18
Heather
Sixth grade
I wanted to bash Tate Sullivan’s head in with the bat my brother had gotten for his last birthday.
She was flirting with Channing, pushing the new boobies she’d just grown into his face and tugging her shorts down, helping him see her pink lacy underwear. I watched all this from the porch at our house. Dad was adding on to Manny’s, so a lot of my friends came over to hang out.
Free food and soda—it was quite the draw for sixth graders. Or actually, I was the only sixth grader here. Tate had always been a year older, and now Channing was a grade above me too.
Traitors.
Tate had talked last night about working at Manny’s one day.
One day, my ass.
I daydreamed about my attack—how her blood would splatter and I’d wipe it off with my shirt. I’d drop the bat. Chan
