Missy Tbbt Novels & Stories

When he didn't get a reply, he shot a message to Suzie. [Tell Genevieve that if she doesn't show up in ten minutes, I'll kill Fuzzy.] Suzie's face turned crimson with rage as she read his message. Ignoring my parents' protests, she grabbed a cooler and stormed toward Gus's house. My parents kept praying for my future happiness. A fortune teller had said that a good day would come in five days—when they planned to cremate me and bury me, hoping I'd be safe and live a long life in my next life.

Sadness fills me as I think of teenage memories I'm missing out on that my friends aren't. Parties, boys, hanging out with friends. All superficial however I want to experience it, desperately. I grab my phone and scroll through my contacts, landing on Trish. I ring her and wait patiently for her to answer. "Hello?" She giggles on the other end, sounding breathless. "Trish? Are you okay?" I ask her, concerned at her difficulty to breathe. She giggles louder and I faintly hear a male voice in the background, instructing her to hang up. I gasp, slapping my knee —

She said she can get a community college degree and it’s the same thing, but I know if it wasn’t for us she would have gone away too. Missy moving here seemed to brighten up Brittany's world too. She has someone intelligent to talk to now, who isn’t concerned about boys and gossip. They have deep, meaningful conversations and I think Brittany has finally found a friend she trusts enough to confide in, so she isn’t always carrying all her burdens on her own.

"Why don't you give it a shot, and I'll back you up?" "So, I'm like your virtual sidekick now?" Chloe perked up. "Deal, Ms. Patel!" Time passed, and Emmett ended up in prison. The whole mess stirred up Twilight City for a hot minute before it all died down. The cops said he was always mumbling my name while he was in his cell. Why? I did not know. Anyway, he lost it in the end. I would not lie—it felt good. However, I had bigger skies to soar to.

Her little hands go still. She blinks up at me. “Hi.” My throat tightens. “Hi.” “This is Missy,” Camile says, casually sipping her tea. “She’s three. Her favorite color is purple. She hates peas. And she thinks the moon follows her when she walks outside.” I can’t look away. Missy. Missy. The name thuds through my chest like a heartbeat. Camile lets the silence stretch before adding, “She also has your laugh. And your ears.”