Deb Webster dove head-first into her new calf-skin bodysuit and hoped for the best. Today was the day she had been waiting for ever since her first day at West Swedshon Junior High. Why? Because today was the day she would officially become popular, that’s why!!!
Rolling her emerald eyes heavenward, Deb sauntered into the Webster family bathroom and inspected herself in the mirror. She had to look dynamite today, she just had to. She sighed, adjusting her thick helmet of auburn curls and tucking the loose strands behind her ears. Then she rimmed her eyes in teal eyeliner and dabbed on just a hint of her new favorite lipstick – Pink Mink. Only a few days ago, Grape Escape had been her favorite, but that had all changed now that Jennifer Chicken had walked into her life. Who was Jennifer Chicken, you may ask? Only the most popular teen at West Swedshon Junior High, that’s who! Jennifer’s favorite lipstick was Pink Mink, so Pink Mink it would be from here on out. There was a new lipstick in town, and that was final.
“Get real,” Deb hissed at her reflection in a bored tone. Yes! She sounded just like a fashion model, which was exactly what she was going for. You see, Jennifer Chicken and her super-chic clique, the Dudettes, had wanted nothing to do with Deb until that fateful day when she had paid her crush, the hot and steamy Timmy Bones, a week’s allowance to start a rumor that Deb was an undercover fashion model hiding out at Swedshon Junior. Then, magically, Jennifer Chicken had taken notice of her, warming up to her bit by bit until finally, yesterday, she had invited Deb to join her in the cafeteria for Graham Crackers and Juice. It was so ironic, like a dream come true.
With a final wink in the mirror, Deb trotted back into her bedroom to put the finishing touches on her outfit. The calf-skin body suit was to die for, but it needed that little something extra. With a sly grin, Deb looped a red crocodile belt around her waist and cinched it tight to accentuate her bony carcass. With a devilish gleam in her eyes, she flung open her jewelry box and lifted out her favorite earrings – giant papiêr machée triangles painted to look like pepperoni pizza slices. Jennifer Chicken was going to flip when she saw them. Sliding them into her earlobes, Deb felt a tingly sensation running up and down her spine. Last but not least, she slid her denim ankle boots onto her ankles and a men’s tuxedo jacket over her shoulders, tying the sleeves around her neck and securing them with a beet-red broach in the shape of a freshly-plucked vulva. There, she thought. Now I really am a fashion model!
Deb grabbed her new, scrotum-shaped knapsack and bounded down the stairs.
“Not so fast, Deb,” her mother cooed, hands on hips. “You haven’t even eaten your breakfast.”
“Mother, my name is Doreen,” Deb chirped. “Get used to it. And please, while you’re at it, get real.” Deb had decided to call herself Doreen from now on. It sounded like the type of name a fashion model would have.
“Your name is not Doreen,” Mrs. Webster protested. “It’s Deb, and it always has been. You get real. And eat some breakfast.”
“Mother, puh-lease,” Deb quipped, clasping her hands behind her head so that she would look like a sexy fashion model from New York City. “This is New York City. Nobody eats breakfast in this town.”
“Earth to Deb,” her mother purred. “This is Swedshon, Indiana. Not New York City. Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m feeling fine. I’m a fashionable teen and I’m off to New York City Junior High for my meeting with the lovely and talented Jennifer Chicken. I’ve got some beef jerky in my purse in case hunger strikes during homeroom. Now piss off!”
And with that, she pranced out the door, jumped on her trike, and peeled out towards West Swedshon Junior to begin her new life with Jennifer Chicken.
At precisely 8:15 AM, Deb sauntered through the double-doors of West Swedshon Junior High. She had never felt more stylish in her whole life. “NEW YORK CITY,” she screamed as she entered the main corridor. A couple of students shot confused glances in her direction, but she didn’t even care – because there, several yards down the hall, stood Jennifer Chicken and the Dudettes. The three of them looked sensational, as always. On Jennifer’s right was Donna McDonald, the school gossip, wearing the spandex overalls that were her trademark. On her left side was Millie Miller, the richest girl in town, in a leather baseball cap and a strapless ball gown. But neither of those two held a candle to the girl in the center – the one and only Ms. Jennifer Chicken, the most popular girl in school. Deb gasped and did a triple take as she drank in Jennifer’s ensemble. She was a vision in black stiletto pumps, salmon-colored bike shorts and an oversized, hooded sweatshirt with NEW YORK CITY printed across the front. Slung low around her slender hips was the rhinestone-studded fanny pack in which she kept her pencils, pens and mascara. A tube of Pink Mink lipstick hung from her elegant neck by a golden chain, for easy access. Dog-shaped barrettes swept her corn-colored hair up and away from her elfin face, and a series of brightly-colored wrist watches on either wrist completed the look.
“Hey, Dudettes,” Deb called as she made her way towards the dynamite trio. “Piss off,” she added uncertainly. She had been trying to select just the right greeting for her new gaggle of peeps all morning, and had finally settled upon hey Dudettes, piss off only moments earlier. She crossed and uncrossed her fingers three times for luck, hoping that it would be a hit.
“Hey Doreen,” Jennifer Chicken replied after a long pause. “Cowabunga.”
“Yeah, Cowabunga,” Donna and Millie echoed in unison, nodding their heads in approval.
“Yeah, and piss off, puh-lease,” Deb moaned in reply, giving her auburn mop a sensual toss. This was going better than she had hoped!
“What’s going down?” Jennifer inquired, scooping an armful of books out of her locker and slamming it shut with a hollow clank.
