ALRIGHT! PEACOCKGAL17 HERE WITH MY NEW STORY, WHICH IS HOPEFULLY BETTER THAN MY OTHER ONE. JUST SO YOU KNOW, THIS STORY WILL INVOLVE CHILD ABUSE SOMEWHERE IN THE NEXT CHAPTERS AND NO ROMANCE BETWEEN SANDRA AND HARRY WHATSOEVER…MY ROMANCE SUCKS…ANYWAYS…HARRY WILL COME IN EITHER THE CHAPTER AFTER THIS OR THE ONE AFTER THAT. BY THE WAY, IN THIS STORY, YOU DON'T GO TO HOGWARTS UNTIL YOU ARE THIRTEEN. GOT IT? GOOD…
PLEASE REVIEW EVEN IF YOU TYPE ON WORD IN THE BOX, I JUST WANT TO KNOW SOMEONE READ…TATA!
PERK: READ MY STORY AND REVIEW, THEN I WILL READ ANY OF YOUR G-PG-13 FICS!!!
Disclaimer: I don't own this stuff, but I claim Sandra and her rather interesting friend Gary and both their weird senses of humor.
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Cassandra, or Sandra as many people knew her, sat on her bed absentmindedly chewing gum. In her hands, 'Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix' was propped up. Although her mother and best friend Miranda complained that she already knew the whole book by heart so what was the point in reading it again?, Sandra had to admit, she was slightly obsessed with this novel. She had gone from criticizing how McGonagall had known which way the chandelier unscrewed to ranting about why Sirius shouldn't have died.
Basically, this particular day, eleven-year-old Sandra was doing what she did best. Analyzing every aspect of the products of J. K. Rowling's writing ability while avoiding her (rather nosy and pushy) parents.
Diane and Michael Bedan were pretty much the 'All-American' parents. She was the stay-at-home mom who followed every new craze and spent a good part of her 'relaxation' time gossiping with the neighbors. He ran a very successful company of drill engineers that always seemed to come up with the newest technology before anyone else. Sandra's brother, Ray, traveled all over the world doing odd jobs while seeing the sights. And Sandra herself tried her hardest never to be seen with her parents, for fear that people would associate her with American Family Perfection-AFP; or, as she liked to refer to it- Annoyingly False Perkiness.
Sandra had just culminated from a Californian elementary school of which she had never really bothered to learn the name. With only average grades, the was no way she was going to go to one of the exclusive private middle schools her mother always used to harp about, but she still couldn't understand why her parents were being so secretive about which school she would next be attending. She hoped they weren't going to decide that the next fad is home-schooling. 24/7 with the Bedan parental units would be telling her that 'Bloody Murder' was going to be one of the permanent phrases in her vocabulary.
Her brown eyes snapped up as footsteps pounded on the stairs. She idly processed what she knew about the sound. The noises were being made by light feet that naturally stomped, but were attempting to be quiet. It was a hesitant walk, but one that never completely stopped on its journey, just paused every now and then. Sandra's eyes widened as her door began to open, so slowly, it was like whoever it was (probably her mother) was trying to fool her into thinking there was nobody there.
Tch; like that's going to work.
Sandra rolled her eyes and sarcastically stated loudly, "Oh, I wonder who could be making noises at my door? Perhaps it is the wind blowing all the way up the stairs through the closed windows! Oh! Maybe I'll just go back to analyzing the Department of Mysteries!" Sandra quickly brushed her strawberry-brown hair behind her ears and readied a glare to throw at whoever dared to disturb her Harry Potterish musings.
Diane Bedan, who had trouble (BIG trouble) recognizing sarcasm, tittered, "Oh, no, honey, there isn't actually any wind today. Perhaps you should come outside, you seem so pale sometimes. It doesn't seem right, you being cooped up in your room all day. Your father and I have both managed to get a nice tan. Oh! Don't look at me like that. I need to have a conversation with you. It's like we don't talk anymore!"
