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CHAPTER4
Derek
I have never dreadedwork as much as I do today. Brainstorming with Katie yesterday was like trying to herd a squirrel. Every time I thought we agreed on something, she would throw down ideas in a completely different direction. I had to take Tylenol when I got home last night to temper the migraine pulsing in my head. When it finally calmed down, I made a list.
I spent hours researching different activities in our town. Then I categorized and mapped them so we could stop by them in an orderly fashion and save time. However, as I stare at the list today, it just seems overwhelming. Especially considering we only have two weeks to get this done. How on earth will we be able to go to all these places in two weeks?
“Did you pick a place yet?” Katie scoots her chair close to me, invading my personal space. Some floral scent accosts my nose, and I wonder if it’s her shampoo or body wash. Mine simply smells clean, although it has a picture of the ocean on it. I had to perform a sniff check in the store before buying it because the actual ocean smells like salt and fish, and I didn’t want that to be my aroma. Thankfully, the image was meant to be metaphorical and not literal. But Katie’s scent is definitely not ocean, and the sweetness of it tickles my nose slightly. It’s not entirely unpleasant which I find disconcerting.
I glance up at her, hoping she will read how uncomfortable she is making me and back up a little, but she appears oblivious. Or she’s ignoring my discomfort which makes me even more uncomfortable. “I have made a list of the places I think will be the best…”
“A list?” She shakes her head as she cuts me off. “We don’t need a list. We need to experience.” Her hands flare out at the word experience like she is putting it in lights or something.
I grit my teeth and try not to lose my cool. “But a list makes that process more organized.” I can’t believe I’m having to explain this. “I think we should start with the Museum of Art. It is a cultured place where people can find interesting art and historical relevance.”
“And I just fell asleep.” She rolls her eyes. “Look, I probably should have said something yesterday, but we’re going to have to run every decision past this guy.” She opens her bag and pulls out a black billiard ball. Only it looks larger than an actual billiard ball.
“What is that?” I ask, quite sure that I am not going to like her answer.
She looks at me as if I’ve grown another head. “It’s a magic eight ball. Haven’t you ever seen one before?”
“No, what does it do?”
Her nose wrinkles as her eyes shift to the side. “Ah, well, that’s the tricky part. You ask it yes or no questions and then turn it over. The answer appears in this little screen. Normally, it’s just for fun, but my friends dared me to use it for every decision until Valentine’s Day.”
My eyebrows inch up my forehead. “Are you saying that you’re going to consult that toy for every decision and then follow what it says?” I knew Katie was crazy but I am certain I must have heard her wrong. No grown adult would be silly enough to do this, would they?
A light pink blooms on her cheeks and she chews on her lip. “Well, yeah. I accepted the dare.”
I have so many issues with that statement, but what she does is not my concern. At least, it shouldn’t be. “But I didn’t.”
She grimaces and mashes her lips together. “Yeah, sorry about that. I didn’t know I’d have to be working with someone when I accepted the dare, but hey, at least it will make this more fun. And if it makes you feel better, the ball thinks we’ll win.”
“It doesn’t make me feel better.” I can feel the headache returning, and I begin massaging my temples to keep it at bay. “A child’s toy cannot make our decisions. This promotion is important to me.”
“It’s important to me too. Don’t worry, I don’t think it’ll be as bad as you think.”
I’ve never had the urge to bang my head against the wall, but I certainly do now. People only say it won’t be as bad as you think when they know it will be worse.
“So, you think we should go to the museum, and I think we should go to this really cool artsy place called The Painted Plate. We’ll let the ball decide where we go first.” Before I can answer, she is waving her hands over the ball and asking, “Should we go to the stuffy museum?”
When she flips it over, I find myself craning to see the answer. Why do I care? This is not how rational decisions are made.
“My sources say no.” She turns the ball so I can see, and an annoyance I did not expect stirs within me. “How about we go to The Painted Plate?” She turns the ball over once more, and a smile lights up her face as she turns it toward me again. “‘Without a doubt.’ Guess that settles it. Painted Plate here we come. Do you want to drive or shall I?”
I’ve heard of The Painted Plate; it even made it on my list though much further down, but I’ve never been there. Still, while I will never say so aloud, it does sound like an interesting experience. Not as much fun as a day at the museum but interesting nonetheless. “I’ll drive.” I don’t love having people in my car and especially not Katie - I’m already imagining her spilling something sticky or leaving muddy prints - but there’s no way I’m trusting her behind the wheel of a vehicle. What if she had to consult the eight ball before stopping at a red light or changing lanes?
“Suit yourself,” she says with a shrug. “Let’s get going. Maybe we can do this and then grab a bite to eat. Restaurants have to be included too, right?”
Restaurants? I hadn’t even considered that eateries might have to be included, but it would make sense. If a tourist comes to town, he or she will have to eat. Great. More work to be done.
She punches the button for the elevator, but I shake my head. If I’m going to be eating at restaurants where I don’t always have control over the food, then I’m going to find other ways to burn the calories I’ll probably eat. “I think we should take the stairs. Exercise is good for the body.”
Wrinkles erupt on her forehead as her face scrunches. “Yeah, I am so not taking the stairs. We’re four floors up. That is what elevators were made for.”
She is so frustrating, but I take a deep breath to keep from lashing out at her. “Taking the stairs will allow us to burn more calories before we eat who knows what.”
She folds her arms and lifts her chin so she’s looking up at me. “The elevator is faster, and you take it every morning.”
