Shhhh, little one. The thunder is not loud enough to mask your cries. We are fugitives, you and I. But do not worry. One day your voice will drown the thunder.

Friday the Thirteenth continued to be cursed.

Such a cliché!

But I had a plan to conquer it.

All I needed was:

1. No detention yoga.

2. Find book stolen by cat (although now that I have some perspective, I'm not sure what the big deal was anymore. It was just some old book. Sometimes I get carried away.)

3. Most important: Impress—Miles Buxkemper—the cutest boy in computer class, with my keen hacking skills and maybe end my nearly sixteen-year reign of having never been kissed.

I raced home to drop off the glass and quickly change clothes, entering by the front door instead of the kitchen to avoid parental third-degree interrogation because of scratched face. Sure enough, as I fled up the stairs, the refrain of "Rowen, what was that all about?" followed in my wake.

"Nothing," I yelled down once I was safely in my room.

I had ten minutes until the tardy bell. I could make it to school in five.

Basically, if I was fast enough, a yoga-free afternoon could be in my future.

I slipped into my second cutest jeans and a white t-shirt with a yellow happy face emblazoned across the front.

Ha, Friday the Thirteenth! Take that!

In the bathroom, I scrubbed my face, applied cover-up to the scratches on my cheeks, and made a fervent attempt to tame my brush-resistant hair, managing to restore myself to a normal level of bizarreness. I ran to the kitchen and deposited the glass in the sink.

"Bye, Dad. Papa," I chirped, hoping to head off the "why did you come in the front door and are you hiding something young lady?" line of questioning. I had somewhere to be and no time to construct any decent lies.

"Wait," Dad said, giving me the once over. My heart stalled in my chest. "You finished the smoothie?"

"Sure did," I lied, pointing to the empty glass in the sink. Dad lifted an eyebrow. "Yum," I added. "Gotta go!"

"Great. Have a wonderful day, Ro," he said.

Sold!

"Hold up, young lady," Papa said, rinsing his coffee cup and my glass. "Isn't today Halloween Candygram Day?"

My stomach filled with spikey glass shards of dread. How had I forgotten it was Candygram Day?

For those of you who think I'm overreacting, you obviously aren't familiar with Candygram Day. Here is a brief explanation:

Each Halloween, Christmas, and Valentine's Day, the Coffin Ridge Student Council, raise money by selling candy. For a dollar, you fill out a note and attach it to a lollipop or candy cane, and the Student Council officers deliver them to the lucky recipients in class. In front of everyone.

Some people got dozens of candygrams from friends, secret admirers, boyfriends, and girlfriends. Some got one or two. Others, like me, have never gotten one. Why? Because you need to have one of the above people in your life to buy you one. And because my only friend was a now an ex-friend with claws, no money, and no opposable thumbs, I had to sit in class and watch all the other students get them while pretending I didn't care.

Maybe with my cute outfit and a little bragging about my successful hack of the sanitation department, Miles might fall in love with me and end my stint of being unkissed and uncandygrammed. For a moment, I allowed myself the image of me sitting in class and opening a candygram from Miles and thanking him with a seductive smile. In this scenario, he snaked his arm around my waist and said something cool, like, "Of course, babe."

Also, he was shirtless and wearing sunglasses.

Look, it was my fantasy, so I got to break the school dress code if I wanted.

Then I snapped back to reality and glanced at each of my parents, both smiling.

Oh, no!

Did my dads send me a Candygram, an act that would have sealed my fate as a social outcast for all eternity?

My mouth turned as dry as paper. The ability to speak abandoned me. So, I raced out of there. Friday the Thirteenth hadn't yet won! I could still accomplish my goals!

Gasping for breath, moments before my body informed me there would be no more running, the Coffin Ridge High, A California Distinguished School entrance sign materialized. I checked my cell. Ninety seconds before the bell! I was going to make it!

Shut up, body, and get me there.

Friday the Thirteenth could suck it!

I was going to be on time.

No yoga.

I would impress Miles with my hacking prowess.

He'd probably ask me to stay after class and help him with his computer homework and then kiss me. Maybe he really would be shirtless. It could happen!

Oh, and while I was dreaming, why not include a cancellation of Candygram Day because of a rat infestation in the storeroom which left all the candy inedible?

I know! Stupid optimism. The absolute worst.

Despite my body having other ideas, I sped up, careened down C Hall (where they put the science classes), and spied the entrance to AP Computer Science, only steps away. A poster of Chip, the Muppet computer expert, was plastered to the door. Our teacher, Miss Piltz, was some kind of weird fangirl. Even in Nerd World, there were different levels of dork, and Miss Piltz? A definite Level 10. She was like a black hole, where anything cool or fashionable died in her gravitational pull. Still, she showed commitment, and I had to admire that.

Three steps away, I slammed into a brick wall. It knocked the wind out of me as I landed hard on the pavement. "Agghhhh!" Milky iced coffee soaked into my clothes.

"Why don't you watch where you're going?" said the brick wall. "Look what you've done!"

