Leave It to Cleavage
“Mrs. Smith had dropped off get-well balloons and a batch of oatmeal cookies, but her father was pissed off at her, her coach was pissed off at her, and the only reason everybody else wasn’t pissed off at her was that they were too busy laughing at her. Her right hand was propped on a pillow beside her, and she held the TV remote awkwardly in her left hand. When her father walked in to check on her, she was spoiling for a fight. “Hey, Andie. You need anything?” She kept her gaze on the TV screen..., where a frustrated Wile E. Coyote was plotting yet another doomed trap for the Roadrunner. “Andie, I’m talking to you.” “No,” she grunted, not appreciating his tone. He wasn’t the one everybody was laughing at. And he wasn’t the one who wouldn’t be playing in the basketball championship—even though he sometimes acted like he was. “I mean, no, thank you,” she ground out, adding as much insolence as she thought she could get away with, given her injury and all. “Don’t take that tone with me,”MoreLess
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