Excerpt: Wyoming the Witch

She was only a few steps away from the open door when she felt something splat on her head. Her hand shot up to her hair, and her first thought was that one of the boys had hit her with a spitball – maybe it was Eric, embarrassed about the ride home yesterday and acting exactly like a fifth grade boy about it.

When her fingers came away white and sticky, and there were no other students paying attention to her, Wyoming realized what had happened. She looked up. Sure enough, she was standing underneath the eaves where the pigeons gathered. “Crap,” she said.

By the time she made it to her classroom, Wyoming was crying. All she could think about was the bird poop on her head, and she could feel it dripping, spreading, getting deep into her scalp and penetrating her individual hairs. She imagined herself looking forever like Cruella De Vil, with a straight white streak in her black, curly hair.