The First Time Girls Tried to Beat Me Up

My senior year of high school I was at a party in a field, burning stuff.

“Leah, could you come with me to jump my car?” asked Steve, a boy two years older than me. 

“Sure Steve, let’s go jump your car.” Steve and I began walking towards the cars.

“That girl said she was going to jump Heather!” I heard a girl yell from behind my back. She was from a neighboring school and had been hanging around my school’s boys while her fiancé was away at war. She and her friend Heather had matching tattoos that said, “Bitch,” on their bellies. They were classy broads.

             “Hey, bitch!” the girl yelled at my back.

“Who? Lil old me?” I turned around and tried to bring everyone’s attention to how adorable and non-threatening I am.

“Yeah, you. You said you were going to jump Heather!”

“No, I didn’t,” I whispered, terrified.

“Yes you did! AND you said we were lesbians just because we were making out with each other for attention all night!”

“No, I didn’t! Even if I had called you a lesbian, and let me reiterate that I have not, it would have been a respectful objective observation. I’m jealous that I’m biologically programmed and socially conditioned to like men and not women! Please, don’t beat me up!”

“Let’s beat her up!” the girl reiterated the plan, rallying behind her a group of good men prepared to do nothing.

“Steve,” I said to Steve, “We were going to go jump your car right? Not Heather?”

“Yes,” Steve agreed. Despite logic being on my side, the girls were going to beat me up anyway.

The music reached a crescendo as the story barreled forward in to the climax. It was dramatic.

The party formed a circle around us, and the girl lunged at me, trying to claw out my eyes. At the last minute, I pulled out my secret shank and stabbed her in the heart! She fell to the ground. Then, I opened my fuel tank, siphoned gasoline out on to her convulsing body, struck a match, kicked her, then I dropped the match. As she went up in dancing flames, her energy made useful for the first time in her resource suck of a life, I did the electric slide.

“Anyone else want to take a stab at beating me up?” I screamed in to the night, laughing at my clever double entendre, my eyes crazy with primal blood lust. “Also, does anyone remember the next step to electric slide after the grape vine?”

Fear and respect for me permeated the air that was thick with burnt flesh. The dead girl’s friend Heather sat crying, and I laughed in her face and told her, “That’s what you get.” Then I spat on her and walked away to sit by the fire and toast marshmallows for s’mores. A boy Andrew came to sit beside me.

“You know they just tried to beat you up because I think you’re pretty, and I like you,” said Andrew. “They liked me, but I’m interested in you.”

“Well, Andrew,” I paused as I looked in to his hopeful, horny, young eyes, “Please get away from me before I have to put some more uppity hoes in their place.” 

And that was the first time girls tried to beat me up.