Remy Unenchanted

Chapter Two- Showers and Stalkers

Hey all. :) Posting the second chapter. :) Well, the thing is, I was sort of thinking why the stories I'm more serious about aren't really what the others would say "catchy reads" or something. LOL. Finding it funny how I thought this was such a good idea, but there were more reads and votes on Unexpectedly, which was, really, just a story that popped in my head while I was having Physics. XD Hahaha. :)

Well, really happy that some readers of Unexpectedly followed this story. :) Seriously, since all I've been doing to get the story known was self-advertise, self-advertise, and self-advertise, every user that adds this story to their reading list makes me jump up and down in joy. :D Hahaha. Okay. I know this is too long for an author's note so I'll shut up.

--Kierra XX

P. S.- If you read this author's note, then sorry to say, you'd just been robbed off twenty five seconds of your precious time. X)

Chapter Two- Showers and Stalkers

 

            No matter how I looked at it, it was just wrong to say “Hey, Kyle! Remember me? The girl whose nose you almost broke yesterday? It turns out I’ll also be your fairy godmother!”

            Yeah, not going to happen. At all.

            But since I really had no idea how to pull this off, I ended up thinking about it all through the ride back to Mackenzie Academy. Now that I was wand-less, it felt as if I was just a pathetic excuse for a fairy godmother. Even if it was just the standard-issued wand for the trainees, and even though I never really liked that star on the tip, it was still valuable to me.

            And, yeah, I should probably walk up to Kyle Hughes, the hottest guy at school, and tell him I'm his fabulous, wand-less fairy godmother, whoop-dee-doo—then I’d end up at the mental hospital faster than I could say Poof.

            When I got back to Mackenzie, I was far too hungry and far too exhausted to care. I never understood why people ate Italian food, when to me it’s just ugh. Or maybe it was just because every freaking Italian dish has herbs. And that I was allergic to herbs. And that that was also Madrina’s favorite food. And that Madrina always forgot my allergies, even though I already got angry rashes thrice out of our thirty three (now –four, and counting) confrontations whenever I screwed up.

            With nothing to eat, I just walked back to my room. I was rooming with Angela, and I wasn’t surprised to find her still awake, reading a book.

            “Hey, Anj,” I said.

            “Hey. Wow. You look exhausted,” she noted, placing a bookmark on her newest book and snapping it shut. “Let me guess. Your godmother took you to another Italian place?”

            I rolled my eyes. “No kidding.”

            She snorted. “I still remember that time you ended up with rashes and you had to go to class looking like a big, giant red sausage.”

            I sent her a look. “You know, sometimes I wonder why you’re my best friend.”

            “Oh, please.” She waved a hand. “So, what seems to be the problem?”

            Shaking my head, I just told her I was just having some jetlag and that I wanted to sleep right away.

            Even as tried to sleep, though, I was still thinking how I could pull my latest (and possibly last) assignment.