Three Word Wednesday: Adversity

scooch, janky, conniption

“Scooch,” Marcel said.  He sat without preamble, pushing Jonas across the plastic bench and sliding his tray after him. 

“Hey,” Jonas said, catching his apple as it threatened to roll from the tabletop. “Don’t go throwing my crap around, Marcel…” 

“You want me to sit here,” Marcel replied, his hands full of the plastic wrapper of the Twinkie which appeared to be the entirety of his lunch.  Jonas sighed and rubbed his apple against his shirt sleeve before settling it back on the tray. 

“Why?” he said, rolling his eyes slightly. The Twinkie in Marcel’s hands exited its packaging with a squeak and leapt a few inches into the air before Marcel caught it again. 

“Because,” Marcel said, eyeing his prize as he cradled it between his fingers, “Jenna is on a rampage and today, you’re its target.” 

Jonas blanched and hunched his shoulders so his platinum blond head ducked closer to the table. 

“What!” he hissed, scrabbling for the hood of his jacket before he pulled it over his distinctive hair, “What’d I do?!” 

Marcel grinned at his Twinkie and inserted one skinny black finger into the front of it before he answered his friend. 

“You talked to her.” 

“That is not a crime!” Jonas whispered, trying to spot Jenna before she saw him. 

“No,” Marcel acquiesced, “it’s not. What is a crime is writing about it and then Tweeting the link.”  The Twinkie divested itself of its innards under Marcel’s careful ministrations and he grinned at it. He turned to Jonas, the smile falling slightly and real concern creeping into his tone. “What were you thinking, Jonas?” 

Jonas groaned and put his head down on the table. 

“It was a great story,” he mumbled into the plastic lunch table, “I couldn’t help myself.” 

“Yeah, well,” Marcel took a bite of the now empty Twinkie and spoke with his mouth full, “I hope it was worth it.” 

“It was,” Jonas said, his face still pressed to the table. “Did you see the metaphors? The turn of phrase? She might be a bitch, but the words just flow when I’m writing about her.” 

“I was particularly fond of, ‘her janky-ass Mustang sped down the street like a dying tortoise’,” said a voice behind Jonas. It’s syllables were clipped, precise, and incredibly angry. “Great imagery, that.” 

“Jenna!” Jonas said, sitting up and forcing his hair flat in the same motion he used to push his hood back, “I didn’t see you there!”  

“Obviously,” Jenna said in a prim, British accent dripping with derision. “If you had, I imagine you would have gone on in the same vein. What’s next, Jonas? ‘The shrieking harpy assailed him, buffeting him with her wings until he felt as if he were caught in a whirlwind’?” Jenna’s arms were crossed across her chest and she was staring at him as if she very much wished for him to catch fire. 

Jonas caught his breath at the beauty of the sentence and had to clench his hands to keep from scrabbling for a pen. A harpy. He didn't know what it was. Maybe some kind of giant vicious bug.

"No," he said, leaning against the table to adopt a pose of what he hoped was casual negligence. "I probably would have said something nice about your eyes." 

Jenna rolled her eyes and did not move. 

"I expect if you were inclined to, you would have said something nice about my eyes in the other 900 words you used to describe me driving you home."  

Marcel, Twinkie conquered, cocked an eyebrow at his friend and mouthed, "she drove you home?" without any subtlety whatsoever. Jonas blushed, the red fierce against his cheeks. 

"Oh, I'm sorry, did you want everyone to continue to think that what happened yesterday was correctly interpreted by your ridiculous story?" Jenna was nearly vibrating with anger at this point, her ramrod posture apparently the only thing keeping her from ripping Jonas' face off. "What was it you said? 'Her rosy lips parted in anticipation, like a brazil-nut recently cracked'? Rubbish phrasing, ridiculous metaphors, and incorrect information!" 

"I...I liked that one!" Jonas said, standing and attempting to use his superior height to keep Jenna from killing him. It did not appear to be working. 

"Nonsense! Your writing is infantile and derivative! Your characters are one-dimensional or such obvious caricatures it's laughable! How dare you associate me with that?" Jenna appeared to be ready to catch fire, such was her anger. She poked Jonas in the chest with one finger, her chipped nail-polish flashing in the lunchroom light. "Remove it immediately!" 

"No!" Jonas said, finally just as angry. "It's my best work so far!  It might get someone interested in me!" 

"The only people interested in you are the garbage collectors and it's because they are wondering where their newest pile of shit wandered off to!" 

"Yeah well... you're a harpy!" Jonas liked it. The word had the ring of a good insult.

Jenna threw her arms up and turned around. 

"Oh heaven help us, I'm wounded! Never been called that before!" She whirled back around in an instant, moving until she was standing directly in front of Jonas and punctuating each of her next words with the promise of violence. "Delete that piece of refuse or I will run you down the next time I see you walking home in the rain."  

Jonas gulped and watched as Jenna stalked away. 

"Can you believe that?" Jonas said when she turned the corner. "She wants me to take it down!" 

Marcel frowned and tugged on his friend's arm until he was sitting on the bench again. 

"You're not going to? Do you think that's a good idea?" 

"Naw," Jonas said, a smile quickly spreading across his face until he was beaming. "I've got an enemy. Adversity! I'm a real writer!" He hugged himself and took a battered notebook from his backpack and proceeded to open it and scribble in the margins of its very full pages. "Her conniption's not going to keep me from prevailing.  It could be... a series!" Jonas looked up at Marcel, his pen suspended in the air. "Do you think Scholastic will pay me in advance?"  

Marcel groaned and took Jonas' uneaten apple. 

"I think you're going to be killed, is what I think."  

"Marcel," Jonas said, all business, his pen flying, "what's another word for nemesis?" 

"Murderer," Marcel said, and bit into Jonas' apple.