I looked. Above me, blocking the sun, was my current least favorite person at Coffin Ridge High—Tyra Underhill. New girl. Or, more precisely, the new mean girl. She looked like the type of person lovesick poets would write boring odes about comparing her to a summer's day or whatever. Otherworldly. Come to think of it, she really was a human embodiment of summer, with blonde hair, glowing skin, and golden eyes. She also looked like she ate small children for breakfast. Something about her overly white teeth and the way her smile was a little crooked, like it was saying "yeah, sure it's a smile," but "only kidding" at the same time. The only good news was that her short pink sundress dress and foolish gold strappy heels were as covered in iced coffee as my jeans and soggy previously-white happy face tee.

She squeezed out the hem of her dress but kept her eyes fixed on me as if she was waiting for me to do or say something.

"Where did you come from?" I accused.

Tyra bent over, her silky hair brushing against my head. "Your worst nightmare." Yeah, that's what she said. Utter weirdo, right?

"Dude, you watch too many movies," I spat.

The bell rang. I had a new fantasy now. That the ground would open and swallow me, which would have been preferable to showing up in class with coffee-stained clothes and then enduring an afternoon not spent with shirtless Miles, but with yoga mats and warrior pose.

"I'm reporting you," Tyra shrieked.

"Reporting me? For what? Existing?"

"For making me spill my coffee and ruining my dress."

"What about my clothes?"

"Uh," she sneered, "I'm sure you can go back to the thrift shop and replace them."

My fists tightened. Anger filled me like stomach acid leaked out and fizzed into my bloodstream. I wanted, no, needed, to thrash this girl.

Tyra smirked. "Go ahead. Do it," she taunted.

Pebbles pressed into my hands as I pushed myself to stand. The breeze made my clothes feel even wetter. I sprang at her, pushing her over. As her butt hit the ground, the loud thud and her subsequent scream, energized me.

(Just a quick note here that I should have noticed my reaction to Tyra was way beyond my usual fury.  I'd never attacked anyone before. And even worse, I enjoyed it.)

"Miss. Piltz, help! Help!" Tyra pleaded.

Oh, no! Miss Piltz loved me; I was her favorite student. She hadn't been at the school long, so she didn't know my history of being a curse. What would she think of me now?

Her pale head appeared out of the doorway. Miss Piltz took one look at us, pressed her lips together, and shook her head. My cheeks burned at her palpable disappointment. "Ladies! What is going on here?"

"She spilled her drink on me. On purpose," I blurted.

"Liar!" Tyra said. "She wasn't watching where she was going and slammed into me. And now, look at my dress!" Tyra stood and took a step back in a reverse curtsy with her arms spread wide.

"And my jeans," I added. I stuck out one wet leg as evidence of Tyra's, well, tyranny.

"Miss Keckilpenny-Brown, I am surprised at your behavior. Is this any way to welcome our newest student to AP Comp Sci?"

"What?" I shrieked. How could this girl be in AP anything? She looked like Miss America or America's Next Top Model or a contestant on America's Got Talent whose talent was looking like a Miss America. Not a brainiac. It wasn't fair for someone who looked like her to be smart, too.

(Wow, I really was out of control!)

"Miss Underhill, do you have your registration card for the class?"

Tyra pursed her lips at me and extracted a pink slip of paper from inside a shiny alligator-skin handbag. "Yes, Miss Piltz." She handed over the paper.

"Thank you," she said. "You'll both be in detention today."

"But!" we exclaimed at the same time.

Miss Piltz smiled. "Don't worry. I'm leading the yoga class," she said as if that would make it all okay. Even if she was my favorite teacher, yoga was still yoga.

"Can I go home and change?" I begged. No way was I going to let Miles see me in this state.

"Absolutely not," Miss Piltz said. "It's Candygram Day. Also, we have something to discuss, you and I. After yoga."

I gulped. Did she know about the hack?

"You two go to the theater department and change into a costume. Be back in class in ten minutes, or you'll have detention every day this week."

Once Miss Piltz disappeared into the classroom, I took off. I've seen some of our school plays! There were a few normal outfits, and I wanted the first pick.

Tyra caught up to me, even with those heels! And passed me. She looked over her shoulder, cackling. My muscles ached from all the running, and I couldn't keep up. The only consolation prize to this complete debacle was that Tyra was going to do detention as well. Although looking at her, she probably did yoga for fun.

That's how I ended up ten minutes later, in AP Computer Science, with Miles sitting between me and Tyra, her in a gorgeous princess costume. And me?

Let's just say the business end of a horse may not be the most flattering, but it is the deadliest.

What do you think will happen next? Will Miles fall in love with Rowen? Will she get a candygram? If she does, will it be from her parents? Stay tuned till next week!

A gagillion thanks for reading my story. I've been loving your comments so much. Keep 'em coming! Votes and follows also appreciated!

I hereby dedicate this chapter to masonfitzzy, my Wattpad daughter, and an amazing author. Go check out her many scary sexy stories!