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Little Red Riding Hoodie:
A Modern Fairy Tale
A Novel by:
John R. Phythyon, Jr.
Copyright 2015 John R. Phythyon, Jr.
Cover Design by:
Jill Jess
For Onna. There’s a great, big world out there you still haven’t found. I’m sorry you’ve already seen some of the scary parts, but there is a lot of beauty too, and I hope that’s what you’ll eventually choose to observe.
One
Sally Prescott stood up in the saddle and pumped her legs hard to get her bike up the steep hill on Parker Drive. Officially, the pink-and-purple two-wheeler she had gotten for her sixth birthday had twelve speeds. But six years later, the front-pedal derailleur had jammed up and didn’t work anymore, and the three lowest gears on the rear wheel were missing some teeth, which invariably caused the chain to fall off. She was stuck with only the three highest speeds. Additionally, it was sized for a first-or maybe a second-grader. Sally’s legs were really too long for it now, and that, along with the malfunctioning gears, made getting up Parker Drive a challenge.
Steam puffed from her mouth in the October, early-morning air. Her face contorted with the exertion, and she could feel her body temperature rising inside her red hoodie and jeans. In the back of her mind, she begged her skin not to perspire. Tommy had wet the bed last night, and her father had been running behind this morning and hadn’t had time to deal with it. After she’d gotten all the bedding into the wash and made sure Tommy was cleaned up, dressed, and breakfasted, she’d had no chance to shower herself. She’d over-applied her deodorant and used body spray to compensate, but she didn’t want to start sweating and end up smelling like the boys’ locker room. That would definitely not be attractive.
Not that she needed to worry about that. No one thought she was pretty, especially herself. Despite having turned twelve two months ago and being one of the oldest sixth-graders at Roosevelt Middle School, she appeared to be the only girl in the entire class who had not yet made it to puberty. Nothing was going on above or below. She may have been a young woman according to the school district, but she still had the body of a child. No boys looked at her. No boys were interested.
Straining against the hill grade and the bike’s inability to shift into a reasonable gear, Sally pumped her legs furiously as her momentum slowed. Her thighs burned despite her standing in the seat, and she thought she might not make it.
But as she did every morning on her way to school, she got to the top just as the last reserves of her strength gave way. She willed herself to push the pedals four more times to crest the hill and start down the other side.
Then at last, she could relax. She sat down and coasted as the bike picked up speed on the back side of the hill. She was thankful for the cool air biting into her cheeks and chilling her enough to stop any sweating her body might attempt. At least she wouldn’t smell bad when she got to school.
She zoomed into the parking lot, dodging a car that honked at her as she flew by. She coasted easily into the bike rack. Not many people rode their bikes to begin with, and with the weather turning, she had even less competition for a slot.
She hopped off and quickly got out her chain and locked the bike to the metal poles. She doubted anyone would be interested in stealing her wreck of a bicycle, but she didn’t want to risk it. Without it, she would have to take the bus to school or walk. Because she had to care for Tommy in the morning, making sure he got on the bus himself, she wouldn’t be able to make it to class on time if she walked.
And the bus was no place she wanted to be. Too many bullies. Too many weirdoes. Besides, her bike rides to and from school were about the only alone-time she got.
She kept her hood up, put her head down, and stuffed her hands into her pockets as she trudged down the hall to her locker.
Upon arrival, she discovered she’d been “butterflied” – if you left your lock open, someone would turn it around so the dial was facing the metal and then close it, making it harder to get open. Despite the school’s oft-stated no-bullying policy, butterflying was commonplace and unpunished.
Sally’s heart sank. She must not have gotten her lock shut tightly yesterday afternoon. She was already running late. She didn’t need this. Trying hard not to cry, she knelt in front of her locker, lifted the lock, and started working the combination as best she could.
“Hey, you!” a voice said behind her.
“Hey, Alison,” Sally said without looking up.
