2. These Backs Were Made For Stabbing
This was definitely the wrong day to not own an umbrella. Call me crazy, but Mona and I live in a rainy town, yet we've never owned an umbrella. I guess we never really needed one; I mean, it's only clean water, and Mona and I could manage that, for sure. We'd lived in a shed and took showers in the nearby Texaco station ever since Richard died. We never needed an umbrella.
But man, did I want one right now. It was like a monsoon by the time we'd reached the cleverly named School Street. We were about to dart across the road when we were almost run down by a speeding black, expensive SUV.
"Who would do that?" Mona asked me, while she gawked at the rude, luxurious SUV.
I ignored her, and pulled her away by the shirtsleeve. "Come on, Mona."
The truth was, that I knew exactly who would do that. Her name was Tracey Morgan and she was born with five golden spoons in her mouth, so to speak. Her parents are historic family in this town, and own a mansion somewhere near the town limits, and basically everything else money could buy. It was sickening.
Tracey had a different SUV last year, but since it was last year's model it was too old for her, so her parents bought her a new car. She only wore her clothes once. She had a purse for every day of the month, and two different pairs of shoes for every day of the week, and every occasion within. It was utterly ridiculous.
She always liked to make fun of me, and my free t-shirt wardrobe. She also got a kick out of Mona and I living in a shed. And the Texaco thing was something for her to cackle at as well. She's almost as relentless as Mabel…
No wonder they're related by blood.
Mabel's maiden name is Morgan, but I promised to never, never, never in a million years tell that to Mona. Even if I was about to axe her head off. Well, maybe if I was that mad I'd tell her instead-telling her she's related to two evil witches is the equivalent of chopping her head off in my opinion. But that's just me…
Anyway, I'd figured if we ran across the road fast enough, we'd be able to escape Tracey and her evil sneers. I thought we were going to make it for a second there-I was sure of it! But I guess I'd thought on that far too soon.
"Well," She shouted through the rain hammering down on the pavement, and car roofs. "If it isn't the McHobo clan!" She shouted, and her words spewed like venom at us, and stung the back of my neck, but I kept walking.
"How's the shack going?" She asked, and cackled to herself.
"Go die, Tracey." I said out loud, and shot it back at her as if it were the very bullet that might silence her forever, but of course it wasn't.
She continued. "It's such a shame," She said feigning sympathy, "Such a crying shame," She mused, "That Mabel Morgan would disown her own daughters. I mean, I can see why she disowned you Renisma, because you were just some trash that somebody littered in the woods; but Ramona…You must be really screwed up, ending up with her…"
Suddenly, Mona whipped around and charged at Tracey. "Mona! No!" I shouted. Great, now we were giving Tracey Morgan exactly what she wanted. Sympathy for herself, and unjust punishment for us. How could Mona be so naïve?
Mona knocked Tracey to the ground, Tracey's arms flailing. Tracey was screaming hysterically as Mona grabbed onto her hair. "Don't ever say that again! Don't you ever, ever" She punched Tracey in the nose, "Say that about us again!"
That's when I pulled Mona off of Tracey. Mona wanted to kill Tracey though. I had to cool her down. We left Tracey wailing on the sidewalk as I dragged Mona away. Before we got out of earshot, however, I turned to Tracey, and shouted; "My name is Renesmee! And we weren't disowned, we were willingly emancipated. If you had any brain cells left, maybe you would know that!" Then I led the shaking-with-anger version of Mona across the street and halfway up the large steps of Morganville High School.
"Mona," I said trying to get her to stop attempting to escape my firm grasp on her, "Mona," I barked.
That's when I noticed the tears in her eyes. "She said you were trash, Nessie," She said, and even though the rain fell down her face just the same as teardrops would, I could tell she was crying. "And she said I was screwed up."
I took my little sister in my arms. "It's okay, Mona," I said comfortingly, "She doesn't mean anything. We're just fine the way we are."
A/N: Thanks for Reading and Reviewing!
This chapter's song is "These Backs Were Made For Stabbing" By Hit The Lights (a great band!)