BIG THANKS TO MY DEAR FRIEND BLEEDING WHITE LILY FOR DOING THE BETA WORK! XD

The Perks of Being a Goddess

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Oh what a thrill it had been to watch that Isabel girl pass out from simply seeing her dog in her room. Even so, it was hilarious when she tried explaining to her parents how “Chico” had died and. . . ”Don’t you remember? We had a funeral two years ago. And last month we visited his grave. Tell me I’m not going crazy!” Oh boy, had it been fun. Not. Could the girl be anymore stupid? Sure she needed to test this theory of hers, but why couldn’t she quit after the car? Did she really need to grow any taller? Wasn’t she satisfied with how cute she—er—how she happen to look before? But that was mild compared to his task. How much worse could it get than being stuck with the brainless thing? At first, he didn’t mind having to watch over her as punishment, but to now have to leave his throne to guard the thing? Yech!

Old pops Zeus was sharing a good laugh with the other council Gods. It wasn’t hard to miss the laughter from where he stood at the gates, ready to make his decent on earth. . .

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The Perks of Being a Goddess

--butIdoLOVEyoU--

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:-Prologue-:

There’s a woman crying out tonight
Her world has changed
She asks God why

. . .

--Good Charlotte

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Morning rush hour, oh what a joy! That is, if having to squirm your way on to a bus and then a train to catch a ride to school was your way of fun. Yay for the thrilling moments; I mean, why couldn’t I drive my car? . . . Oh, that’s right, I’m not eighteen yet. Lucky me!

But then, where is the fun of having to get up an hour and a half later to get to school? And the thrill of not having to rush through breakfast, when there is time, of course. No, better yet, making it to first period on time. I’ve always made it on time. . . Not.

I couldn’t help another sigh. I mean, what I would give for that extra hour of sleep, never mind how long it took me to get to school, just a bit more sleep would do me some good. Go figure why I wasn’t a morning person. But never mind that! Breakfast was the big concern here. Having to munch on a nutrition bar was a lot different than having a full plate of bacon, egg and toast. And just because orange juice is my thing—and I know—I just know that one small sip would tempt me to sit and eat the delicious breakfast mom made, I ran out the house. Pathetic how angry orange juice can make me when I don’t have the luxury of enjoying it like one would on a Sunday morning.

Very sad case my life is every morning on my way to school.

Talk about the odors. And the people who stare you down, what is their problem? Not to mention, having people breath down your neck. Like the scarf wasn’t making me hot enough.

Why I had yet to wish for my depressing mornings to seize its torture eluded my currently damaged brain. Or so, it has to be damaged. . . right? Who in their right mind would believe in things like wishes being granted simply because all you do is desire them? The fact that it did happen has to be work of my dysfunctional mind. Right? . . . Riiiight? Or was it that those fantasy books I was reading are starting to mess with my thoughts?

I am simply lucky. There you go, that’s exactly what it is.

So what if I ended up getting what I wanted at the exact same time I wanted it? It was all pure luck.

Though, maybe I wasn’t all too lucky because, come on, if I was lucky I wouldn’t have to endure such aggravations each morning. If the bus left too early, it was super late. If the train was on time, the next one was better. A feather couldn’t be capable of squeeze itself through. And if math wasn’t my weakest subject, talk about four out of five times being late to first period.

It was probably my luck having to sacrifice one thing for another. Like a perfect morning for my revived dog Chico—if that really is Chico.

But of course, right at this moment, the blame is on my parents—don’t mind my dog; I sure as hell don’t want to think about the pup now, or uh, ever. How much did I whine yesterday night about driving my new car? You’d think that if my parent’s were a little less reproachful about under age students owning cars, I wouldn’t be late today; third time this week.

Stupid how I own a car. . . that my parents bought.

I guess I should’ve made my wish more specific. I mean, okay, wishing to get a car is one thing, but wishing to be able to drive the car is another.

Not that it means anything. I just happened to be lucky that my parents were feeling generous almost four weeks ago. And coincidently, the car I wanted I got. That has nothing to do with something like wishing for it.

Bogus.

I grew a foot taller while I showered.

Obviously my pores couldn’t have collected enough water to inflate me. By now, the water should have dispersed.

Talk about curing my one complexity in life. Height. God did I hate being four feet seven.

Of course, I was so delighted then that I ended up tripping over the bar of soap and landed on my forehead. Three weeks later and the scar over my right eyebrow had yet to heal. Not that it would be able to. Getting hit by a volleyball every two to three days wasn’t going to help the process or stop the bleeding. Though, the scar would make for a good story. Just have to tell it when my friends aren’t around.

But back to my current five feet seven issue. My parent’s haven’t noticed and neither have any of my friends. Bummer. Fantastic too, I mean, how to explain to someone that you happen to grow while showering? . . . And not just a millimeter of course.

