Part 5! Is this the end? Or is this just a teaser for part 6? Get those eyes done reading this and see what happens–oops, that’s actually me keeping you from the plot…
Improvise! I thought the moment Danielle walked onstage. And I did. I swear that the heat in that theater turned up five degrees from the tension.
“The witch!” I wailed, “Oh! Love! the sorceress! Oh treachery, her familiar! She lives! Fie, begone, o foul feline!”
“Why did you do this?” Danielle spat.
“Thou can restrain but my body, as none can restrain my soul!” I said nobly, “I hath taken this bard as my husband, there is nought that thy can’st do!”
“You stole my part!” Danielle howled.
“And thy stole her life!” my ‘husband’ cried, “Why take more? Can a lover/what lover?/ can be cast from their loved? Can a lover/a lover!/be cast from betrothal?” He began singing, ‘can a lover’ to a beautiful tune.
Danielle probably, by this moment, was struck with a terrible decision, which was to be either embarrassed in front of the entire school while taking her revenge, or to play along and save her reputation without anything more said about our conflict. She chose to both take revenge and play along. How, I couldn’t tell just yet, but I was terribly relieved.
“Not a lover/what lover?/can be cast from their loved!/No lover/any lover!/can be cast from betrothal!” she sang along with the bard after a while.”
“Can the wicked/stay wicked/after so long a while?/Can the wicked/reform wicked/after so long a time?” sang the bard.
“Not can the wicked/stay wicked/after so long a while!,” Danielle chorused, “Yes can the wicked/reform wicked/after so long a time!”
“Then the wicked:/this wicked!/will sit in the bog!/And the wicked:/this wicked!/will sink into fog!”
“Then the wicked:/this wicked!/will sit in the bog!/And the wicked/this wicked,” the cat sang, grabbing at me, “Will turn into a frog! Wicked art thee for betraying my mistress! Away, nevermore!” Danielle dragged me across the stage as the technicians took the cue and dropped the curtain.
Gotta beat her, gotta beat her, I thought as we hustled into position, How? Could I obtain some magical power? Yes, yes! That’s it! Oh, and little humiliation, too…
The curtain rose, and I was standing back in the tower in front of Danielle. Bending down, I traced a circle, gestured, and cried out some odd words that might have been spelled, “Orba formulusol coarvee pfrotixi!”
“What?” Danielle said.
“Phloated, bloated, phroggy phloggy phrog!” I yelled, pointing at Danielle. The tech crew wisely cued lightning and glitter. Someone dashed onstage, pulled a frog costume over Danielle’s head, and vanished again.
“Ribbit,” played a sound. Danielle was stunned. I pretended to pick her up.
“Begone foul frog!” I cried in distaste, pretending to pick up the new ‘frog’. With a glare that could have thawed both poles on Pluto, she went, hopping away as best as she could with the costume pulled over her legs, shouting swears so dirty that I felt as if I had to wash my ears out with soap from hearing them.
But oh, when the curtain fell! There was incredible applause, and afterwards people kept coming up to me and saying how well I did onstage. I was so delighted, and still so dazed, that I didn’t think of anything else, nothing else, until much later, when I was in bed, as I dreamed of joining the drama group.
Oh yeah, I thought, Danielle. Well, I’ll deal with her later.
The next day at school, I learned that Danielle was completely mortified, and dropped out of drama. Apparently everyone was coming up to her to ask if she really was the cat, and if she really meant all those swears, and why she wasn’t the princess, etc. When I saw her at lunch, she gave me a half-fearful, half scowling glance. Wondering what it was about, I banged into somebody and smashed the contents of my tray into them in an attempt to apologize.
“Ohmigod I’m sorry!” I said in under zero point seven five seconds, and in under zero point two five seconds I added, “Isabelle?!” Immediately I changed my phrase and said, ” Ohmigod I’m so sorry!”
“Adding ‘so’ won’t help it be any much thus,” my friend mumbled through sauce.
“Don’t be so saucy,” I laughed, trailing off in alarm as I remembered our argument the other day.
“Isabelle, about yesterday…”
“Rachel, I was thinking,” my best friend said at the same time, and with a reproachful glance at each other we chorused, “I’m sorry!”
Yep. That’s all that happened, how I, with the help of my best friend Isabelle, stopped the worst bully in school by a battle of wit, strategy, and drama, and got a little reputation for myself. Confidence really is a better booster than caffeine or marijuana–oh, did I say that out loud?