Alison Jamison leaned against the locker wall, books hugged to her chest. Alison hated that her last name sounded so much like her first, but Sally thought it was poetic. She wished hers was as pretty and sophisticated. Sally was a boring, little girl’s name.
“Oh, total suckage,” Alison said. “Someone butterflied you?”
“Yep,” Sally said, still trying to dial the combination correctly. She couldn’t read the little numbers well at this angle, and it was hard to get them to line up with the arrow.
“Figure it was The Set?” Alison said.
“Maybe,” Sally replied. “But it could be anyone. You know how people are about butterflying.”
“Yeah,” Alison said, nodding a head covered in luscious, bright-gold hair with curls that always fell perfectly where they should.
Sally was jealous of Alison’s looks too. Her own hair was stringy and dirt-blonde. Alison was beautiful; Sally was plain. And Alison had a woman’s body. Like all the other sixth-grade girls at Roosevelt Middle School, Alison was rounding out and drawing stares from the boys during gym class.
“So,” Alison said as Sally finally got her lock open, “are you trying out for Romeo and Juliet?”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Sally said quickly.
She started rifling through her locker trying to get her books out and her backpack stowed before the first bell rang.
“Come on!” Alison said, smiling at her. “You’d be, like, amazerific at it. You know Mr. Pipich already likes you, and you read that fancy, Shakespeare wordage better than anybody else.”
Sally smiled despite herself. It was nice to get a compliment, and Mr. Pipich was a good teacher. She liked him.
“Besides,” Alison went on, “I heard Brian Pomeroy is auditioning.”
“Then I’m definitely not doing it,” Sally said.
Brian Pomeroy was gorgeous. And smart. And cool. Every girl in the sixth grade wanted to date him. Sally didn’t dare to even dream about liking Brian Pomeroy.
“I am not making a fool of myself in front of him,” she added.
“I don’t know,” Alison drawled. “You could be Juliet to his Romeo. That could be très manifique.”
“I’m not sure it was such a good idea for you to take French,” Sally said, frowning.
“Pourquoi donc, cherie?”
“I have no idea what you just said,” Sally replied. “But you speak French too much.”
“Pardonnez moi,” Alison said, grinning.
Sally gave her a withering look. Alison continued beaming at her.
“Besides,” Alison went on, “you so totally will not make a fool of yourself. Come on, Sally! You get Shakespeare better than anybody. Even Mr. Pipich says so. You have to audition!”
“I don’t have to do anything,” Sally said.
Alison pursed her lips and gave her a pouty look. Sally closed her locker.
“You’ll think about it,” Alison said.
“No.”
“Yes, you will,” Alison replied. “Or I won’t quit bugging you.”
“Fine,” Sally said with a sigh. “I’ll
think about it.”
Alison went back to beaming at her. Sally grinned and shook her head. She wanted to audition for Romeo and Juliet, but she couldn’t figure out why Alison cared.
“Well, well, well,” a sinister voice said. “Look who it is, girls.”
Sally turned slowly to see The Set standing a few feet away. There were five of them – all beautiful, rich, insanely popular, and dedicated to making the lives of nearly everyone else in the sixth grade miserable.
Their leader, Molly Richards, looked stunning as usual. She wore a blue-plaid skirt and a pink, low-cut sweater. She had enormous breasts for a girl of barely twelve – rumor had it she wore a C-cup already – and she thrust them at Sally like a pair of weapons. Her raven-black hair was tied back from her face in a pretty, pink ribbon with a delicate bow at the top of her head, and the gorgeous, curly locks fell to her shoulders, framing her face magnificently.
She was flanked by a pair of her malicious, little toadies – Wendy Settler and Moira Clark on the left, and Kylie Taylor and Brinna Marx on the right. All of them were dressed as fabulously as Molly, and they aimed steely-eyed gazes at Sally as they stood akimbo, hips popped.
“It’s Little Red Riding Hoodie,” Molly declared, eliciting titters from the rest of The Set. “Expecting rain in class today, Red?”