Now, to know if I have convinced myself too much that I’m all whacked in the head. I mean, my mom having to look up at me while she talks, weird. (I still found myself looking up when she talks to me.) Also, that could just be part of my delusional self. Surely everyone still sees me as the ant I am, and here I have to look down on people because I think I’ve grown taller.

So maybe it wasn’t bogus. I was just crazy. So there.

Wait. . . that isn’t part of me being lucky then. That’s just me on my way to an asylum. And that’s no proving that I have some special ability, cause that’s what it must be, right?

I mean, if I truly were insane then why should I think I was taller now? I could conjure up something completely different.

Like, for instance, Brad Pitt would love my short self regardless. A delusional I would think rain is orange juice, my physic teacher is Brad Pitt (which caterpillar brows is not), and of course he would be my hubby, and snow would come in the form of chocolate. So no, scratch that, I’m still good in the head because that would be a better case for being locked up in a padded four wall room. I mean, right before stepping into the tub, I did wish for no one to think it so weird and for my wardrobe to expand one foot in height. Yay, smart me!

So there you have it. I proved that things don’t happen to me because I’m lucky. Sure wishing to win the lotto, twice, would cause for suspicion. But people won the lotto, nothing crazy about that.

So why couldn’t I leave the height issue as confirmation that the things that continuously happened to me weren’t luck anymore? Oh right, one particular night I happened to miss my dog Chico and ended up wishing that he were still alive. My poor dog having to die in a car accident was by no means fair. Also, because after three weeks the height thing still didn’t settle so well. The possibility of being insane was still there.

But if Chico—

If Chico somehow came back to us, then, this wasn’t luck anymore. I was extremely gifted. I could call forth anything and everything I wanted.

And since it worked too perfectly, I’ve been insomniac for four nights but most of all: PARANOID.

You can not imagine my shock four nights ago when coming back home from a volleyball game to find my dead dog, who now appeared to be undead, lying over my pillows. Oh, and mom asking me to take him for a walk, because apparently he didn’t seem so well. Truthfully, she must have been the one not feeling well. How much calmer can you act about a dead dog being revived and in your home? And to be more honest, it was frightening to see the should-be-dead dog back at its old habits of giving you a happy bounce when seeing you, before rushing over to do that quirky little thing of sniffing your feet before barking.

I still can’t resist looking at poor old Chico like he’s a walking ghost. Because, technically, that’s what he should be, if anything. No matter how hard you wish, a dead body can’t be revived. . . right?

Yeah, and the residing bump on the back of my head. . . ? You can say I hit the floor a bit too hard from having Chico in my room. And the crazy argument that blew over when I desperately tried explaining to my parents, with tears in my eyes, that Chico was dead and that wasn’t the real Chico in my room. . . Jesus.

My mom being the good doctor she is checked to see if I was high or drunk. I still can’t live down the situation. So I went with my volleyball team and a few friends to celebrate our winning a game, that didn’t mean alcohol was involved. Or therefore, that I would do such a thing as drink or smoke. Double Yech.

So here I am, playing this little scene all over again in my head for god knows how many times already. What is there to do when you’re stuck in a train with all sorts of people pressing up to you in an excruciatingly tight embrace? The possibility that there was another Chico out there with the same heart shaped fur of blond over his heart was probable. Maybe the stray dog happened to stumble into my mother who took him in. Maybe she was the crazy one who had yet to notice that what we had in our house was a stray dog. I mean. . . that could happen.

Now to get the nagging feeling that someone, the guy right across from me didn’t know anything suspicious about me. I mean, how weird it was that when boarding the train he asked, “Did you really have to grow any taller?”

He could have confused me for someone else. But then, when I stared up at him, shock eminent on my face and with my bulging eyes, he simply grinned at me; letting me move past him before the doors shut. And for exactly ten minutes now, his gaze has yet to waver from me.

I guess he didn’t get the hint when I scrunched up my face at him.

Putting aside how creepy it felt to have him stare at me, and how he added to my paranoia with his question, I have to admit that he does look like the handsome sort. Who cared though? It’s his fault that I was back at trying to sort through this crazy-Chico-disorder I might have aroused.

I mean, if Chico being revived was my doing, then that means I could revive Grandma Elena too. Everyone misses her. And if that works, then. . . I’m a crazy as bitch with superpowers! . . . No?

Isn’t it right that no one could revive the dead? Or was it just this one thing because I truly didn’t want Chico to be dead? . . . I don’t want Grandma to stay dead either.

My cell phone vibrated in my coat pocket. Reaching for it I found that Laura sent a text:

Where r u? Ur late 4 terms!

Get ur ass here!

-L

Right, if it couldn’t suck even more, I’m a senior and late for midterms. On the bright side, three more months for graduation, and my birthday is only a few days away.

The torture of having to ride a public system again would be over with shortly. Thank God, because having to force myself to think: I’ve been riding like this to school for almost four years now, it won’t hurt for a few more days; was driving me crazy. There really wasn’t any encouragement to those words anymore.

