Page 65 of Not Like The Other Girls

They already are.

In the front row, an alien tap dances by herself.

And who knows what the fuck is going on in the back rows.

At this rate, she wouldn’t be surprised if they are already snorting coke and dealing guns.

“Sure, girl.” Queeny presses a button on the shiny blue megaphone that Lily has a sneaking suspicion that it was bought from Walmart. A loud beep sounds as if it is the beginning of a race, and at once, all groups, all troops, turn and run over across the field to the shadowy campsite in the distance.

And so it is, the official start of their war against the mice.

Oh, so dramatic.

Kolyan, Every’s close associate, along with his tough mafia gang and the whole gym bro group, takes the lead, holding invisible guns in their hands and making pew-pew noises for extra sound effects.

Alright, maybe not the last part.

But they’re pretty dedicated, and you’ve gotta give them that.

Taking the main group are the unnamed alien warlord and his nine thousand, nine hundred, and ninety-nine warriors, holding sticks and stones. Kinda depressing how unequipped they are, honestly. Taking the rear guard are Lily and her folks, of course, because they are powerful enough to select where they would be, and they’d rather not go in front and end up shipped back home in body bags. Not that anyone would in such a lighthearted holiday novel like this one.

Along with them are the rest of their rag-tag group of stragglers: the long-forgotten lumberjacks and the nutcracker boys. And the scientists, who don’t even know what the fuck they are contributing here in the first place, but join them simply because their boss requested.

How loyal and salaryman-esque are they.

Lily watches from near the gate, trotting slowly behind because, being the dainty little heroine that she is, she had never run over a mile in her life. Not even in high school P.E.when the teacher was threatening to fail her, or in her community college’s gym class, which she had never once attended.

And she definitely wouldn’t start now.

That’s just too tough for her lungs.

Every, as is a rule, is always hovering by her side. At this point, he knows his girl quite well. “Sugartits, come on. It wouldn’t hurt to run just a bit, would it? To scissor your legs quickly like a propeller? I know that you’re the most fragile, delicate flower in this world, but seriously? Even roses have thorns.”

Lily continues her stroll, a few feet behind him. “Bae-bae, the fuck does roses having thorns have anything to do with me? My man, that’s like saying that since animals eat each other, stealing should be legal.”

But he turns back to her, surprised. “Did you just call me a new pet name?”

“Yeah.”

“Should have started since earlier.” Her man shakes his head, his hair somehow perfectly tamed and neat and gelled all around the clock. And it never gets shaggy or long. Sometimes, Lily wonders if it is just a wig.

It’s just too perfect.

Like the sweet person her man is.

Like their plan, which is going weirdly smoothly.

With luck, they would storm through the campsite of their enemies only to find out that all the mice and mice men had come to their senses and just upped and left. Like an absent parent, leaving no trace of their existence behind except for the whole hell of a mess they themselves created in the first place.

But like every time in Lily’s life, even before her deadbeat dad of a fairy king forgot about her, luck isn’t on her side.

On par with her sprinting skills, it never was, and it isn’t going to start now.

A mouse, the token of just how unlucky she is, hops up out of practically thin air—the atmosphere of this bleak place is so thin, not that this is of any importance right now—and onto the new, shiny black combat boots she’s exchanged her Pleasers for.

She shrieks, and instead of hopping over it like any sane woman would do, she kicks her booted foot up, flinging it into the air. It lands on some lagging scientist’s head with a plop.

She’s a total a bitch, and she knows it full well.