Chapter 5

"What is that thing?" Preston asked, scrunching up his nose in disgust. "That smells foul."

I smirked. Oh, he has no idea how foul this stuff is.

We were inside his car, parked a few houses away from Deana's, prepping for the prank. At this hour, the ditzy blond was still in school, waving her pom poms like a lunatic, and her parents were not at home because they were still at work.

All this worked in our favor.

The prank that we were about to do is going to be awesome. Originally, I wanted to save this for Preston, just in case he failed at being a competent slave, but he deserved something... harsher, perhaps? I don't know - all I know is that getting him stinky didn't pack a punch to the gut. His punishment should have more ompf and a show stopper, if you know what I'm saying.

I mixed the substance with a spoon; the ingredients of this stinky wonder will have any human being vomit:

4 egg yolks, 2 tablespoons of vinegar and olive oil. You whisk them together in a bowl until all ingredients are blended evenly. Chop up some cabbage, place it in a separate bowl and pour in some milk then ferment it overnight. After that, blend the ingredients together and viola! Your own version of C4, only that it's stinky.

Believe me, it'd take a month to remove the foul smell, not unless you have a counteract substance.

 "Why are we doing this to Deana?" he asked - more like whining - like a petulant child. "My girlfriend didn't do anything wrong."

My eye twitched at the word wrong. What a hypocrite. Clearly, the douche bag is blind to his girlfriend's evil ways, but I am the Revenge Artist and I'm always on the prowl for things like this.

Deana is anything but nice, that I guarantee.

"Do you really think that egghead didn't do anything wrong, Preston?" I asked and he nodded. "Then you must be a fool."

He glared. "What was that supposed to mean?"

        I rolled my eyes. What a dumb ass. "Open your eyes, jock; your girlfriend has been wreaking havoc in school thinking she's the sh!t. She put every girl's self-esteem to a zero and it's about time someone's putting her in her place. Guess what? It's going to be me, the Revenge Artist."

That bitter taste of resentment was at the tip of tongue as I remembered what they did to me back in middle school. I couldn't forget; Preston was my crush - still is - but I put those fuzzy feelings aside because I needed to grow a freaking backbone instead of that shadow of a pathetic girl like I used to be, fighting its way to resurface.

The female dog is going down - stinky style.

We both fell silent after my rant. It was tense as I gazed at Preston - he had put on an indecipherable facade. Whatever he is thinking, I'm sure it wasn't mutually along the lines of 'yeah, I get what you mean'.

For one, he is a grade A dick wad.

Sighing, I muttered, "Let's go get this over with." And got out of the car.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"I can't do this. I can't do this!" Preston chanted over and over as we stood on Deana's front porch. "I can't do this to Deana!"

I whacked the back of his head with my free hand as I balanced the bowl with the other.

 "Ow, woman! What was that for?"

I rolled my eyes. "Shut your whining."

He glared. "But you didn't have to smack my head, you know! Jeez..." he muttered, rubbing the back of his head. "You hit like a guy."

"Deana gave you a spare key, right?" I asked him, ignoring his statement.

He frowned. "How did you know?" he asked.

I smirked. "Do you know who you're talking to, jockstrap?"

He has no idea how much information I get on a daily basis alone. People talk, even the pettiest ones are useful, and I have plenty of eyes and ears in school.

"That's just creepy," he muttered and dug for the keys in his pocket. He got it out, slid it on the key hole and opened it.

 We are one step closer to prank heaven.

As we got in the house, I noticed Deana's place was... nice and fluffy? Well, it was homey, but more like the  shabby chic style like I've seen in the magazines.

"Lead me to her bedroom, slave," I said, grinning like an idiot.

Rolling his eyes, he headed for the stairs and I followed behind. We got up and once we were up the top, Preston went to a pink door down the hallway, opened it and got in.

Typical cheer bomb. Of course the door had to be pink.

Sighing, I got in the room as well and looked around.

Holy mother of Hillary Duff...

Let me tell you; her room looks like Pepto Bismol had vomited in here.

Everywhere was pink, pink, pink, pink and more pink that it could pass itself as cotton candy. I could definitely say she needed to hire an interior decorator, A-S-A-P.

How can Preston stand this mayhem?

"So..." he drawled, "what now?"

 "Open the closet," I ordered.

Without so much of a word, he walked towards the closet and opened it. I placed the bowl on the bed, got out two pairs of plastic gloves from my back pocket and handed the other one to him.

"Here, you need these," I said. "You don't want that foul smell sticking to your hands."

He made a face, grabbed for the gloves and slid them on his hands.

I slid the gloves as well, took the bowl from the bed and just like that, we started smothering the icky substance on Deana's clothes.

Know this: no matter how many times she washes her clothes, the stink won't come off that easily.

Good luck with that, Deana dearest.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Oh, happy day!

I have plenty of reasons to smile like the devil today, and not only because Preston was cooperative yesterday; what I can't wait for is Deana's grand stinky entrance in school.

As I leaned my back against my locker, waiting for the show, I took a quick glance at Preston who was standing beside me. Since yesterday, he has been sporting a scowl non-stop, but what do I care? If he values his reputation so much, he better follow like a puppy when given an order.

The people, however, were giving us odd looks. It was an unlikely sight for the Revenge Artist and Golden Boy to be standing together. They knew about our history and what went down back in middle school between Preston and I, but that didn't bother me anymore, I guess. Okay, okay! It still bothers me, but nobody has to know.

"AVERY! WHERE THE FREAKING HELL ARE YOU?!"

I snickered. The show's about to start.

"Oh god," Preston groaned. "Here we go..."

Turning my head to the entrance, the once boisterous hallway went dead silent. As Deana stormed forward, the crowd parted like the red sea as though she was Moses himself. I doubted the latter, because from the looks on people's faces, I say they were disgusted from the smell.

From the corner of my eye, Preston was ready to make a mad dash out of here.

'Oh no you don't,' I thought as I grabbed his arm tight, ignoring that zinging feeling from touching his skin. "Do something stupid and your hot and heavy picture with Ms. Brooks will be all over F******k in just one click of my cellphone," I threatened him.

He narrowed his eyes into thin slits. "You wouldn't dare," he seethed.

Letting go of his arm, I said, "Remember who I am, Golden Boy. I mean what I said."

Grunting, he leaned back against the locker and crossed his arms over his chest.

Smart doggie.

"Avery!"

Snapping my head, I came face-to-face with a furious looking Deana and by god! She was like a walking dumpster. Ew...

"Jeez, Deana," I said, grimacing. "Did you take a bath this morning?"

She glared. "I know you did this," she seethed, gesturing at her clothes. "I came home from cheer practice yesterday only to find out my clothes were smeared with this yucky green stuff, and no matter how many times I washed my clothes, the smell won't come off! You're the only one who's capable of doing something horrifying as this, Avery! Don't you deny it!"

I laughed quietly. "Maybe I did or maybe I didn't."

 "Why you little--" she paused, averting her gaze to Preston. "You, why are you standing near her? And why aren't you doing anything? You're supposed to be my boyfie, Preston!" she whined, pouting her lips pathetically.

It's all on you now, Preston.

"Uh..." was his genius reply.

"Presstoonnn!"

God, she's making my ears bleed.

"Honestly, you reek babe. You're clogging my nose," he said. 

Deana's face contorted into a mad looking chihuahua, screamed out of frustration and stalked off, the crowd once again parting like the red sea.

Well, that was interesting.