Dead Little Mean Girl
Quinn Littleton was a mean girl – a skinny blonde social terrorist in stilettos. She was everything Emma MacLaren hated. Until she died.A proud geek girl, Emma loves her quiet life on the outskirts, playing video games and staying off the radar. When her nightmare of a new stepsister moves into the bedroom next door, her world is turned upside down. Quinn is a queen bee with a nasty streak who destroys anyone who gets in her way. Teachers, football players, her fellow cheerleaders—no one is safe.Emma wants nothing more than to get this girl out of her life, but when Quinn dies suddenly, Emma realizes there was more to her stepsister than anyone ever realized.A meaningful and humorous exploration of teen stereotypes and grief, Dead Little Mean Girl examines the labels we put on people and what lies beyond if we're only willing to look closer.
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Quinn Littleton was a mean girl—a skinny blonde social terrorist in stilettos. She was everything Emma MacLaren hated. Until she died.
A proud geek girl, Emma loves her quiet life on the outskirts, playing video games and staying off the radar. When her nightmare of a new stepsister moves into the bedroom next door, her world is turned upside down. Quinn is a queen bee with a nasty streak who destroys anyone who gets in her way. Teachers, football players, her fellow cheerleaders—no one is safe.
Emma wants nothing more than to get this girl out of her life, but when Quinn dies suddenly, Emma realizes there was more to her stepsister than anyone ever realized.
A meaningful and humorous exploration of teen stereotypes and grief, Dead Little Mean Girl examines the labels we put on people and what lies beyond if we’re only willing to look closer.
Dead Little Mean Girl
Eva Darrows
Quinn was a mean girl.
We’re not talking “mouthy” or “occasionally moody” or “sharp around the edges.” We’re talking “full-throttle mega-mean girl with acid spit and laser eyes.” That’s awful to say about the recently departed, but you had to see her in action to understand. If she didn’t like you, she took insidious glee in decimating you until you were a twitching pile of pudding beneath her stilettos. Worse? She got away with it. People allowed a lava-spewing horror show to rule the school because she was hot and popular
High school is gross.
Praise for Eva Darrows’s The Awesome
“Blisteringly funny and unrepentantly crass.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“Maggie’s profanity-laced, snarky, deeply loving, yet antagonistic relationship with her mother is delightful.”
—Kirkus Reviews (starred review)
EVA DARROWS is the pseudonym for New York Times bestselling author Hillary Monahan, author of Mary: The Summoning and Mary: Unleashed, and, as Eva Darrows, the critically acclaimed The Awesome. Eva lives in Massachusetts with her family of some parts human, more parts fur kids. She can be found on Twitter: @HillaryMonahan.
For Becky, who always makes me smile.
Contents
Quinn Littleton was found facedown in my garage at nine in the morning on a Monday, her corpse dressed up like Malibu Barbie. Her boobs were crammed into a homemade coconut-shell bra that tied off behind her back with pink ribbons. She wore a hula-style grass skirt she’d trimmed so short it barely covered anything, and thanks to her unflattering final position of facedown, rump pointed at the garage doors, the first thing anyone saw of her corpse was a sliver of thong bisecting perfect butt cheeks.
Quinn Littleton was dead.
And it was sorta my fault.
Did I mention she’s my sister?
I probably should have explained that with the whole “dead in my garage” thing. Hot, popular girls don’t just die there like it’s some kind of suburban elephant graveyard. Quinn is—was—related to me. Sort of. She wasn’t my birth sister but she was for all intents and purposes my stepsister. The only reason she wasn’t my actual stepsister is our moms hadn’t married yet. So Quinn and I lived together, had rooms next to one another and were forced to endure holidays together all without an actual and factual sisterly bond.
I wouldn’t have wanted one, given the choice. We didn’t jell.
Quinn was a mean girl. We’re not talking “mouthy” or “occasionally moody” or “sharp around the edges.” We’re talking “full-throttle mega-mean girl with acid spit and laser eyes.” That’s awful to say about the recently departed, but you had to see her in action to understand. If she didn’t like you, she took insidious glee in decimating you until you were a twitching pile of pudding beneath her stilettos. Worse? She got away with it. People allowed a lava-spewing horror show to rule the school because she was hot and popular.
High school is gross.
It didn’t help that I’m one of those nerdy girls—brainy, glasses, I wear jeans every day and my morning beauty regime consists of washing my face, brushing my teeth and sticking my hair into a ponytail. It was mortifying for Princess Pedicure, who got up a full hour and a half before we left for school to make sure she had time to set her curlers, apply her makeup and match her underwear to her miniskirts.
There’s nothing wrong with investing in your appearance. There is, however, something wrong with telling everyone they’re disgusting because they don’t go on the latest kale-and-prune-juice diet to be “Africa skinny.” That’s a direct quote, by the way. Africa skinny.
