A sly smile slides over his lips. “Oh…just follow my lead. I know exactly what to do.”
“Oh, she’s coming back. She’s coming back,” Rupert says in a hurry from where we’re hiding behind a set of bushes. “Quick, roll out on the street, look hurt, and sell it.”
“Do you really think this is going to work?” I ask, feeling stupid.
“Without a doubt. Now hurry before she sees you.”
Free of my suit jacket, only sporting a button-up shirt and dress trousers with oxfords, I roll out onto the street, where a branch has fallen from a tree, and rest under it. Rupert came up with the idea to act like a damsel in distress to gain some sympathy from her so when I propose, she almost has to say yes because I’m so pathetic that I’ve been taken down by a large tree branch.
And of course, to make it more authentic, when I wasn’t looking, Rupert whipped me in the head with a stick, creating a gash on my forehead. I tackled him to the ground and punched him in the side, only for him to point out that it looked more convincing.
I hate to admit it, but he’s right; I like the authenticity of looking injured.
And even though this seems like a completely asinine idea, I couldn’t come up with anything else, so here we are.
Sprawled across the footpath, I wait for her to approach. I glance at Rupert, who is hiding behind the bush, and he offers me a thumbs-up and then sticks his tongue out to the side, telling me to do the same.
“No,” I hiss. “I’m hurt, not dead.”
He chuckles. “Right. Okay. She’s almost here, so start moaning.”
Showtime.
Wearily, I start to groan and shift, ever so slightly, as if I’m just coming to after being concussed by a tree branch.
“Oh my God,” I hear her say before she comes to my side and pulls the tree branch off me. “Are you okay?”
Do you hear that concern? It’s coming in full force. The plan is working—now it’s time to milk it.
“What…what happened?” I ask, pretending to be dazed and confused.
“I think this branch fell on you.”
“Did it?” I ask. “I was just…I was taking a walk and next thing I know, I’m flat on the ground, staring up…” I gulp for effect. “Staring up at your beautiful eyes.”
Her expression changes from concerned to partially skeptical.
Uh-oh.
Maybe I took it too far with the eyes.
Don’t lose her now—you’re gaining sympathy. Bring this home.
“Do you think you can help me sit up?”
“Sure,” she says and then takes my arm and guides me to a seated position.
I grip my head and then wince. “Ouch. Am I bleeding?”
She examines me. “No, but it seems like you have a scratch.”
A scratch?
It felt more like a flap of skin came off my forehead, but sure…we’ll call it a scratch.
“Do I require medical attention?”
“Do you feel like you require medical attention?”
