Figured it was time for some Novel Graveyard action. Novel Graveyard comes from my unpublished, UNEDITED drafts of books I didn't finish. They are mine. And sometimes they're kind of fun, so I don't get rid of them. Instead I built a file graveyard for them to rest in. Check out other Novel Graveyard pieces HERE.
This excerpt is from a book called Nevada Falls. It's about a girl who returns from summer with wildly dyed hair and scarred hands that she keeps covered with gloves. There's some mature language, so you've been warned.
As the class was distracted, I opened the tube of superglue. My seat was in the last row and I darted my eyes around to make sure nobody was noticing me. But I didn’t have to worry. Nobody ever noticed me anymore unless I made them. Like by dying my hair pink.
I leaned forward, looking at Becker. His back was pressed against his chair, but his shoulders were slumped enough to give me a little wiggle room. Very carefully, I put the tip of the superglue against the Formica chair. And squeezed. Slowly the glue traveled down the back, soaking into Becker’s sweater, bonding it to the chair. I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing.
Once the tube was nearly empty, I pulled back my hand. Then I ducked low at my desk and slid the glue into my pack.
Becker sighed and pushed himself against his seat. I briefly worried that
he’d feel the wetness, but he didn’t seem to notice. The boy was seriously brainless. I got my can of silly string and hid it under my desk, coughing to cover the sound of the pop as I took off the cap. No one turned.
Now I just needed to wait.
Five minutes passed and then suddenly there was a series of loud snaps from just outside the door. Marisol screamed. It was pretty convincing.
“Mrs. C,” she cried. The entire class jumped up and ran for the door.
Except Becker. When he tried to move, his sweater pulled him back into his seat. “What the hell?” he said, trying to turn to see what he was snagged on. But his entire cotton-wool-blend was permanently cemented in place.
With the classroom emptying into the hallway, I jumped up in front of Becker and began to press the nozzle of the silly string. An explosion of pink flew all over him. He tried to scream, but the string filled his mouth. He choked, spitting it out and tried to shield his face as I unloaded the entire can on him.
“That’s what you get for being a prick,” I hissed. “Mess with Trevor again and next time those firecrackers will be up your ass.” There I went again with the graphic stuff. My brothers must have been rubbing off on me.
The can fizzled. Becker’s eyes opened, his entire body lost in a pile of pink string. He started to talk but then I heard, “What in the world?” from the doorway.
I turned. Mrs. Cosgrove.
She looked confused. I couldn’t blame her. Becker did look pretty ridiculous.
“…yeah. Some freshman tossed them on the ground and ran. I thought he was shooting at me…” Marisol was still in explanation mode when she came in behind Mrs. Cosgrove. She covered her mouth when she saw us.
My teacher balled her fists. “Both of you,” she said darting her look between Becker and me. “To the principal’s office. Now!”
I tried not to laugh. Because Becker was trying, without success, to free himself from his chair. Finally, he had to take off his silly-stringed shirt, leaving him bare-chested. It was a nice chest. He’d always been in great shape.
“Look,” Overgrown Idiot called. “Becker’s a male stripper.”
“Take it all off, big boy,” a cheerleader laughed, pulling out a dollar bill and waving it in the air. I hated her, but that was kind of funny. I temporarily forgave her for being a shallow bitch all the time.
Becker stood up, coming chest to face with me. I hadn’t realized he’d gotten so tall. And muscular. And clearly pissed off. He narrowed his eyes.
“I’ll get you back, Pierce,” he growled. I tightened my jaw.
“Bring it on, French.” Jocks never scared me. No. Macy’s makeup counters. Now those were scary.
Becker shook his head and walked past me, bumping my shoulder on the way. The class continued to catcall as he stomped out. I followed slowly, smiling at Marisol.
“Nice job, freak,” Overgrown Idiot said.
“Bite me,” I replied and walked out into the smoke filled hallway.