I didn’t particularly fear death. I was too lazy. I just hoped the Red Eagles wouldn’t make a big mess.
“You’re weird!” Ronda taunted every morning at the bus stop while standing next to that month’s little foster sister, a creepy blonde 13-year-old with greasy hair and dark circles under her eyes.
Much to my parents’ chagrin my cat’s eye make-up became the biggest in the city.
The Red Eagles boarded the Fraser bus that evening with the style and panache of Hong Kong movie stars.
In these get-ups, looking very much like birds, motorcycle birds, the Red Eagles sat down in the seats all around me.
“She’s a bitch,” Ronda began, commencing my show trial.
It was bound to be a very crispy hair fight.