Later that day, I leaned back in my desk chair, listening carefully to Fizzy, who was perched stiffly on the edge of my bed. I had thoroughly filled her in on my earlier interaction with Ian and to say that she had been mad was an understatement. She had gone ballistic, like a gorilla let out of it’s cage, shouting, pacing, and even hurling my pillow violently across the room. I had been perplexed by her vast overreaction, however I was slowly starting to learn that Fizzy was like a box of chocolate, always a surprise. Finally, she had calmed down enough to talk civilized once more and stay still.
“You can’t let Ian get away with speaking to you like that, Felix,” she began, her first words after five minutes of chaos, “You need to retaliate, show him not to mess with you.” I rolled my eyes at her dramatic proclamation.
“I agree that he had no right to say that to me, but I believe it would be a bit over dramatic if I were to attempt a revenge scheme on him.” I pointed out, a hint of playfulness in my voice. I hoped my light approach would calm the raging storm inside Fizzy, but no such luck.
“That’s preposterous. He needs to be taught a lesson,” spat Fizzy maliciously. “But what can you do so that the punishment fits the crime?” She began scratching her eyebrow, a habit of hers that she does when she’s thinking, I’ve noticed. Suddenly, her face flashed with an idea. “I’ve got it. You need to cut out his tongue, Felix.”
I chuckled at her ridiculousness. “You can’t be serious.”
Fizzy shot me a scowl so harsh, I felt as if I were about to melt under her stare. “You’re going to do it, and your going to do it tonight.”
There was no arguing.