Prom Baby! – Word count: 6,660
“We still didn’t find out what boobs are for,” Jessica said thoughtfully, chewing on a french fry. “Hey, Liz, aren’t you going to eat that brownie?” She reached over and snagged the fudge-covered brownie off Elizabeth’s tray. “Aren’t you going to eat any of your lunch? Give it here. I’m starving.”
“Who cares what boobs are for?” Lila said. “This class is a major bore.”
“Have you forgotten about that skanky bitch from Big Mesa?” Jessica asked. “Do you want her and all the other a-holes from Big Mesa to think they’re better than us?” I bet Bruce Patman knows what boobs are for
Prom Baby! – Word count: 4,751
“I could say the same for Sam Woodruff,” Lila snapped. John was still a touchy subject with her; he had once tried to show her his junk up at Miller’s Point, a popular spot for Sweet Valley High students to park their cars and practice sexual restraint.
“Don’t get all bent out of shape, Lila,” Jessica said, breezing through several dresses on the sale rack. She held up a strapless pink gown. “What do you think about this one?”
Lila eyed the dress critically and shrugged. “It’s all right, if you want to look like you live in a split-level ranch on Calico Drive,” she said, rolling her eyes. But it has a Spanish-tiled kitchen
Domestic violence is not funny (unless it’s happening to Jessica Wakefield)
“Look, if there’s something specific that you have to tell me about him, go ahead. Otherwise, shut up.”
“He’s arrogant and self-centered. He’ll hurt you.” (SVH #3, Playing With Fire, p. 35)
Jessica looked away, avoiding her twin’s penetrating gaze. The truth was that Bruce had already hurt her. Elizabeth, observant as she was (being a real reporter and all), had failed to notice that the bruises Jessica had been coming home with weren’t the result of a Lila-orchestrated fall from a cheerleading pyramid. No, they were the result of Bruce Patman’s anger, a terrifying force Jessica had first witnessed when she’d made fun of the Patman family fortune.
“Honestly, Bruce,” she’d laughed while they were headed to the beach in his Porsche, “who even buys Patman’s Peaches?”
“Everyone buys Patman’s Peaches,” Bruce growled in defense of his father’s successful canning business.
“Well, I don’t,” Jessica said. Of course, that’s because I don’t eat, she thought, sneaking a glance at herself in the side mirror. As usual, she looked perfect.
“What do you buy, the store brand?” Bruce asked, snorting in disgust.
“No!” Jessica gasped, horrifed. “We’re not, like, poor, you know.”
“You’re poor to me,” Bruce said, raising his voice in anger. “Patman’s Peaches bought the Porsche you’re sitting in right now, and Patman’s Peaches bought you that broke-ass weave, and Patman’s Peaches bought you the thong you seem to enjoy showing off to everyone in Sweet Valley when you cheer at the football games!”
And with that, Bruce slapped Jessica across the face.
