Can’t wait to see the cute clothes. No wonder you’ve been so sick! Feel better! Ginger alehelps!
Flu SMH. I calledit.
True colors. I knew that goody two-shoes routine was all an act. Congrats,girl!
So sly! You win theinternet!
“What the heck?” I whisper while holding up a facemask that I’m about to start the party with. Usually I never read the comments. Sure, my eyes wander every now and again, but in order to avoid the one-off troll trying to throw me off my game, I hardly ever go there. But this? What the actualf—
Wait. It’s like they know what I’ve done. Crap. I bet that girl at the store recognized me. How stupid of me to think I didn’t need to don a disguise for a covert operation like that. I look up, stunned, at the pinhole of bright red light capturing my every movement. “And so I thought I’d start with a mask to cleanseand—”
It’s no use. My eyes dart right back to those bizarre comments exploding to life one after another like popcorn. I can’t help but look. It’s like a runaway train at thispoint.
Are you taking the testlive?
“Test? What test?” I shake my head into my laptop, and why does it suddenly feel as if I’m speaking to a Magic 8Ball?
LOL! You are a freaking riot! #Fanforlife
The comments roll in, hot and heavy, and it’s as if time stands still. That white-hot witch’s cauldron in my stomach boils over, spilling throughout my entire body as it hitsme.
“Shit.” I turn around stiffly. The entire universe seems set in slow-motion as I zero in on the box sitting face out screamingat home pregnancy testfor all the world tosee.
And then, just like that, the universe whips right back to warp speed. I snatch the box from the bookshelf and turn around with a manufactured smile. “You mean this?Ha!” I tip my head back and laugh like a woman who’s long since seen her sanity. This is it—do or die. I take a quick breath and glare back at the camera. “My next guest happens to be the beautiful Izzy Edwards. You may have seen her a time or two at the Black Bear Saloon?She’sthe one who’s knocked up—and her skin is amazing because of it. But because she’s hardly showing (my God, that girl has a bowling ball tucked under her shirt, if not twelve) I thought it’d be prudent to make her pee on a stick to prove it. Just a little naughty fun, mypretties.”
That fake smile falls from my lips as I spastically look to the commentsfeed.
Nicecover!
Izzy? She’s freakingHUGE!
PEE ON THESTICK!
“Eew.” And they go on and on. No one believes a word. I glance to the invisible watch on my wrist. “Would you look at that? I’ve got an American history study group in five. All in a day’s work. I’ll be back. Stay beautiful!” I slap my laptop shut and look to the bathroom infear.
As far as I can tell, I’ve got twooptions.
And I’m shooting for thelatter.
Seth
There have been moments when I’ve been thrown from my game—a bad grade on a test, the time I thought my dog was dying—the time hediddie, the list goes on and on. But this moment, staring at my phone, wondering what the hell just happened has eclipsed them all byfar.
As soon as my notification went off that Sunday was live, I hopped over to watch her do her thing. I’ve been watching for a couple of years now. Not that I’d ever let her know it, and right about now, I’m wishing I missed a show. This last one to beexact.
“Holy shit.” I sink down in my sofa and stare at the ceiling, wondering how I managed to screw up so proficiently andquickly.
I have to call her. She definitely looked freaked out. She looked panicked, and that’s the one expression on her beautiful face I’m not familiar with. But if that little box that was sitting behind her is any indication, I’d better get familiar with it andquick.
My thumb lingers over my phone a moment too long. What the hell am I going to say?I caught your show. I know you’ve got a plus one nestled inside of you, and I’m the one that put itthere?
Technically, those are all things I should say, and eventually will have to, but for some reason it doesn’t feel like the right thing at the moment. She needs a friend—one of which she has made the point to let me know I’m not. But whether she likes it or not, I’m determined to be a shoulder to leanon.
I’m out of here. I need to find Sunday. There’s no excuse. I need to be with her. I hop off the couch, and before I can snatch my keys off the table, a heavy pounding comes from thedoor.
I pluck it open and Sunday herself stumbles in, slamming the door shut, shielding it with her body as if a knife-wielding maniac were afterher.
“What’s going on?” Honest to God, I’m curious, but it works as a cover, too. If she spills what just happened, I won’t have to admit my addiction to her justyet.