“Same old, same old,” Deb replied. “Modeling, modeling, and more modeling. You assholes know the drill.”
Jennifer and the Dudettes exchanged wide-eyed glances. Deb could tell they were impressed to be in the company of a real-life fashion model such as herself.
“In fact,” she went on, “I’ve spent so much time modeling recently that I’ve worked up a mighty appetite. I’m famished! Are we still on for lunch?”
“You bet,” Jennifer agreed, bobbing her head up and down emphatically. “We’ll meet you in front of the cafeteria, at 11:15 sharp.”
“Whatever,” Deb sighed, kicking Jennifer’s locker for emphasis. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go practice my modeling before homeroom.” As an afterthought, Deb whipped a textbook out of her knapsack and balanced it on top of her head like a fashion model would do. “There,” she said, slithering off down the hall at a snail’s pace so as not to let the book fall. She had done it. She had convinced Jennifer Chicken and the Dudettes that she really was a fashion model – a fashion model named Doreen Webster. 11:15 couldn’t come fast enough!
“Here you go, Jennifer,” Deb murmured, sliding a glossy scrap of paper across the lunch table towards her new friend. “I cut out a picture of a chicken for you from one of my mother’s fashion magazines. Pretty succulent-looking, huh?”
“I’ll say,” Jennifer replied, blinking her pale, lavender eyes.
“I figured you could tape it up in your locker, seeing as how your name is Jennifer Chicken and all.”
“Cool,” Jennifer hissed. “That was way thoughtful, Doreen.”
“And for you guys,” Deb announced to Donna McDonald and Millie Miller, “I’ve got a picture of a McDonald’s Big Mac and one of a Miller Light beer. Hang those in your lockers and we’ll call it even.”
“Hey, wait a minute,” Millie protested, “that’s not a Miller Light beer, it’s a Michelob Light. My name isn’t Millie Michelob!”
“Well, it should be,” Deb improvised. “Anyway, all the fashion models in New York City drink tons of Michelob Light, got it?”
“Got it,” the Dudettes chanted in reply. This was truly outrageous – Deb had the Dudettes practically eating out of her hand!
“How about some Graham crackers and Juice?” Jennifer asked, running her fingers through her silky, blonde mane.
“Bring it on,” Deb whispered, trying to sound nonchalant.
“You bring it on, Doreen,” Jennifer retorted. “What are you waiting for – an invitation?”
“Yeah, bring it on, Doreen,” Donna McDonald chimed in. “We don’t have all day.”
“Fork it over,” Deb growled, beckoning to the Dudettes. “It’s time to get this party started!”
“Doreen,” Jennifer sighed, “You were supposed to bring the Graham crackers and juice. Hello?”
Deb could feel her face go beet red as the realization dawned on her: she was supposed to provide the snack! She had just assumed that the Dudettes would take care of that, seeing as how they were the most popular girls in school. She was so embarrassed she could have died.
Don’t blow it, Webster, she thought to herself.
“Uh…I’ve got some beef jerky in my purse,” she offered lamely. “I could cut it into four pieces and we could each have some.”
Jennifer Chicken and the Dudettes exchanged disappointed glances.
Think fast, Webster, Deb shrieked inwardly.
“Listen up, Dudettes,” she began awkwardly. “I’m only going to say this once: beef jerky is all the rage. All the fashion models in New York City eat it…with their Michelob Light, that is.” Deb rolled her lime-green eyes and drummed her nails on the table top, trying her best to sound bored. “Now, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way. What’s it going to be?”
But before anyone could answer, the cafeteria doors swung open to reveal Deb’s crush, the hot and steamy Timmy Bones. A hush fell over third period lunch as he meandered sexually over to the buffet.
“Hey, look,” someone cried from a few feet away, “it’s The Bones!”
Deb had to admit that The Bones looked amazing in buck-tight, white jeans and a plaid T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up. A black leather jacket was slung over his shoulder and a tiny top hat perched atop his dainty golden hair. (It was about one fifth the size of a normal top hat.) Best of all was the devilish gleam in his china blue eyes – a gleam that clearly said I’m popular – deal with it.
“Hey everybody,” he cried, waving at everybody in the mess hall. “I’m popular – deal with it!”
They all laughed good-naturedly, and Timmy Bones pumped his fist in the air triumphantly. He was, without a doubt, the handsomest boy in Swedshon.
“Now that I’m popular too, I wonder if he’ll ask me to the Holiday Hop,” Deb wondered aloud.
“Zip it, Doreen,” Jennifer snapped, holding her palms up in front of her. “This is only our first lunch together, and you didn’t even bring the Graham crackers and juice like you were supposed to. Plus, I’m still the most popular girl at Swedshon Junior High, so it stands to reason that I should have first dibs on The Bones.”
“True,” Deb said sweetly, “but on the other hand, I am a fashion model, and I have pizza-shaped earrings and a scrotum-shaped napsack…”
Jennifer and the Dudettes narrowed their eyes at Deb. She could see this conversation was going nowhere, fast.
“Look,” she said, changing the subject, “What do you say we forget all this baloney and go share a cigarette in the girls’ bathroom before Mr. Maneuver’s fourth period Spanish class?”
“I’m in,” Jennifer bellowed, smearing a fresh coat of Pink Mink onto her bulbous lips.
“Me too,” said Donna McDonald.
“Me three,” said Millie Miller.
Way to go, Webster, Deb thought, taking a huge bite of beef jerky. But that was close….too close!!!
To be continued…
