She is so easy

“She is so easy,” she says to her girlfriends. “I could ruin her in ten seconds.” They laugh, the redhead shaking her curls as she says again, “Seriously, I could ruin her with one comment.” Her plump lips accentuate each word, her tongue flicks against her teeth. I imagine spit flying at her friends who lean in close across their coffee cups.

Easy. Easy to ruin? 

The redhead talks faster and louder. The brunettes and blonde try squeezing in-between her waterfall of words. They sound like a DJ scratching, all stops and starts, their chins jerk forward and back, as if vinyl beneath fingertips. I try to use my magical powers to freeze them but I can’t concentrate, their babble bumbles my focus. I can't even slow down time at their table, my magic fizzles and burns out. 

I can see more than a hint of the redhead’s red bra from the deep dip in her black sweater, the V plunging to perfect plump cleavage. The bra clashes with her hair, I think. And not in a Molly Ringwald ‘Pretty in Pink’ interesting way but a trashy-clashy way. Yeah, she looks trashy. But not because of the cleavage, because of the clash. And because she is insanely loud. And her friends are eager and slobbering. And she wants to ruin someone.

As I'm leaving, I pull out my cell phone and pretend to call Cora. When I reach their table I say directly, “Yeah, she’s loud and bitchy and her idiot friends…”

The table goes silent as I pass, and then I’m out the door. 
But instead of triumph, I am stunned. 
My magic is back, my blackest of all.