Sandra drawled quite calmly, "Conversation tends to include more than one person speaking, does it not? And we don't talk anymore because our talk tends to include
a) you insulting my grades and low social standing,
b) my hatred for summer sports and the different ways you insist I can attempt to dispel the aforementioned hate,
c) how you absolutely refuse to let me become my brother's shadow and travel when I finish school because it will ruin you're reputation if you don't have one normal child, or, most often,
d) all of the above!
So if you have something to tell me, just get it out and leave me alone."
Diane sat on the edge of the bed which her daughter was sprawled out on; not noticing Sandra's twitches as she attempted to overcome her urges to shy away from her mother's overpowering toxic smell of day-old perfume and suntan lotion.
Diane gave an understanding smile to her daughter and said, "Now Cassandra, I know the last month has been hard on you, what with leaving your old school and Miranda moving to Mexico to live closer to her grandparents. However, we do have some good news for you." Ignoring Sandra's suspicious look, she plowed on, "You're father has found a drill company called Grunnings which would like to hire him, but they are located in Europe. So…………We're moving to Britain! Specifically, we're going to move into Number Seven Privet Drive in Little Whinging, Surrey. Isn't it marvelous?!"
Sandra smirked a bit as she drawled, "Yes, mother, and I suppose the Dursleys live down the street as well, huh?"
Diane looked rather pleased as she replied, "Yes, actually, I do believe that is the name of the family that is making up our welcome party."
"Nice joke, but you can't fool me, I already know every detail."
"What on earth are you on about, Cassandra? Oh, well. You might as well start packing; we're leaving in a week!"
Diane was very fortunate that she chose to leave at that particular moment, because otherwise she would have been subject to enduring Sandra's booming, not-so-nice laughter. Honestly, the girl thought, did they really think she was that stupid? The Harry Potter world didn't exist. But…her mother would never stage such an elaborate joke; and even if she did, she would have laughed before it was over anyway. Plus, her parents had learned not to mess with their daughters temper unless it was absolutely necessary.
In fact, that was one of the reasons that she had so few friends- most were just too darn scared of her. Ah, well. She might as well start packing now.
First, the boxes were filled with old mementos of Miranda and California life, then winter clothes (unneeded because it happened to be summer vacation), finally anything that she had happened to place in her drawers or on top of her desk. She even managed to go through the drawer that, just like Abraham Lincoln, had named 'If you can't find it anywhere else, look here.'
The next day was spent out of the house, taking long walks around the area she would probably never see again. Ignoring some of the taunts the bullies threw out their windows at her, she mused on how they felt safe up in their houses, but down on the ground they could easily become her slaves out of plain terror and fear of losing their necks. Well, soon enough she would have a new group of boys that would have to be taught that she wouldn't roll over for them. It should be a good time to review her moves.
Although her parents had tried to break her of the annoying little habit she had of intimidating and beating up nearly every boy she had met, she had told them that once those boys disappeared she would stop. Unfortunately for the two adults, Sandra had never had a single lesson in the fighting arts, so all her moves were original. When they told her to stop punching the boys, she would twist their words and just make up new ways to terrify the boys.
She absentmindedly frowned as one of the boldest males (he was relatively new, so Sandra hadn't had a chance to show him the way things worked) insulted her with the same words he had used the day before. If nothing else, Sandra had an excellent memory. She paused right underneath his window and looked up, smiling devilishly, and said clearly, "I used to hold you in such, well, low esteem, Jonathon, but I feel I will be lowering your pitiful reputation ever more! You seem to be getting repetitive. You called me a 'dumb, sorry excuse for a girl with problems bigger than her ego' yesterday afternoon! So, you overgrown salamander who probably needs help figuring out which body part a sock goes on, I have decided you are not worthy of my attention." Sandra casually flipped him off, and then continued on her journey. No matter what she said, sometimes it got tedious having nothing to do but have the boys insult her.
