Heading back to the footbridge, my phone rings. Hoping it’s Colin, I pick up without checking who the caller is.
“Hello?”
“Gra-cie, boo,” I hear the voice say in a hushed tone.
“Evan? Is that you?”
“Listen. I can’t really talk,” he says, “but I’ve gotmajortea to spill.”
I stop walking by the bridge and sit down on a bench overlooking the water. My heart’s pounding, a mixture of adrenaline, caramel macchiato jitters, and real-life physical activity threatening to take me down at any moment. “What is it?” I ask.
“So, check it out. I was just sitting here, minding my own business, when who comes storming past me in a fit of rage?”
“Who?” I ask.
“Lindsay. She lookscrazypissed, and she’s carrying her bag and wearing her coat like as if she’s headed out for the day.”
I check the time. “It’s only 10:30,” I say.
“Iknow! But I’m not going to be the one who gets in her way. So I’m all, ‘See you later, Lindsay,’ and she must have lost her footing or something because before you know it, she’s just sprawled out on the ground.”
“Shefell?”
“Yesss! It wassoembarrassing! She spilled a manuscript everywhere, so she looked like she was drowning in a sea of pages. Anyway, she collects herself, stands back up, and yells at me. Likelegitimateyelling!”
“Oh my God, Evan! For what? And what did she say? You didn’t, like, trip her or anything, right?”
“No! Of course not! She goes, ‘Clean up this mess! And just fucking toss it! It’s all garbage, anyway!’ and I’m like, ‘Your wish is my command, your royal highness,’ and she fucking storms off. Paperseverywhere.”
“Ugh. I’m so sorry, Evan. That sucks.”
“Gracie, I don’tcareabout all that. I’m calling you because I’m worried about you.”
“Worried? Why?” I ask.
“Boo, those wereyourpages.”
“Really?”
“I collected them, and when I saw your name on the manuscript, I was like, ‘Oh, hell, no! That’s mygirl.’ So, you bet your ass I didn’t throw it away. In fact, now I’mdyingto read it. I’d love to know what turned her into such a salty little potato chip.”
My head spins. “I have no idea. It was good stuff,” I say. “I mean, at least I thought it was.” What could have bothered her enough to make her lose it like that? Was it the male protagonist spin? Not enough sex? It was just asample, for God’s sake.
“Who knows?” Evan asks. “Maybe it’s Shark Week for her.”
“Huh?” I ask.
“Crimson tide. Maybe she’s on the rag. Or, worse—maybe she’s off her meds.”
“Oh. Yeah, maybe,” I say. “I just don’t get it,” I think aloud. “Evan, have you ever seen her get like that before?”
“Honestly, no. But there’s a first time for everything. Plus, it’s just Dramedy Central over here. And she’s been acting weird lately. Remember, I told you she came in late this week? That day I spoke to you?”
“Yeah.”
“She was in a mood then too. So, try not to stress. I just wanted to give you the heads-up before you got blindsided.”
I sigh. “Thanks for looking out,” I say. “You’re the best.”
