“Operation Kiss-My-Youdonwannaknowwhat” Part 2

Part two of my short story! Suspense, suspense! Go back one post if you haven’t read the first part!

Danielle staggered to her feet among the crowd and spilled food tray. Isabelle was sprawled on the tile beside Danielle, among the food.

“Nice going!” Danielle bellowed, “You managed to spill my entire lunch! That was twelve sixty-three, buster, and I don’t have enough to get more! You’re going to pay, if not now, later!” She stalked away with the last entrails of her $12.63 lunch smeared onto her tray.

“She’ll pay first,” Isabelle mumbled into a piece of barbecue chicken. She had cookie crumbs in her hair, barbecue sauce on her shirt, and chicken on her face. I helped her up, dismissing the crowd’s anticipation of a fight.

“Didja get her?” I asked quietly.

“No,” Isabelle replied bitterly, gratefully taking the proffered napkin, “I got the floor instead, but I saved the sign from a food disaster.” She held aloft the sign that could’ve–should‘ve–brought Danielle’s embarrassing downfall. There was a vaguely heart-shaped bit of sauce on ‘kiss’, but that was all.

“That was it,” I sighed heavily, “We forgot to make a plan b, and that was our only chance…”

“Well, I can’t help it if somebody chose to stick out their sneaker, and if gravity took place,” Isabelle snapped bad-temperdly, “Here, take the sign and let me clean off.”

“What about your lunch?”

“I’ll eat what’s on me.” A smile played around her lips, but was annihilated by contempt. “That Danielle! I’m going to starve for the rest of today…see ya in a bit.”

“Okay.” We parted, one completely messed up, the other clean and messed up inside.


Bzzzt! bzzzt! A text? So soon? I reached quickly for my phone and stuffed the remainder of my sandwich in my mouth.

done. dan l is out-sid hr lockr. 10 min until 6th if u hrry u can mak it.

I stared at the message. how am I going 2 get it on incnspicsly? she wll b suspcus I wrote to Isabelle.

idk. may b snek up b hind hr nd tap hr on t back 2 get hr atntn?

good ida. will try.

In Heinerman Middle School, the lockers are conveniently located in the middle of the school and right next to the cafeteria. Danielle’s locker was in fact so close, I made it within a minute.

Hang on, I thought, maybe if I use a small amount of tape to put it on a locker and a bigger amount on the back, I can get Danielle to lean against it and put it on herself! I smiled and stopped at my locker for duct-tape–strong enough to hold up a car, therefore strong enough to pin itself to Danielle.

Chhick! I cut a few pieces of tape, attached them to the sign, and strode to Danielle’s locker. There she was–talking with her friends. I pushed the prepared paper on the locker behind her and said, “Hey, Danielle.”

Her conversation cut itself off like scissors snipping up a sentence. The girl spun around and glared at me. “What? Was earlier not enough for you?”

“I just wanted to give you a last chance, because I’m a good sport.” Unlike you, I wanted to add, but I didn’t. “Apologise for your poems and never do them again, or suffer the consequences.” Exactly like I wanted her to, Danielle leaned back against the locker–more accurately, against the sign–and smiled smugly at me.

“Nope. Not to save my life.”

“Okay, your funeral…” I walked away, barely able to suppress a smile. I glanced behind me, and saw that Danielle was headed the other way, towards the theater for her next class. The sign was firmly stuck to her back, the mache heart fluttering behind her as if it was whispering to every boy that passed, the glitter winking so bright that it could outshine a star.

oprtn. kss my u don wana no wat cmplt I texted Isabelle. A few moments later, she said, 🙂 awesome! c u @ cretv wrtng

u 2


The moment of truth: Creative Writing class. I nervously scrunched into my seat next to Isabelle, and waited for Danielle. Sure enough, just before the teacher came in, the girl bolted in and regarded me with a cold smile.

“Go ahead,” I mouthed at her, “I’m not stopping you.” She grinned, as if to say, “I don’t see any revenge yet, so I’ll take your offer.”

It began. Class went on for a few minutes of discussion, until the teacher announced that it was time for us to write a customary poem each. Danielle drew a piece of typed paper out of her pocket, most likely the secret code. Occasionally referring to it, she scratched up a new poem and raised her hand.

“I tell of revenge,” she said, and I could tell by the first line that she wasn’t using the code today, “hoping to stop the torment,/but to no avail:/my revenge is false. That was a haiku with one extra line of five syllables. It’s called, ‘False Revenge’.” She smiled sweetly at the class, her cold eyes resting on me in particular.

Darn, I thought, Why didn’t it work? I thought hard, trying to keep my face from heating up like the poles as a result of Global Warming. Oooo, wait! I can still make it work! I pulled a piece of paper out of my pocket after reading my new poem aloud, and began a swift note to Danielle.

“After class tell the boys that Danielle wants some1 2 kiss her,” I wrote, passing the piece of paper discretely to Isabelle.

“Okay. Is this plan b?” She answered below my sentence.

“Yup! Tell everybody!” I replied.

Creative Writing went on for a few minutes longer. I stared at the clock, waiting…waiting…waiting…

BRRRIIIIINGG!!!! The bell went off, and everybody eagerly sprang up to leave. I grinned at Isabelle, frowned at Danielle, and headed over to the nearest boy.

“Hey,” I told him, “Did’ya know that Danielle wants somebody to kiss her today?”

He made a face. “Yuck! No way! That’s weird! If you’re asking me, definitely not!

I moved on…as the minutes went by, the people gradually left, moving into their last classes of the day. I at last found one hopeful eighth-grader. After the description of Danielle was painted in his eyes, and the location of her after seventh, the boy darted off to his class. I realized that I needed to as well, and shot off with a daring and mischievous smile: tomorrow, tomorrow would be great!

Does Danielle know of the next phase of the plan? Will the girls get back at Danielle at last? And what is the narrator’s name, anyway? You’ll find out…next week.

Congrats to me for 100 posts in one year! The exact date of my first post exactly one year ago was the 7th of this month, Pearl Harbor Memorial Day. Celebration, everybody!



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