Suddenly, she perked up. Her only guy friend had come back from visiting his grandparents yesterday! She could go see him! She sprinted the rest of the way down the street, grinning madly. Contrary to popular belief, she wasn't completely against males; she was only biased until they got to know her. Then, they were promoted from, "Boys are only good for opening pickle jars and occasional amusement; but, I don't eat pickles, so just amusement" to friend or enemy worth her time. This boy, Gary Crovile, was a very quiet boy who had never really had any friends before, but always had been picked on by the others for being such a nerd. Sandra fondly reminisced the day she had met him…
It had been a rather quiet autumn day; most of the beautifully colored leaves had danced off of their trees in the swirling wind earlier that week. The birds were chirping madly and everyone seemed to be in a good mood.
Sandra hated it all.
Muttering about incompetent fools and innocent brats under her breath, she turned onto the last leg of her journey home from school to see at least four of the neighborhood's plentiful bullies crowded around something. As she took a few steps closer she could her them taunting some unseen thing. As lightly as a cat, she jumped well above their heads into a tree and looked down upon them. What the…?! The leaped down and yelled at the quartet of boys, "Oy! Dunderheads! Already tired of trying to beat me up? Took ya long enough! Who you pickin' on now; your own feet? That seems to be where you're lookin'!"
They glanced up, saw her casual pose, and stepped forward; obviously believing that if they grouped together, they could beat her. Honestly, it seemed impossible that they were all ten years old! They were so stupid! She shrugged out of her backpack and sauntered forward, holding it in one hand, as easy as you please. "So, sons of rats, what are you hiding behind your fat egos?"
She took a step forward, but shifted to the side when one attempted to punch her in the gut. A knee to the stomach and chop to the neck and he backed off wincing. The other three tried to grab her at all at once, but she jumped right up on top of them and slammed her feet out to kick two of them in the face. Broken noses do so much for the looks, she reflected absently.
The final one was slammed in the stomach with her book-filled backpack, and then tossed over her shoulder when he came at her, clearly trying to choke her. She looked behind her at shook her head. One was bent over groaning, one was getting up dizzily and slowly backed away from her feral grin, and the other two were running, crying like babies. She easily swung her pack right onto one of her shoulders and turned around.
Satisfied, she turned around to see a boy who must have recently moved in to the neighborhood sitting on the ground with his clothes looking rather disheveled and his glasses hanging askew on his face. He was sprawled out on the ground leaning back on his hands. She recommended at the look on his face, "You might want to close your mouth, as impartial to bugs as you may be. And I'm Sandra Bedan, who lives with the tittering idiots called parents down the street on the corner…"
That had been a year ago, and they had become closer every time they saw each other. Miranda was great and all, but sometimes the girl was just a hopeless, sappy romantic (yuck); which was why Sandra had spent more and more time with the boy instead. He had a wicked sense of humor and was even better at coming up with insults than she was, and that was saying a lot.
She ran so fast up to his door that she nearly tripped on the step. Right before she was going to knock, his mother opened the door, and she had to restrain herself from knocking on the woman's face. Sandra had been over to the Crovile's house so many times, that Gary's mother just got a very resigned look on her face and pointed up the stairs. The girl grinned and gave a quick salute. She raced to the second floor and entered Gary's room without even knocking and was greeted by "Geez, Sandra! Could you be any louder! You sounded like a lizard stamping on an ant hole!"
"And…that makes sense, how?"
"I dunno, but it sounded right!"
Sandra laughed and sat backwards on the second chair facing the computer that Gary was currently working on. "Watcha doing?" she asked, not embarrassed in the least to be prying in the boy's business.
"Well, I had been talking in the chat room about this odd girl I know-OW!-kidding, I swear. I had been talking about the newest studies of some sort of plant that you would know nothing about, but somehow I got into an extreme insult contest with SprinkleGirl888. She actually has some pretty good ones; we're going in alphabetical order."
Sandra glanced at the list of insults listed on the screen and grinned ferociously; he was right! These were some really great ones!
She grabbed a piece of paper and wrote: A Abnormally-small-brain-inhabited-with-dormice; B Brandisher-of-stupidity-record; C Crude-whelp-of-a-cockroach-and-deformed-lemur; D Dishtowel-from-a-public-bathroom; E Evil-demon-water pipe
The list was actually extraordinarily long. However, on closer examination, there was one staple of insults missing… "Hey, where are all the cuss words? I mean, I know that you and I don't use them, but that's just because they're not original enough!"
