“Hello?”

“Ashley, you backstabbing, flea-bitten whore! I can’t believe you ratted out Tyler in class today. What the hell has he ever done to you? So he looked at your test paper. You flatter yourself to think he’d actually change even one of his answers because of something you wrote. He’s a lot smarter than you are, you romper room reject! Do you have any idea what sort or raging hellhole his house is going to turn in to when Ms. McKay calls to talk to his mom? I can’t believe you’d be so utterly self-absorbed and so all-consumed that you’d think in your bubble-sized bleach-blond head that it was okay to make such an utterly asinine assumption. Damned Narcissist! So what do you have to say now?”

“Well, I guess I should start by saying that you have the wrong phone number.”

“What? I got this off a wall... Is this 555-8995?”

“Yes, but I’m guessing whoever wrote my number on a wall and scrawled this Ashley girl’s name under it had a score to settle with both me and her. I wonder who I pissed off recently...”

“Damn. So you aren’t Ashley Kindersmith?”

“Nope. Never heard of her.”

“Crap.”

“So who are you?”

“Umm—man, I’d rather not say. I mean, what if you meet Ashley—she’s nauseatingly popular—and then you become friends and you mention this call and my name—well I’d be up a creek without a paddle, wouldn’t I?”

“That’s an interesting point. From your description of her, I doubt Ashley has many friends, though. The odds I meet her and hit it off—you did say she was a backstabbing flea-bitten whore, right?”

“Yeah...”

“I try to avoid that personality type in friendships.”

“Yeah.”

“Did you just snort?”

“Umm, yeah. I do that sometimes when I laugh.”

“Okay then. Hey. You snorted again. I was trying to maintain a proper air of decorum and phone etiquette.”

“Yeah, right. I think I blew that when I accidentally called you a flea-bitten whore.”

“True, true. Anyho—I need some way to refer to you. I always hang up after chatting by saying bye and then your name.”

“Always? Seriously?”

“Totally seriously. I’m actually pretty neurotic about it.”

“Niiice. Okay, you can call me Athena.”

“Are you Greek?”

“Nope.”

“Goddess-like in any way?”

“Not at all.”

“Why Athena then?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“You use a lot of curse words.”

“Damn.”

“Bingo.”

“Okay, you can call me Athena because I like her story. You know. She springs fully formed from her old man’s head. No messy baby time, no teen angst, just POW! Fully grown I-am-woman-hear-me-roar deal. And she’s smart, too.”

“Cool.”

“So what’s your name?”

“Wait--I want a cool name, too. Something retro and—uh--Artemis. If you get to be Athena, I want to be Artemis.”

“Do you hunt?”

“Nope. My parents are obsessive Democrats.”

“No boyfriend?”

“Nothing worthwhile in that area, no. I want to be the chick who doesn’t need anybody. She can do it all on her own. Independent. One-hundred percent.”

“Cool. Nice to not meet you, Artemis.”

“Likewise, Athena.”

“Well, I guess this is adios, then. You’ve been outrageously patient listening to me fume.”

“Eh. It seems like you’ve got a lot of crap hitting the fan.”

“Yeah. Ashley just pushes my buttons. She’s such a princess!”

“You know... Athena... I’m okay with you calling again. Bitch when you want.”

“Are you serious? Hell, it’s cheaper than therapy, right?”

“Depends on your calling plan.”

“Okay, I may snort, but I totally hear you grinning!”

“Caught me.”

“Look, I’m not the kind to just accept an offer without reciprocating—Do you ever need to just talk about... stuff?”

“You said ‘stuff.’ I was starting to expect another word.”

“I hear you grinning again--”

“I’d guess we all have our issues. I’ll tell you what. You get one more bitch session. Then I get to make a call to vent. Cool?”

“Cool.”

“Bye, Athena.”

“Bye, Artemis.”