Looking up I found mister gorgeous looking at me with an amused expression. What? Did he read my text, was my misery that noticeable. No, must be he’s another demented like me. Yeah, a real, real sexy demented. Isn’t it like twenty degrees? And all he’s wearing is a sweater; a very snug sweater which meant all the cold air would slip threw the fine material?

Stupidly, one word ran through my head. Metro. But come on, just because it appeared that the guy loved to look so groomed didn’t mean anything. Or the fact that he was looking very stylish and snug. He couldn’t be gay or something like that right?

Why did I care? . . . Feh. Why not? An eye candy like him was hard to not notice. Besides, descriptive wise he was what I liked. Tall, swimmers build; a blondish brunette, incredibly sexy lips—I did want to look forward to kissing you know—overall, very easy on the eyes, which meant hazy for the mind. Though, I would have preferred he were more fare skinned or of a darker shade. I mean, the poor guy looked like he spent the morning rolling in chalk. A trip to the beach would do him some good.

But if the fool couldn’t quit grinning and freaking me out with his earlier question, he couldn’t be any good. The alarms in my head kept screeching stalker. I mean, he kept looking at me like he knew me. And if he wasn’t mistaking me for someone else, he must have looked at me good enough to be the only one to notice my change in height.

Oh-ho! So then, I wasn’t crazy and I did grow taller. Sweet!

You know what he reminded me off, one of those Greek gods. Looking at him was like looking at one of those carved Greek status. Such perfection couldn’t exist. Had I unconsciously wished for a Greek statue to awaken as my potential boyfriend? If not I would have to wish for it. . . which also reminds me. Why is their thing so. . . little?

I mean, if they were so big and larger than life, why were they endowed with such small di—oh god! Were my eyes really staring at that part of his anatomy? Bad, bad me! But no matter how loud I screeched at myself to turn away, I couldn’t. It was unbelievable that I found myself squinting to try and get a better confirmation. Even through the snug fit of his jeans it was hard to make an outline. I mean, was it that small?

Suddenly, I remembered that for the past ten minutes he had been so intent on staring at me. Through the dense crowd he managed a good position in which we could easily spot one another.

Did he still watch me?

Taking a small tranquilizing breath—because the thought of him having seen me staring at his crotch accelerated my heart beats—I quickly replied to Laura’s text.

Not 2 far away.

-Iz

Carefully and perfectly maneuvered I feigned innocence. Peering tactfully around at the anxious, sleepy, and angry faces I looked at him last, and when I looked at him, he wore a splitting grin from ear to ear. Perfectly white teeth. Nice.

But who gave a damn?

That grin plastered over his face had to be from having caught me staring at that certain part of him. Oh hell, forget the urge of wanting to cover my face from embarrassment; it was time to get out of here. Fast.

Looking around one more time, I noticed that we had made a stop, and the conductor was stating our next stop. Without a second thought I turned and lunged for the door, like my life depended on it. Reaching the door, I nearly knocked down an elderly woman. Sorry, but my humiliation was too much of a threat at the moment for me to bother with the lady. The door nearly shut on me, but I managed to run out.

I didn’t stop my running.

Knocking into more people who waited at the platform I raced for the stairs. If he was behind me. . . to bad. I’d done track for four years. Obviously I could out run him. In a flash I dashed up the stairs and into the blistering cold air. No time to put on my gloves or adjust my scarf. It was time to really run and so I did, running a distance of ten blocks before I nearly collapsed from exertion at the school gates.

Oh cripes, what a week this was turning out to be. No, scratch that, what a month this has been. There was no point to wish for this last day to go smoothly. Hopefully, it wouldn’t get any worse than what just happened. Mortification like this I had yet to experience. And it was all because the jerk reminded me of a Greek statue.

Why in the hell did I need confirmation anyways? It wasn’t like he actually was a Greek god.

. . . But little did I know then that he truly is.

My first chapter, My first story on here. XD

Yeah, I know. There are a few mistakes, sorry about that, but hopefully it'll be gone soon.

As for the next chapter I'm working on it. And since I'm being a bit generous I'll give you a small bit from chapter one.

Like? Reviews any one?

:Preview:

chapter I: Pierce

Three periods later I hung with my mouth open, gapping at the person standing next to my Physics teacher, Mr. Goodman. Personally, we all referred to him as, Caterpillar Brow, but that was beside the point. The handsome stud that introduced himself as Pierce Alexandre, a transfer student from. . .

I didn’t get the rest.

Mr. Stud, up at the front of the room, was none other than the demented guy from the embarrassing train ride. The guy whose crotch I had been so intent on staring at. All because I wanted to decipher if all Greek gods had small, um, you know. . . things. Crazy, because all he did was resemble one, it wasn’t like he truly was such a thing like a God. And where had that crazy idea sprung from anyways?

I mean, so what that he was breakfast, dinner, and desert on two legs? He'd been giving me creepy vibes back on our train ride that it was absurd for me to do such a thing as to try and stare at his package. I wasn’t even comfortable with having to look at those images for Health, so why start looking now?

More fun in the next chapter!