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    Girl with a Gun
    Girl with a Gun
    Girl with a Gun
    Ebook58 pages48 minutes

    Girl with a Gun

    By Courtney E. Webb

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    About this ebook

    This is a book of short stories about girls and later women and the situations they find themselves in. Most of the tales are about the twists and turns of romantic life where often, things don't turn out the way we expect.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherWebbywriter1
    Release dateFeb 14, 2019
    ISBN9781386998181
    Girl with a Gun
    Author

    Courtney E. Webb

    I am an English teacher from California, living in Arizona. I have taught overseas and in the States. I have had bored students, interested students, engaged students and others. I would rather have interested and engaged students and hopefully, this book will help my students and other teachers on that path. 

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      Book preview

      Girl with a Gun - Courtney E. Webb

      GIRL WITH A GUN

      Courtney E. Webb  

      Stories about girls and their troubles ... and the troubles they make. 

      GIRL WITH A GUN

      You can’t always get ahead but you sometimes can get even.

      MY NEXT-DOOR NEIGHBOR had everything. She lived in one of the best houses on the block.

      Bleached blond hair at age thirteen, she always wore it up high and 'teased' with a ton of hairspray. She wore real black eyeliner, cut-off jeans and men’s big white shirts over that. She was cool. Her mother didn't work, like mine, and could spent time making cookies and pies. Then, when the neighbor girls came over to Linda's house, there were always cookies and lemonade.

      Her real name was Belinda, shortened to Linda. She was one year older than I and had one brother who was always playing football. Not only was her house nicer, her parents drove bigger, newer cars and her mom took her shopping for all the latest clothes. When Linda moved in next door, time stood still for just a moment and she became an instant hit. Everyone wanted to hang out at Linda's.

      I, on the other hand, had nondescript brown hair, neither bleached nor ratted (what's that?) I don't think I owned a can of hairspray. My hair is mostly stick straight, except for one little spot that likes to pop up into a weird curl all the time. My mom worked five days a week. When she wasn't doing that, she was shopping for fabric to make us all handmade clothes. Most of my clothes were either handmade or hand-me-down until I was almost twenty.

      I lived with my mom, dad and two obnoxious brothers. It didn't seem fair that Linda got so much attention from everyone, I lived there first! Anyway, like I said, my mother was usually either working, playing bridge or hidden away in the sewing room. She could be counted on for saying things like, That's nice, or If you don't like them, Cissy, why don't you stop playing with them?

      That's my name, Cissy Caufield, named after one of my mother's friends. Who names a kid something like Cissy? Dumb.

      Oh, and my dad. My dad was a big guy, very handsome once, lots of black hair and shiny white teeth. A WWII veteran, he loved nothing better than to tell a ton of stories about the war. He would ramble on with some story or other, have a sip of scotch, and continue. He was proud of the fact that he still had three service revolvers in the garage. There were always loaded, just in case. He kept them locked in a steamer trunk, but I knew where the key was.

      Did I mention the scotch? Yes, scotch, and lots of it. My dad was a drunk. In addition to telling stories, he loved to get drunk. Yes drunk, not tipsy but smashed, blotto, wacked, bombed, stewed to the gills, pie-eyed, blind drunk.

      My mother would spend time, when I got into one of my fits about Dad, using her best calming voice to talk me down. We needed to be understanding of Dad. He's got problems, he needs our support, etcetera, etcetera, blah, blah and blah. She would get that pensive, screwed up look to her face like a suffering puppy and twist a napkin in her hands. Finally, I’d finally snap out of it and she would go back to her nice-nice face. Gag!

      Before too long, me, Linda and my brothers, were all at the same high school. Linda still had the bleached blond hair, and I still had the weird hair. However, these days she was on a diet specially constructed by her mother. As she was trying out for the flag twirling team, the baby fat had to go. I never had to go on diets since I had a stick figure already. I was trying out too for a cheer-leader position and worked at it very, very hard. However, Linda got picked

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