Sally realized her hood was still up. She pulled it down quickly, turning as crimson as the tattered sweatshirt.
“Shut up, Molly,” Alison said.
“Oooh, very clever, Jamison,” Molly said. “That’s such an original comeback. I can’t wait to hear what you’ve got next.”
“Yeah,” Brinna said. “I wonder what she’s got next.”
“Shut up, Brinna,” Molly said, not taking her green eyes off Alison.
“Vos seins sont faux,” Alison replied, a wicked smile on her face.
“What?” Molly said.
“It’s French, moron,” Alison said. “Look it up. If you can read.”
Molly’s face turned sour. So did the other girls’. Molly took a step forward.
“What’s happenin’, ladies?” a boy’s voice said.
Everyone turned to see Brian Pomeroy coming towards them. Sally’s heart skipped a beat. His rich, chocolate skin, deep brown eyes, and close-cut hair enraptured her. His black Under Armor hoodie, black jeans, and orange Nike high-tops made him look so very cool. When he flashed a perfect smile at Sally, she thought she might faint.
“Hey, Sally,” he said. “How’s it going?”
“Brian!” Molly said.
She threw her shoulders back and thrust her chest at him. Then she cocked her head and smiled coyly.
“I heard you were auditioning for Romeo and Juliet,” Molly went on. “I am too! Wouldn’t it be awesome if we got the leads?”
“Well—” he began, but Molly swept over to him, hooked her arm in his, and practically dragged him off in the direction of their shared homeroom. Her crew rushed after her, completely forgetting about Sally and Alison. Sally sighed.
“God, she’s a bitch,” Alison said.
“What did you say to her,” Sally asked.
“That she has fake boobs,” Alison replied.
“Oh, my god! Really?”
“Yep. See? You should have taken French too.”
“I can’t believe they teach you stuff like that,” Sally said.
“They don’t,” Alison replied. “I do a lot of extra reading on the Internet. The whole point of taking a foreign language is so I can say stuff my parents won’t understand.”
Sally laughed. They started towards homeroom.
“You know, you make it too easy on her,” Alison said.
“What do you mean?”
“You always wear that ghetto hoodie,” Alison answered.
“My grandma gave it to me,” Sally muttered.
“Yeah, like three years ago. It barely fits you anymore, and it looks all raggedy. You really should ditch it, Sally. It’s making you a target.”
“Here you go, dear,” Grandma said, pushing a large box across the table of her immaculate kitchen towards Sally, whose eyes lit up with delight. She loved packages. What could be inside it?
She lifted off the lid and drew out a thick, red hoodie. She boggled at the sight of it.
“That should keep you warm on cold, winter days,” Grandma said.
Sally felt the plush cotton and admired its bright, red hue. It was perfect. She could be like a modern day Red Riding Hood in this!
“Thank you, Grandma!” she said. “I love you!”
“I love you too, Sally,” Grandma said.
Her mother left a week after that. Sally had seen Grandma only twice since. And now, of course, her grandmother wasn’t the same anymore.
Sally sighed again. It had been a bad start to the day with Tommy’s accident, and things hadn’t gotten better at school. She didn’t hold out much hope for anything to improve.
One thing was for sure – there was no way she was auditioning for Romeo and Juliet. Not with Molly going out for it too. That was a level of humiliation Sally did not need.
***
The rest of the day was dull but uneventful. The worst thing that happened was Molly’s taunts before homeroom. Alison spent most of lunch talking about Sally’s forthcoming audition, and Sally did her best to pooh-pooh the idea.
When the last bell rang after seventh period, Sally got up, went quickly to her locker, stuffed her books inside, and then put up her hood as she headed for the exit. She’d taken three steps when she felt a hand on her shoulder, gripping the cotton sweatshirt and pulling her back.
“Oh, no you don’t!” Alison said, spinning Sally around.
“What are you doing?” Sally exclaimed.
