Note Sixty
From: Creepy Stalker To: Cora Roberts
Be ready. A storm's coming.
Sent: 9/18 3:40 p.m.
My thumb rested over the message from yesterday, while kicking off my shoes and heading upstairs. Sam had left ten minutes, scratch that, I had left a begging Sam on the porch ten minutes ago.
Entering my room, I massaged my neck and sighed.
A storm's coming...
Looking down at the screen, I wondered if the storm had already occurred, with Sam asking me to Homecoming. The whole point of the Creepy Stalker was to keep me away from a certain boy. Could he be referring to Sam and his idiotic decision?
From: Sam Whitten To: Cora Roberts
Hey, I'm sorry. Friends?
Sent: 9/19 7:49 p.m.
I rolled my eyes, mentally slapping my hand on my forehead, and ignored his message. Just as I was about to set down my phone, it buzzed in my hand.
I swore to God if it was Sam...
From: Jacklyn Wuertz To: Cora Roberts
Can we talk?
Sent: 9/19 7:51 p.m.
From: Cora Roberts To: Jacklyn Wuertz
Uh, sure. Now?
Sent: 9/19 7:51 p.m.
From: Jacklyn Wuertz To: Cora Roberts
Yes. My house.
Sent: 9/19 7:52 p.m.
I frowned slightly at her messages. It was understatement to call Jacklyn a smiley face whore. Her texts were always peppered with emoticons, except now they weren't. Which wasn't a good sign.
Sighing, I quickly changed into a pair of short and a t-shirt, grabbing my keys from the nightstand.
From: Creepy Stalker To: Cora Roberts
Do you have any life vests? You'll be needing them.
Sent: 9/19 7:58 p.m.
I was wrong by assuming that the storm had ended. I was in the calm. Before the storm.
***
YOU ARE READING
The Bathroom Stall
Short StoryA short story of an abandoned bathroom stall door giving desperate, heartbroken girls relationship advice, hot guys incorrectly trying to woo hearts, a stupid dare in action, and irrationality ruling the minds of every character.
