And now for the little orange-haired one. ;P
Sorta post-summer vacation.
It all started with a boy. First he tweaked the ends of her hair, flea bites at the loose strands that hung over her neck and curiosity limbering his every move. Then he began slanting his head forwards at ridiculous angles whenever her cheeks puffed up in order to stay in her line of vision, shutting off the rest of the world with a smug grin.
It wasn't so much that the distractions got to her, it was the manner in which they were employed with that stupid, Cheshire-cat-like grin. It had been months ago in the back of a sweltering van, air conditioning bobbing along to the undercurrent of steady movement, when she was last thrust under such careless actions with a similar flash of white teeth, leaving her temper rising and feelings bruised…slightly.
She wasn't at all flattered. Not when he stole that book on ancient ruins Grandpa Max had given her, nor that stupid cat mask Ben had painstakingly sell taped together in a jumble of black and purple-
"Jeez Gwen, here's your stupid mask back…don't tell me you're gonna cry 'cos the ears aren't arranged right?"
-after he squashed it under Four Arms and bent it into two separate fragments during a particularly nasty fight.
She almost lost it then.
Except not quite because she was strong and clever and like all little girls, she had a way with words. She let them clamber over his stupid ears and fill up his arrogant head and when he lowered his head and blushed, she took both the book and the mask back from his wasted hands and didn't say a word. Not a jab.
Because Ben would have always answered her back.