(7) Can You Get A Prosthetic Head?

                                    

                                          
CHAPTER 7
                          
Again, feel free to point out errors. This is unedited!
                          
After Delilah gets escorted to the schools nurse by one of the students (“Just in case.” Mrs. Lecher says. “Aint nothing wrong with the girl.") we are to continue on like nothing has just happened. Meaning I still have to fight Trixie. Let me tell you now, the girl puts the brute in brutal.
                          
Mrs. Lecher blows her whistle, and all hell breaks loose. Well, apparently, this is normal to Mrs. Lecher, but not in my opinion. I can’t tell if everyone is following doing the moves that Mrs. Lecher taught us, but I know that Trixie isn’t. The girl is brutal. She’s going about as easy on me as a Death Eater would on a Muggle. I can feel every blow more than I’d like to, and it’s hard to get a hit in myself because I’m afraid if I hurt her even a little she’ll straight out kill me. It doesn’t help that she’s giving me these looks similar to what a forty-year-old pedophile would give to a high school cheerleader—not seductive, just creepy. The only thing I have going for me is my speed. I’m faster than her, so a couple of times I manage to escape her until Mrs. Lecher starts yelling at me not to “puss out”. I swear, this woman would be better off coaching a males football team or something.
                          
Just when Trixie gets me in a headlock, and the sounds of other defeated girls grunts can be heard, Lecher finally blows her stupid whistle. I’m calling that whistle stupid right now, but it probably just saved my life…
                          
Trixie releases my head from her death grip and I take a second to thank the gods above. I rub my sore neck with a grimace on my face. What the hell was that?
                          
“Gosh, you girls act like you’re in middle school!” Lecher starts in on us, as if she’sthe one who was just put in a headlock. “Maybe I should swap you pansies out with the middle schoolers—I’m sure they’dlast more than two minutes in the ring!” we weren’t even in a ring, but whatever. And two minutes? Gosh, that felt like a millennium. “You’re supposed to be vampires, with better strength, speed, and agility, but I could just put you in the ring with some humans right now and I bet I couldn’t even tell you apart!” It’s kind of hard to focus on anything other than the spit flying from her impossibly large mouth.
                          
That, and my sore neck. I swear it’s becoming numbing to the point to wear I can’t even feel it anymore—like when you sit on your foot for a while and then stand up. What if I have to get my head amputated? Do they even have prosthetic heads? (oh god, what will I use) Will I just have to carry it around with me for the rest of my life like those monsters in the cartoons?
                          
I’m pulled from my thoughts by the sudden movement of my classmates. A couple people bump into me as if I’m invisible, and a few say things like “Get out of the goddamn way.” So I do, and just go with the crowd. Mrs. Lecher must’ve dismissed the class. I spot Libba’s white ponytail and jog over to catch up with them. Libby is looking kind of rough around the edges, while her sister looks quite fine.
                          
“I totally destroyed that girl—I swear she didn’t get one hit in.” Libba says smugly, looking over at me as if automatically knowing I was here.
                          
“Yeah, well, like that girl you ‘destroyed’ I didn’t get one hit in,” Libby says sourly, picking grass out of her hair. “That chick shoved my face in the dirt.”
                          
Libba tries and fails to cover up a snicker with her hand, but it slips through anyway, causing her sister to glower at her, her mouth set tight. “What, is something funny?” Libby asks rhetorically, hands now on her hips.
                          
“Oh, chill out, sis. Jeez, what’s got your panties in a twist?”
                          
“Oh, I don’t know,” Libby starts sarcastically. She hooks a thumb over her shoulder. “Maybe that horrid girl back there that twisted my body up multiple times as if I’m a freaking pretzel or something.”