Gary sighed, slightly confused, "Well, I used one earlier in the conversation; yes, Sandra, I do occasionally curse; and I was asked what it meant."
"Yeesh, how odd is that?"
"Exceptionally, according to me, and probably you as well."
"It was a rhetorical question."
"Yes, I know. I, unlike SOME other people, can actually extract the meaning of someone's tone."
"Hey!" yelled Sandra, looking slightly irritated, "Just because I once thought being told I was 'special' by an enemy was a good thing that one time in fourth grade…shutting up now…"
"You are so weird."
"Proud of it."
"I walked right into that one."
"Haha…Anyways, I did come here for a reason, as unlikely as it seems."
"Oh, really?"
"Yes really, take a guess at why."
"Um…you decided to become a pig farmer?"
Sandra rolled her eyes. "And I'm the weird one? No, I'm moving."
You could have heard a pin drop in that room. And then…
"You're WHAT?!"
"Well, I thought I said moving, maybe I accidentally said 'brooding' or something, but…"
"I heard you the first time, Sandra! But…but…you can't move! You're my only friend! And… and who's going to protect all the kids from the gangs?
"Oh, come one, Gary, it's really not the end of the world. Firstly, we have different classes at school anyways, so we usually only talk to each other over the Internet or on weekends. All we're doing is leaning more heavily on the Internet. It's not like England is computer-deprived. 'Kay, secondly-"
"ENGLAND?!"
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An hour and four walks around the block later, Gary was just beginning to understand what was going on.
"Okay, I think I've got it now."
"Doubtful."
"Shut up. Okay…you're moving."
"Yes."
"To England."
"I do believe so."
"You're abandoning me."
"No! Why do you have no problem talking to me online from our houses but Heaven-forbid I start using a computer from somewhere else?"
"I dunno…maybe it's one of those subconscious things…like behavior after child neglecting."
"…You were neglected?"
"Noooo…but maybe in a past life or something…"
"Haha, very funny…"
"So did I hit all the points?"
"Well…um…"
"There's more?!"
"Privet Drive." Sandra stated flatly.
"Sandra," he gave a long suffering sigh, "we all know how obsessed you are with Harry Potter, but can we please stay on topic?"
"Oh, thank goodness!" She clasped her hands upwards in mock thanks to Divine Powers. "You remember!"
"Sandra, what's going on? My memory is perfectly fine; you know I read Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix just a few months ago."
"Well, it's a long story…"
"Really," he drew the word out doubtfully.
She shrugged, "No, actually…I'd just always wanted to say that."
"Predictable," he huffed under his breath, "so how long are you going to stall?"
Ignoring Gary, Sandra went into her story, "Well, I was reading the fifth Harry Potter book again-don't roll your eyes, you end up looking stupid-when my mom came into my room. To make a particularly unpleasant conversation sho-"
"Unpleasant for you or your mom?" he asked, even though he already knew the answer.
"Me, of course. Anyways, she said we were moving to Number Seven Privet Drive and the Dursley's are our welcome party. When I insisted that a joke like that would not work on me, she had no idea what I was talking about."
"Sandra, you know you were just pranked really bad, right?" Gary looked much more relaxed now.
Sandra sighed and shook her head back and forth, mussing up her shoulder length hair. "Nope, sorry; I did research. Neither Mom nor Dad remembers Harry Potter. All the fan sites are gone and the author J. K. Rowling could be dead for all I know. You're the first person who doesn't think I'm just crazy."
"Well…"
"Not a word."
"Hmm…the tabloids always report things like this."
The girl stopped and said incredulously, "Wail a minute. Science geek is telling me to write to the tabloids?!"
"No, you idiot, I was just thinking about how possible it is for something like this to happen."
"And…?"
"I think," Gary grinned roguishly, "you are going to have a heck of a time in England, Sandra."
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