Picking the Wallflower

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Chapter 7

Half an hour later, I submitted my work. It had been easy to write, since there was some gossip going around about one of the cheerleaders and several football players. Call me shameless, but the only reason it was even a popular blog was because I often made reference to current events from the day. People connected because they knew the people involved.

I sprawled on my bed, re-reading The Great Gatsby for the third time. It didn’t matter that I could recite the entire book from memory; I liked the story. In a mind that forgot nothing, it was sometimes hard to sort out memories. Reading was the easiest way to order the mind. That and writing a blog.

I didn’t often write on weekends, preferring to spend the time alone. I didn’t even have a pet to keep me company. My mother was deathly allergic to animal hair, and my father had a phobia of anything scaly. That left possibly a fish? But a fish was about as much company as a vase of flowers, so I nixed that idea myself. I could get a bird, but birds had a habit of biting. And I was not a chew toy.

It began to get dark, and I put the book down. The curtains were all drawn, and I had a cosy nest up in my room. The house phone rang again. I frowned. Was that mom phoning back? I jogged down the stairs and picked the phone up. “Hello?”



More nothing.

I scowled, and returned the phone to the cradle. I had no time for games. I moved into the kitchen, figuring that while I was down there, I could get a snack. The phone rang again. I picked it up, but this time said nothing. There was a small amount of background noise, but nothing I could work with. Two minutes of silence passed, and I gently put the phone back down. Must be a wrong number.

I made some toast, and walked through the quiet house by myself. I checked all the windows, and made sure the doors were secure. No sense in opening myself up to an attack because I had been stupid. I made sure everything was secure, and headed back upstairs. I put on some music in a CD player, and lay on my bed.

The music washed over me, and I shut my eyes. The phone rang a third time, and I groaned. Can’t these people just leave me in peace? I rolled to my feet and marched down the stairs. I picked up the phone. “Hello.”

A throat cleared on the other side, but nobody said anything. I scowled and put the phone down. I set it to meeting mode, meaning the ringer wouldn’t go off, and the caller would hear a voice message. Once that was done, I went back to bed. Nothing more could be done.

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