Brenda Stantonopolis

It wasn’t her guts I hated. It was other parts of her anatomy I despised. Sparkling, ivory teeth spread out across her face like piano keys plastered beneath a witless pair of shimmering lips. I would stare at her flat incisors while she blustered on about something inane and fantasize blacking out a few of them with my fists to complete the keyboard. I did take a black marker to her high school yearbook photo, but that satisfaction was merely momentary, for I knew that that was all I was capable of. She was an amazon with incredible clout.  I was long bones with a bit of meat on me in all the wrong places. Most of the time I tried to stay clear of her.

The only body parts that pushed out ahead of her teeth were her boobs. They torched out of her chest like two upended lampshades with little balls on the ends where her nipples saluted.

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