How's your Sunday so far?
Megs couldn’t keepthe smile off her face. He’d texted her. Twice. Once, last night to send the link to the software he recommended, and now. First thing in the morning. How long had it been since a guy did what he said he was going to do?
She finished the coffee and handed it to the woman at the counter then turned. “I need to grab something in the back, can you take the register for a second?”
John, Megs’ coworker and the younger brother of a boy she used to babysit, nodded and slipped into place as she disappeared into the back room. Shedidneed to refill the cream, but she figured she had an extra couple of minutes if she also purported to be reorganizing the paper products.
Megs pulled out her phone and texted.
Busy! Sunday mornings are always popular. You?
Sundays aren’t as popular here. I’m just at the gym
Megs’heart stuttered at the thought of seeing Gideon in less than slacks and a buttoned shirt.
You’re not discussing the most recent Times opinion piece at a cafe with a cup of tea and one of those jackets with the patches on the elbows?
Please tell me that’s not what you think professors do on the weekend
Please don’t kill my dreams, Gideon
He reactedwith a laugh to that, and Megs grinned. She needed to get back to the bar.
Enjoy your “workout.” Back to coffee orders
I shouldn’t be texting you anyway. Technically you’re still on my roster. I’m guessing it’ll take till Monday to correct
Megs’cheeks flushed.Crap.She’d forgotten to get online and try withdrawing from the class again. The add/drop deadline was midnight, so she could easily take care of it after her shift.
Such a rebel ??
Megs slippedher phone back into her apron and grabbed the pen hanging next to the clipboard by the door. Drop class, she wrote in tiny letters on the skin just above the underside of her wrist. Not her arm, which would be visible, and not her palm where the ink would transfer or be washed off. It was the perfect place to leave herself notes.
This feeling.Like she was standing in an airplane with a parachute attached to her back, about to jump out the open door.Bad idea.Warning lights spun in her head. Those two things, excitement and terrible results, were inextricably linked in her brain. Case in point: the past weekend. She was excited about the audition, and what did that get her?
Kicked out of her certification course.
But oh, how she loved it. That thrill, like she’d been pumped full of helium and would soar into the sky if someone let go of her string. Frustration swelled in her gut as she straightened her apron.
How was this fair? Other people felt excited about things, and it didn’t ruin their lives. Why was her brain so broken that it only latched onto things that were bad for her? Things that caused failure and disappointment with, ironically, an astounding success rate?
The audition had been a terrible idea. She’d known it from the get-go and done it anyway. Which meant . . . Megs groaned. Gideon was probably a terrible idea, too. With a huff, she grabbed a carton of cream from the fridge, then whisked back out to the counter.
Later that afternoon,Megs sat on the couch across from her mother. She would’ve done this in her bedroom had she known Sylvia was going to join her, but now she couldn’t stand up and leave without arousing suspicion since she’d barely sat down a few moments ago.
“Callbacks went well?” Megs asked.
“Yep, all finished. Not totally thrilled with the princes.”
Megs opened her Champlain Community student portal. “Not funny enough?”
Her mom scoffed and flipped open her notebook. “They can’t sing. You can’t teach comedic delivery, so that was prioritized.”
“But you can teach them to sing in six weeks?” Megs raised an eyebrow.
“Darci can. I hope.”
Megs snorted and clicked on her class schedule, then right-clicked on her Intro to Recording section.Drop class.She clicked the button and filled in the appropriate boxes, then clicked ‘submit.’ The wheel turned. Megs watched the blue cycle from light to dark, tapping her fingers impatiently on the tops of the keys.
