26
Heather
Fart!
Somehow I’d ended up running behind Channing’s cousin, and smelling the farts he kept denying.
Another one. I hit Scratch in the back. “Stop farting! They stink!”
“I’m sorry. I can’t help it. I shouldn’t have had that sandwich in the truck.”
“No s**t, Sherlock.”
He rolled his eyes. “You’re kinda mean sometimes, Heather. Do you know that about yourself?”
My hand spasmed. I wanted to hit him again, across the face. I deadpanned, “Really? I had no idea.”
“Not nice. Not nice.”
Then a voice spoke from behind me. “Would you two stop bickering? You’re like two little kids fighting over a toy.”
Scratch didn’t respond, but I screamed my displeasure—or I would’ve. I jumped straight in the air, and just as I started to yell, a hand clamped over my mouth.
“Ssshhhh! It’s me
