“I know,” Gale said. She flung herself upon the bed and glared at the ceiling. “But I will blow up and explode if Marcia Marlette doesn’t stay away from me.”
“What has she been doing now?”
“Met me after Chemistry class and walked to the house with me—making nasty remarks about the Dean all the while. I’ll—I’ll slap her face some day,” Gale threatened.
“Whoa, there,” Ricky Allen murmured, sticking her head in at the open door. “Who is gonna slap who?”
“Are we missing anything?” added Gloria Manson.
Gale sat up and laughed. “I am boiling over with suppressed wrath.”
“Only it isn’t suppressed any more,” Phyllis murmured. “Girls, you see before you a volcano about to erupt.”
“Go ahead and erupt,” Ricky invited, settling herself comfortably on Phyllis’ bed.
“What happened?” Gloria asked sympathetically.
Gale sat on the window sill and took a deep breath of the autumn air. “That awful Junior has been pestering me again. I suppose it is only a matter of months before I become immune to it.”