“I’m making you audition,” Alison replied. “I knew you’d try to sneak out, and you’re not missing this opportunity.”
“Alison, I don’t want to do this,” Sally said as her best friend dragged her to the auditorium.
“Yes, you do; you’re just afraid.”
“No, I—”
“You’ll hate yourself if you don’t try out.”
“But Molly is auditioning,” Sally protested. “She’s the most beautiful girl in the whole school. I can’t do this. I can’t put myself through that kind of humiliation.”
“What are you talking about?” Alison said, cocking her head.
“I’m ugly, Alison!” she shouted. Hurt and frustration blew through her like a hurricane, knocking down the walls of her self-control. “It doesn’t matter how well I read. Mr. Pipich isn’t going to cast me as Juliet. He’ll pick Molly or someone else pretty. I don’t want to go through that. It’ll be bad enough when Molly is strutting around school like she’s the queen of everything after she gets the part. I don’t want to have to live with knowing she beat me out.”
Sally’s eyes misted, but she bit her lip and fought back the tears. She was not going to cry over this. She was not!
Alison grimaced. She exhaled through her nose and pulled her lips in tight.
Then she reached over and gently pulled down Sally’s hood. She smoothed back Sally’s hair and put her hands on Sally’s shoulders.
“Listen to me,” she said softly. “You’re not ugly. You’ve been my best friend for, like, ever, and I’ve always thought you were gorgemous.
“And you’re smart too. This Shakespeare stuff is hard, Sally. And you get it. You get it better than anybody. Mr. Pipich would be stupid to cast anybody else.
“But he can’t do that if you don’t try out. Molly is not going to beat you. You just told me on Monday she can’t even pronounce the words. No way is Mr. Pipich gonna choose her to be Juliet. She’ll be lucky if she gets to be Lady Capulet.
“Sally, this is your moment. Ever since school started, everyone has been mean to you. But if you do this, if you pull this off, people are going to respect you. It takes guts to get up there and speak Shakespeare in front of people. If you do this, things are going to change.”
Sally couldn’t prevent the tears from rushing down her cheeks any longer. She loved Alison. No one in the world had ever been as kind to her.
“Look, I’ll audition too, if you want me to,” Alison said. “I totally suck at this, and I’ll never get cast, but I’ll do it if it’ll make you do it.”
“I’m not that mean,” Sally said, grinning at her through her tears.
“Merci beaucoup, cherie,” Alison said. “Now get in there.”
Alison opened the door and practically shoved Sally through it. She’d barely stepped into the auditorium when Mr. Pipich caught sight of her.
“Ah, Sally!” he said, beaming. “I’m glad you’re auditioning. I thought this would be something that would interest you.”
Sally froze. Now she couldn’t change her mind. He’d seen her and assumed she would be trying out. Now she had no choice but to go through with it.
“Alison, are you auditioning as well?” Mr. Pipich said.
“Oh, no, sir,” Alison replied. “I’m just here for moral support.”
“Well, that’s very kind of you,” he said. “Have a seat, ladies. We’ll get started in just a few minutes.”
Sally was surprised at how many people were there. She didn’t think that many sixth-graders would be interested in a play, especially a Shakespeare play. It looked like there were at least fifty girls here and maybe twelve or fifteen boys.
Molly had brought The Set with her. She primped for them down in the front row, pretending to act and flipping her hair back and forth dramatically. Sally wondered if any of Molly’s vapid, little toadies were trying out, or if they were just there to act as an entourage.
Brian Pomeroy came in just as Sally and Alison were getting seated. So he was auditioning. She couldn’t go forward with this. Brian was so beautiful. What if she had to read with him? What if they were cast as Romeo and Juliet? How could she stand to even look at him and say some of those lines?
“Okay, ladies and gentlemen,” Mr. Pipich said. “Let’s get started.
“First of all, thank you for coming. Drama is never the most popular activity in middle school, and it says a lot that all of you came out for a sixth grade play with fancy language. You should be proud of yourselves for that.”
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