern, her eyes filled with malice and sarcasm.
“We,” she looked at the two other girls standing slightly behind, “saw you deep in conversation and didn’t mean to interrupt, did we girls? But I really wanted to ask you a question?” She paused, her last word lingering far longer than was necessary.
“Hi, Mandy.” I pushed my goggles up against my nose, the worn rubber of the rim biting against the flesh of my nose, as expected. “It’s okay, I was thinking about my chemistry lab—”
“That’s nice, I’m sure,” she interrupted me mid-sentence, making Tonya and Zoe giggle. “But the question on everyone’s mind is, will you run for class president this year... again?”
I confess that I was not expecting that. “Actually, I’ve been thinking about it, and I still haven’t filled out the form yet—”
“That’s truly interesting—” she interrupted again placing a hand on my shoulder.
“She thinks Mandy really cares,” I thought I heard Zoe whispering to Tonya.
“—but since I’m running again this year,” Mandy continued, “and since we all know how your campaign went last time,” Tawnya and Zoe giggled, “I figured I’d save you from embarrassing yourself… again?”
I felt anger arise quickly inside me, my face feeling hot and my hands contracting into fists involuntarily.
“What are you saying, Mandy? Are you suggesting I shouldn’t run for class president?”
“No, no, no, no, no. Not at all,” she cooed, her face reflecting surprise and indignation. “Of course not, Ally. Gosh, no. It’s just that as your one and only friend—”
“I have friends,” I complained.
“Real friend,” she continued unfazed, “I feel that it is my job, nay, my duty even to make sure that I don’t let you willingly walk into what will be certain and humiliating defeat.”
If only Allen was here, I thought, my mind quickly alternating through multiple ways I imagined Edgar Allan Poe would handle a friend like her. Lower her down the catacombs with the promise of a taste of amontillado? Where could I get a pendulum? Are there any catacombs in Chapel Hill? Would I get in trouble for giving amontillado to a minor?
“Hello? Earth to Ally, do you copy?”
I was jolted out of my dilemma by Mandy snapping her fingers in front of my face.
“Yes Mandy,” I said with a deep sigh. “I copy you.”
Mandy continued. “As I was saying, we don’t want to see a repeat of last year, do we?”
“What happened last year,” Tawnya asked Zoe.
“It doesn’t matter,” I jumped in. “there’s no need to rehash the past.”
“Wait, did I just hear Ms. Student of the year say not to rehash the past?” Mandy’s voice several layers wrapped with poison. “What ever happened to those who ignore history are doomed to repeat it you used to tell us all the time in middle school?”
“it’s actually a quote from George Santayana: Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” I murmured.
“There’s the Ally I know,” Mandy shouted. “there’s the almost class president from last year we all remember.” If looks could kill, her face was the ultimate weapon.
“What happened last year,” Tawnya asked again.
“let’s just say that Ally got a bit too big for her pants—”
“Yellow,” Zoe added loudly.
“—yellow pants,” Mandy continued, “and got in trouble when she failed to follow the school dressing code—”
“But wait a minute,” I tried to jump in, pushing my goggles up my nose.
“—which clearly states that those seeking to be part of the school student committee must abide by the dress code established by our school.”
“You know that the dress code is completely garbage, Mandy,” I shouted.
“You can’t be the class president and dress like, well, like that,” she pointed at me.
“Why do you always wear yellow?” Tawnya asked, genuine interest showing in her voice.
“And why you’re always wearing those goggles?” Zoe added.
“I. I. I don’t see what’s wrong with the clothes I wear,” I stammered.
“It really doesn’t matter though, does it?” Mandy cooed. You just couldn’t follow the most basic rule because you thought rules don’t apply to you.”
“That’s not true, and you know it,” I said with exasperation.
“All I’m saying is, if you’re going to continue defying the dress code, you might as well give up now and save everyone the trouble.”
We stared at each other’s eyes for several long seconds. Me, desperately trying to find the Amanda Shoal who had once been my best friend. Her, to be honest, I was afraid to find out.
“Look,” she continued. “I don’t make the rules… but this year I just might, when I’m elected class president.” She laughed with delight, getting high fives from Zoe and Tawnya, and started walking away.
“What happened with us?” I asked, my voice barely over a whisper.
Mandy stopped mid-stride and turned to me, her body a natural shield between us and the other two girls.
“You should know,” she hissed, real pain cutting through the mockery and coolness façade, her face showing the real girl I once knew. “Of all the people in my life, Allison, you should know best.” She turned around, her mask of deception firmly attached once again, and she walked away.
The sad part was that she was right.
Disclaimer: Murder Hornet is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or real events is purely coincidental. All content presented here is the intellectual property of the author, Og Maciel, and may not be reproduced, distributed, or shared in any form or by any means without the author’s prior written consent.
What a delicious antagonist!