Sam Cruz's Infallible Guide to Getting Girls

by Tellulah Darling

  I know I sound like a nut bar. And maybe I’ll wake up in a padded room restrained for my own safety. But in that moment with Kai, it felt real. Like I knew who I was. Or used to be. Those were my memories flashing before my eyes – not some fantasy or hallucination. Part of me remembered those moments. But where do I go from here? And is there an online tutorial I can take?

  I don’t exactly have your email. But if you’re a goddess, maybe you’ll know I’m writing. That I really need my mom right now. And if not – well, I guess I’ll save this for my obituary. Which I’ll probably need pretty soon because of the gods wanting me dead thing.

  Take care.

  Sophie

  a.k.a. Persephone

  a.k.a. Goddess of Spring

  a.k.a. Your Daughter

  ~

  Let me state, on the record, that despite the super melodramatic email above, I am totally sane. Well, as sane as I can be for a sixteen-year-old. I’ve just had the day from Hell. Literally.

  I should back up. Hi. I’m Sophie Bloom. Longtime human, first time goddess. How would I describe myself? Hmmm. If my life was going to be a movie – do you ever do that? Rescript your personal history with a great soundtrack and better extras? My dream version would be courtesy of Tim Burton but I think the sad truth is that the movie of my life would be more like a lame after-school special.

  You know, something like “poor little rich girl, her life littered with hopes and dreams.” I love “littered with;” such over-the-top drunk divorcée lingo, uttered right before the aging cougar smashes her highball with a fury into the fireplace. Just how my adoptive, socialite mother Felicia ended every New Year’s Eve. But we have plenty of time to get into moms and their respective failings.

  My life in a nutshell on Saturday, October 31, when my universe turned upside down, involved me being a totally human junior at Hope Park; a “progressive” school whose forward thinking curriculum was offset by the students’ petty jealousies, social climbing, and the ongoing dramas of hook-ups and break-ups.

  The only bright spot was that it was Halloween. Sure, it meant a dance with far too many dumb boys in drag (acting out some of their not-so-latent sexual issues), but it also meant chocolate.

  And dressing up.

  And revenge.

  Cue horror music and the entrance of the dreaded yoga girls. The leader of that “namaste” bowing bitch-fest was one Bethany Murphy. For all her practice of enlightenment through bendiness, she ran her cult yoga sessions like a drill sergeant. Girls had been known to come out sobbing because their sun salutation wasn’t worshipful enough.

  To say I hated Bethany would be an understatement. My greatest fantasy was to poison her slowly, then let her get better before administering a really nasty dose that left her dead and rigor mortised in a humiliating position.

  Since she had been at Hope Park as long as I had, Bethany and I had a nice long run together. It wasn’t any one big torment, just a continual series of small cruelties. But as Bethany was Miss School Spirit, managing to fool the Powers That Be with her big blue eyes and Googled new age crap, I was the one currently on probation due to my attitude problem.

  But thanks to some laxatives, a wig and one unforgettable kiss, the balance of power was about to shift.

  About the Author

  Tellulah Darling

  noun

  1) YA novelist

  2) Alter ego of a professional screenwriter/instructor

  3) Sassy minx

  Geeks out over: cool tech.

  Squees for: great storytelling.

  Delights in: fabulous conversation.

  Writes about: where love meets comedy, flavored with pop culture. Awkwardness ensues.

  Help her procrastinate at: www.tellulahdarling.com.