Just Go With It

Chapter 1

Just Go With It

Chapter 1

I'd never been good at saying "no." Not in the way you see in movies and television, where the main character is physically incapable of saying no because of a curse or a well-intentioned but poorly executed gift of obedience from a misguided fairy. I'd never been compelled into doing anything dangerous or committing a crime—a serious one, anyway.

I didn't think streaking through the Quad on my college campus counted, although I probably should've put my foot down on that one. I don't think that campus police officer ever looked at me the same way.

And, okay, I guess sitting on a random stranger and impulsively making out with him might count as harassment, but he must not have felt that way, because I never received a complaint. If the kiss ever even happened. I'd lost both of those memories to alcohol, but the ticket I'd nearly gotten for the streaking brought that one back (the officer let me keep the half-written ticket as a reminder not to do that again, after giving me his jacket to cover up. Not that I'd planned on making a habit of it in the first place).

Despite what some might consider evidence to the contrary, I liked to think my unfortunate condition was more subtle, enough so that it didn't make me an obvious target or a doormat.

Except if that were true, I wouldn't have found myself going door-to-door, asking strangers what they thought about a venomous snake being on the loose in their neighborhood, courtesy of an exotic pet enthusiast who forgot to lock William Snakespeare's cage before leaving the house. For all I knew, the little fugitive had already slithered into the bag I was dragging around and was waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

At least if I died on this assignment, they'd be able to write "death by killer snake, William Snakespeare" in the news article on my death, and maybe even on my gravestone.

I knocked on yet another door after receiving no response at the last home I'd approached, holding my breath as I waited for an answer, or perhaps my untimely demise, if William Snakespeare had decided to abandon his refuge in my bag and was hiding in the bushes next to me. I was about to knock again before moving onto the next house when the door swung open.

"Whatever you're selling, I don't want it," the old man said.

I fought a grimace. His breath smelled like a foul ashtray. It was unpleasant enough to make the bushes seem like a refuge, killer snake be damned. I forced a smile onto my face instead. "I'm not selling anything. Have you heard about that snake that's on the loose?"

His eyes narrowed. "It ain't my snake, if that's where you're going with this."

"Oh, I know. Do you know the owner?"

"Unfortunately. The damn fool. We told him to stick to his lizards."

"Right. Well, you seem to feel strongly about the situation. Would you be willing to do a quick on-camera interview to talk about it?"

He squinted at me, his dark eyes still narrowed into tiny slits. "Who did you say you were again?"

Here went nothing. "My name is Alessia Vega. I'm a reporter with Channel 9 news." I almost regurgitated the slogan we used in all of our sign-offs, 'Your News Now,' before swallowing it instead. "I've got all my equipment here and won't take more than a few minutes of your—"

Without warning, he slammed the door in my face, muttering, "Damn commies," under his breath.

"—time." I sighed in defeat, readjusting the straps to my hefty camera bag as I turned away, a bead of sweat trickling down the side of my face from the exertion and the late-August heat. My eyes scanned the other houses, watching for some sign of life, someone I could approach to avoid the humiliation of having a door slammed in my face over and over again, but none came.