In The Spotlight

Firey- The Boy With the Frog

Friday, February 17th. The last weekday before this stupid thing I signed up for on a whim became daily, (almost) like a real job.

I knew there was a good reason for a button down shirt. I mean, they'd taken up a good portion of my closet as my career required. God, had I loved casual Fridays.

I had texted Leafy to ask whether she was going, she did not respond. So I'd been sort of half talking to a few people, making the occasional glance at Coiny who seemed suddenly more confident, but unfortunately too busy talking to his guests to chat with me. My nice collared shirt would get tattered if I kept tugging on it for much longer.

I spotted Golfball, the one with the secret marriage scandal. I made my way to her, passing a few people who were too smiley, considering we were in the same room where we'd voted to oust Bubble. It was creepy in a way. Like such a sad place shouldn't have such a cheery attitude.

GB evidently agreed, gloom smeared across her expression. Her eyes looked tired and weak, puffy, red circles the only color painting her dreary face. Still, she was smiling, seemingly an attempt to keep her cool. I was going to say hello, but she beat me to it.

"Hi." Her lips barely moved as she spoke, as if she were in pain.

"Hello there."

She rolled her eyes and dropped the smile. "Look, what do you want? You came over to me."

"I like your dress." It was a nice color, sage green, with a velvety finish, but that was mostly an excuse. I just wanted to talk to the only other sad and lonely looking person in the room.

"Bullshit," said GB, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Fine. Everyone is talking to people, and you're not, and I wanted to talk to somebody. So now, as logic would suggest, I went to talk to you. We are now talking. Do you need more detail? We good?"

She sort of just stared at me for a second, her spectacles magnifying her eyes. "You're goofy," she said, without any of the endearing smiles or laughter that the word 'goofy' usually would bring. I think she meant crazy. So kind.

"Well, we're talking now," I said. She was clearly annoyed. "Where's your husband-to-be?"

She laughed. "Your guess is as good as mine!"

"Well, what does that mean?"

"Nothing."

My eyes narrowed, and she must have gotten the sense I didn't buy it, because she went on.

"Oh, well, alright. He and I got in an argument over a wedding planning thing and it blew up and got personal." I could see in her eyes that she was reliving the events in her brain.

"I'm sorry that happened. But I'm sure it'll be fine! These things happen, and he loves you enough that he proposed, so..." I shrugged.

She laughed a bit. "Yeah. It actually felt kind of good to say it." I smiled at her. Her expression changed back to worry. "I don't mean to alarm you, but a kid has just run away with your keys."

What?

I turned around, and sure enough, there was a boy with dark hair, probably tween aged, holding my key ring as it jangled in his hands. I shouted a quick thank-you back to GB, and ran after him, which probably wasn't a good look for me to an outsider.

He wasn't very fast, and I caught up quickly. "Those are my keys."

He turned around, revealing large eyes and messy bangs, and a T-shirt with a frog on it. He looked somewhere between 10 and 12, but he had crocs on with SpongeBob jibbits, which seemed way too young for him. "Oh. Sorry. Can I have your keys?" Asked the boy, who appeared to be genuinely wondering.