NYAAAAAAA

I guess it's my turn to post. Nyaaaaa. I don't wanna. But duty calls, so... um... I'll just conjure up some chic-lit I wrote a few months ago.

"OW! OW OW OW OW OW OW OW OW OOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Reva rolled her eyes. "God, Lorelei, stop squirming a second or I'll never finish."

"BUT IT HURTS!!!!!!" I protested vehemently. "A LOT!!!!!!!!"

"Beauty's painful, darling," she said, poking another hole "into the dress" (translation: into my skin).

Ira chose this moment to walk in. This distressed me greatly, as it is highly unsettling for your best friend's extremely adorable brother to walk in while you are whining about pins going into your skin. This exudes the sort of wimpy-girl atmosphere that repels boys as strongly as bug spray repels, well, bugs (according to Seventeen magazine).

"Oh, hi, Ira," I said casually, hoping to cover up the fact that, seconds before, I had been screaming my head off. "How's it going?"

"Hi, El, I'm--" Ira cut off suddenly. "REVA! What are you DOING?!?!?"

Reva tossed the waist-length blue hair cascading down from the one unshaved side of her head. "Well, Ira, I was just fitting Lorelei for a dress for the dance, WHICH SHE PERSONALLY REQUESTED, until YOU came barging in," she answered primly.

But Ira still looked dubious. "Really? Is that true, Lorelei?"

"Well, I--"

"WAIT, WHO ARE YOU GOING WITH?" Ira, who had been perfectly relaxed just moments ago, suddenly looked stricken. "WHO?"

I looked around, wondering what had made him ask such a neutral question so loudly and forcefully. Was there a fire going on behind me? Was their dog doing an interpretive dance? "I'm going with Sartre. He asked me yesterday at lunch, while you were with the literary club meeting. Why?" I was seriously curious. I had been a little bummed out because Ira hadn't asked me, but Sartre was a perfectly nice guy, and there's nothing wrong with going to a dance with somebody who you aren't irrevocably in love with. There are some girls who go on dates with guys who they don't even know. Well, at least on TV.

Ira muttered something. "What?" I asked. "Oh, nothing," he said, a forced smile on his face as he left the room. "Nothing at all."

After he was gone, I turned to Reva, who had been sticking me with pins the whole time. "What was that about?"

Reva blinked a few times, a dazed look on her face. Then she snapped back to reality. "Oh, that?" Her face had gone from girl-lost-in-her-art to girl-smirking-evilly in a matter of seconds. "Hm, I wonder. What do you think, Lorodo?" Lorodo is the dwarf nickname Reva gave to me. I hate it, partly because there's no way to get back at her. I mean, Revodo? Seriously? "What could make my brother upset about you going to the school dance with another guy?"

"What do you mean, another guy? Who's the first guy?"

Reva smacked her palm to her forehead. "HE'S the other guy, you idiot! IRA!"

Oh, my God, how did I just post that? It. Is. So. STUPID. But whatevers. And Monty? If you make fun of me, I will hold no bars in attacking you back.