"No, of course not. So do you not want the PB&J sandwich after all?" He stares at me thoughtfully.
I stare at him, not sure what to say. Is he joking? I never wanted it in the first place.
"I'm okay, actually. If you don't mind, I'll rush back now. My best friend said a package came for me." I hate the fact that I'm lying, but I need to get out of here ASAP.
"You go ahead. I'll see you in a couple of hours."
"Sounds great. Thank you." I hurry out of the kitchen and back down the corridor, almost running. I run through the front door as if death itself were chasing me. As the door behind me slams, I let out a long sigh of relief. I can finally breathe,
"Emma, I think I'm in the twilight zone. It's like a madhouse in there."
"Why? What's going on?"
"Let's just say that everyone here is just crazy."
"What do you mean, crazy?"
"So, when I arrived, there was this weird older lady who just happens to think she's psychic, and she had this cute dog that doesn't like to listen."
"That doesn't sound so bad."
"She thinks she's the best poet in the world and that Shakespeare talks to her."
"What do you mean, Shakespeare talks to her?”
“I mean, William Shakespeare came to her in a dream and told her she’s one of the best living poets.”
“No way, what? Did that really happen?”
“No, of course, he didn't," I say, and Emma starts laughing. "Also, she's not a good poet. And when she was introducing me to the rest of the writing group, she kind of made up this poem on the spot, and it was absolute shit." I pause. "I mean, I feel really bad now for saying that. She was friendly."
"Gina, it's fine. It's not like she's going to hear you. And what do you mean by writing group? I thought you were the only ghostwriter there?"
"Girl, turns out that Mrs. Waverly likes to write, and she's got this ragtag group of individuals that come together to write. Like one guy who was in the Navy, and he’s maybe some sort of fisherman, and then these two college kids that look like they are being held hostage, and this Casanova-looking dude who I’m pretty sure was trying to hit on me.”
“Oh,” she says, laughing. “What made you leave? Didn’t you just get there?”
“I just feel overwhelmed. As soon as I got there, I met Amethyst and Bear—the dog, by the way—and then Mr. Waverly was like, ‘Can you make me a PB&J sandwich?’ And then the worst part?—"
"Girl, do not tell me that he propositioned you."
"What?" I say as I get into my car and start the ignition.
"Did he try to hook up with you?"
"No, of course not, Emma. Really, get your mind out of the gutter."
"Well, what happened? You are making it seem really bad."
"It was worse than really bad."
"Shit, girl. Tell me."
"Guess who also works for the Waverlys."
"I don't know… Wait, not Patrick."
"What?" I say, my mind blank as I drive down the long driveway. "Who?"
