Jonna's life as a teacher is all routine, until she receives an online invitation from a near stranger, Zachary, and drops everything for a weekend of fun.
As the weekend evolves into much more, Jonna explores many facets of herself, with another s...
Though brilliant, Olga's suggestions toppled one after the other.
First, Jonna texted Laney what she thought to be a political science joke:
-I got quasi-federal with your mom last night.
As Jonna waited for a response, her agony only increased at the three dots hovered in the chat, indicating that Laney was typing.
Then:
-What fuck?
Panic broke rampant in Jonna.
-Jk.
She shook her head at her inept words, frantically adding:
-Obviously.
The three dots again hovered, but then disappeared. Jonna took that as a bad sign. Before she fully died of embarrassment, she typed:
-Art Festival on Sat morn?
Three dots. Disappeared. Reappeared. Disappeared. Reappeared.
-Can't. Busy.
Ouch. It was the glib response that hurt the most. At least, that's what Jonna told herself as she re-read the text thread a few times over.
Can't. Busy.
Brutal.
~*~
When Olga asked how things had gone, Jonna just shrugged, claiming she hadn't tried anything yet. If she admitted to trying and failing, Olga would have talked her into another stupid plan.
Jonna wished to try out her own stupid plan. And it was stupid, because it was cliche and kind of stalker-like.
She planned to show up at Laney's apartment, uninvited, cup of coffee and a bag of warm scones held out in front of her. From experience, she knew Laney was big on breakfast.
In her mind, she would offer the pastries, grin like an idiot, prompting Laney to laugh and invite her inside.
Reality was not that kind to her. She was across the street from Laney's apartment when she noticed two women approaching the front entrance. They were holding hands and laughing together, one blonde and one red head. The blond she knew was Laney. The redhead she did not recognize.
The smiling duo disappeared into the building. A spear dug into her chest. Jonna leaned against a nearby lampost, her hope deflating fast. On impulse, she dumped the breakfast offerings into a trashcan.
She could not compete with the redhead, she knew. Her smile had been large and inviting. Her skin sun-kissed and sprinkled with freckles. And huge breasts that had bounced under her crop with each stride.
Two boys in Jonna's past had dumped her for redheads. There was a mythos surrounding them that she could never break through. Certainly, no one had ever wondered if her carpets matched the drapes.
Stop being ridiculous, she told herself.
Back at home, when she finally did confide in Olga, her paranoia was partially confirmed.
"A hot redhead? Can't really compete," Olga told her.
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