REBECCA
“Woah, girl,” a familiar voice chuckled. “That chicken’s already dead”.
I glared at Jenny, who was leaning on the kitchen door frame. “I was there the day professor Denver gave you a C in science, and you didn’t look half as angry as you are now ... and you destroyed two punching bags that day” she said as she started to rummage through the fridges, looking for something to eat. “So, who pissed on your shoes?”
“My mother in law,” I grumbled.
Jen pursed her lips. “Uh-oh. Not good”.
I sighed, debating whether to open up with her or not. I was primarily angry with Izzy, but with her as well: after all, she had participated in all the messed-up things Izzy had done, from the jokes to the swapping of my dress. The one thing preventing me from snapping at her was that she hadn’t
