“Ugh,” Stacy groans for 27th time that hour, “we shouldn't be doing this—we aren’t the type of people to be doing this, literally, like, I’m getting dirty—” she says in that Valley way, not elaborating on what kinds of people should be doing this.
Their kind? The two girls aren’t even cheerleaders—they’re ex-cheerleaders, kicked off the team for passing out in the bathrooms from drinking too much at the homecoming game. Stacy had nearly hung herself with her Baby Bottle Pop on the stall door, and Tiffany broke the mirror after throwing her heel at it, when she saw the way her lipstick had smudged. She thought she had gotten the goddamn waterproof one.
“Ew. I know. It’s just grody—grody to the max!” Tiffany shrieks, resting her arms on top of the shovel for a few breaths. Her mind quickly shifts elsewhere. “Did you see what Kyle commented on Jen’s post?”
Stacy slams the shovel into the Earth with godly force, so hard that it made more progress in all their hours of work combined. “No—was it like—good, or something?” She talks more to herself than Tiffany, surpassing her age with not wiseness nor patience, but bitterness.
“He said ‘cute,’ like with the heart eyes next to it and shit—like, what the fuck—”
“Yeah what the fuck!” Stacy spews, like she has tourette’s. She is as close to having tourette’s as a person that does not have tourette’s as you can get.
“She’s not even cute,” she states, striking the ground once again and accidently clicking it against a sideways hoof lying on the ground. The sound causes them both to cringe, but not enough to waver from the matter at hand.
“She’s a rat. She looks like a rat—a fucking sewage rat,” she goes on blindly, staring down into the dirt grave, daring the universe to make Jen appear inside it. “A sewage rat with cysts on its body instead of tits.”
“Kyle’s cute though,” Tiffany went on in order to get Stacy off the topic, careful not to call Kyle anything beyond cute, like handsome, or god forbid, hot. She wanted both to keep her friend at bay and prevent her parents from overhearing.
“Oh he’s a fucking sex GOD! A GOD, TIFF! God, Tiff, you don’t know how many times during class I’ve thought about—oh my god! Did I tell you about the one time I handed him that note during class? And guess what I put inside of it—”
“Stace!” Tiffany scream-whispers, “my parent’s window’s open! They’re gonna know we aren’t digging! We literally like, need to finish this before it gets dark—”
“How?! That’s like, three fucking hours away and it weighs like 600 pounds!” yells Stacy, adding in a whisper, “I hope Jen gains that much. I hope she gains so much weight she can’t leave her fucking house and won’t be able to see Kyle and Kyle won’t want to see her either because she’ll be fat and ugly, UGLY! So ugly, with so many chins, a bazillion chins—that bitch—that fucking bitch—” her blood-to-adrenaline levels were dangerously high at this point, “That bitch! What does she have that I don’t? Oh I know. Ohhhh I know, it’s that fucking pool. It’s because she has an inground pool and mine is above ground. That’s why Kyle hangs out there. Shirtless. Oh my god she’s probably seen him shirtless oh my god she has to have she has a fucking pool with fucking water in it! Oh she’s got it coming now she’s fucking got it coming. She’s…” She throws the shovel down with a clink that was not from the hoof this time, but from the rocks six feet under, “Got…”
“Stace?” Tiffany backs away as Stacy’s short temper, BPD, Bipolar, psychopathy, and almost-tourettes quickly surfaced all at once.
Stacy digs her hands under the large beast, “It…” Then scrunching up her face, turning it from freckled pale to blood-lust red, there was a moment, the moment in every Olympic weightlifting event—can they, or can’t they? Will they, or will the weight?
With a warcry, the warcry no warrior can match—the warcry of a 14 year old girl with a broken heart, breaks through the skies as she hoists the beast onto her shoulders.
“COMIIINNNNGGGG!” She fucking bellows with all the leftover energy she owns, throwing the thing over her head and into its grave, putting Jen and Kyle eternally to rest.
She pants, fists balled at her sides, a sturdy stance, ready for some more.
Claps are heard raining out from behind them. The girls turn. Tiffany’s parents smile, proud, out the window.
“Oh good job girls! See, we knew you could do it! Now come on in, dinner’s ready!”
Stacy belts a blood curdling scream that would not end, continuing when she rips her shirt in half and gets on all fours, going on and on until she has entered into the woods, continuing until all the blood was rightfully stopped and spilled and drank up, consuming the powers of the forest, dominating, conquering, ending.
Tiffany began to laugh, as did the parents. “Oh that Stacy, she always was a nice girl. Now come on in, dinner’s ready!”