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“Fuck off.” I laugh. “She’s about to become family,” I remind him.
“So?” He snorts. “Stop being such a pussy and reply.” He laughs suddenly. “Man, imagine if you did and she didn’t know it was you. She’d freak out, huh?”
She’d be so fucking annoyed …
The more I think about it, the more I like the idea. It’s a terribly bad idea, which is probably why I find it so appealing. I drink down the last of my drink, then toss the can in the trash.
“Okay, I better get home.” I grab my phone on my way past him.
“So you can whack off while thinking about your sister?” he calls out.
“Stepsister,” I correct, opening the door. I wink at him. “And at least mine works.”
“Hey! Mine works too,” he yells after me. “Fucking get back here and I’ll prove it.”I walk into the kitchen and throw a frozen pizza in the oven, which I’ll call dinner later. Lewis’ mom insists on stocking up my freezer with shit like this, mainly because she can’t cook. I guess it’s her way of thanking me for watching out for Lewis, but it’s completely unnecessary. He’s my friend. Of course, I’m going to help him when he needs it. Unless it involves my stepsister.
I grab a drink from the fridge and head out onto my balcony. I sit down and stare at the ad again on my phone. I chuckle, because it’s still funny, even though I’m pretty sure it’s fake. I just can’t see her writing something like this up.
Then again …
Maybe it’s an opportunity to show Darcy how quickly things can go wrong. It’s better she learns that lesson from me, rather than some other creep, right? I rub my jaw. It would be really cruel to reply, not that it’s ever stopped me before.
I click reply and think of what to say. If I were her, I’d be deleting everything, without even reading it, so I need something that’s going to stand out. Something that will catch her attention and make her want to reply. I smile when an idea springs to mind.
Fucking perfect.
Subject: What’s orange and sounds like a parrot?
In the body of the email, I write one, single line.
Want the answer? Text me.
I leave my number and press send, then I sit back with my hands clasped behind my head. I’m pretty proud of myself. What chick can resist a good joke? I glance down at my phone down when it buzzes, and I smile. Faster than I expected but I’ll take it. My good mood fizzles when I see my father’s name. I click on the text.
Dad: I thought we could catch up before you start back at work. Breakfast tomorrow like old times?
Like old times?
That’s fucking rich coming from him. I sigh, remembering that I promised Mom I’d try. For Mack’s sake, at least. I stand up, shoving my phone in my pocket, then I stomp down to my room. I am trying.
I’m trying every day.
Me: Sure. I’ll come over in the morning.Chapter FourDarcyThank God
I open and close my eyes, just to make sure that it’s really gone. It is. It took them long enough, but they finally got their shit together and deleted it. Smiling, I lie back in my bed and sigh. It’s finally over.
Or at least it will be, once I sort through the fifty or so emails that came in overnight. It’s like all the creeps come out to play once midnight, Saturday morning hits. I open my email and delete, delete, delete. I don’t even read them. I get to the last few and pause. Every email is titled Hello or something as equally generic. Except for this one which reads:
What’s orange and sounds like a parrot?
With a title like that, how can I not open it? I click open and laugh when there’s one single line.
To get the answer, you’ll have to text me.
Or I could just google it. I copy the phone number and open a new text. It’s barely eight in the morning but what the hell?
Me: Text you for the answer, huh? Or I could just Google it. But, you got me to do something two hundred other people couldn’t, so okay, I’ll bite. What is it?
Anon: You bite too? You should’ve put that in your ad—which I’m pretty sure is fake, by the way. Back to the biting, though. It’s a whole other demographic you could’ve tapped into. The answer? Carrot. But I bet you did Google it…
I smile and shuffle up the bed so I’m sitting with my legs crossed, then I type back a response.
Me: Funny. With lines like that, you should be in comedy. And yes, I Googled it.
Anon: You know what? That’s not the first time my comedic abilities have been acknowledged, so thank you. So, Furries, huh? Should I be locking up my toy collection?
