Page 5 of Dance with Me on New Year's Eve
Jenna’s expression soured as she put her hand up to silence me. “OK, not right now. I’ll stop by later, all right?”
I opened my mouth to object. Then, just as fast as she’d appeared, she took off down the hall toward her apartment.
I let out a long exhale.
Way to go, you’re a sweaty mess again.
I groaned while trudging down the hall to my apartment. After entering and dropping my keys on the antique front entry table, I peeled off all the extra winter layers now sticking to me, sniffing them to discover that they did indeed need a wash now.
Just as the phone slipped from my pocket, I lunged forward and caught it inches before it hit the ground. Remembering I had a text or other notification, I brought it closer to my face and unlocked the screen.
Unknown number: Give me your email address. I’ll send my initial plans by tomorrow.
Ugh, the rude tone. It had to be Jeff. How’d he get my number? I couldn’t remember texting him before.
Oh, probably Hazel. I caught myself clenching my teeth while I added his number to my contacts and resisted the urge to reply, “Who is this?”
Roxy: YOUR initial plans? We’re supposed to be partners.
I waited a moment for him to respond, but when he didn’t, I abandoned the phone to the couch and took the four or five short steps to my bedroom to change. My one-bedroom apartment wasn’t large by any means, but it was cozy and comfortable and just right for me. Well, except for the bland white and tan walls—I should really get around to painting those.
After shedding my suffocating work clothes, taking a two-minute shower, and donning my favorite blue fuzzy pajama pants and top, I grabbed my laptop from my desk and sank into the couch. Briefly, I considered doing some online shopping to look for a new couch because, let’s face it, this one was a bit worn from all the time I spent on it. Especially this spot on the left side. The best side.
But before I could fire up an online search for furniture, my eye caught the red message indicator in the corner of the blue and green icon on the taskbar. The furniture search already abandoned, I clicked eagerly on the icon and waited for the fan forum app to open.
I hummed impatiently and brushed my thick, wet hairbehind my ears as the app slowly started. Five new notifications and a private message indicator appeared. I smiled and licked my lips. This was the perfect way to blow off steam from this awful day. I mean, it wasn’t the worst day I’d ever had, but I felt drained and stressed out just thinking about what the coming months would bring.And somehow, she expected it done by New Year’s!
But not tonight, no more.
I’d had enough stress for one day.
Instead, I’d get lost in my favorite world.
Cast Afarhad been my favorite show since it debuted two years ago. At first I’d been skeptical that any show could be better thanLost—a similar but older show about strangers being stranded on a mysterious island—but I’d been dead wrong.Cast Afarhad all the great things aboutLostand so much more. The plot was intriguing and mysterious and madesense. Don’t get me wrong; I absolutely lovedLostand its plot, but that series finale—ugh.Cast Afarwas nowhere near finished, and I fully expected several more seasons, all the way to an ending that wouldn’t make me want to scream at the TV. OK, maybe not scream. Even when by myself, I was too quiet and reserved to do such a thing. Mostly.
A flicker of disappointment swept through my mind as my eyes scanned the lone private message. A forum member named IslandedHere wanted to ask, yet again, if I’d join the weekly virtual discussion group.
Instead of turning her down again, I ignored the message and clicked over to the discussion board. I scrolled through the five new comments on my post about Mel’s shocking disappearance on the show and shook my head as I read. The commenters were missing the point, I thought with gritted teeth, and then my eyes landed on the comment from CastGamer55 containing a detailed answer and partial agreement with my theory.
A grin stretched across my face as I set my fingertips on the keyboard.He gets it. My hands flew over the keys as I typed an enthusiastic response. Five paragraphs later, I sat back withsatisfaction after posting the comment without hesitation.
Just as I rose to grab a drink from the kitchen, my phone buzzed, and I groaned. Fearing it was Jeff, I unlocked it reluctantly as I ambled over to the kitchen. But it wasn’t him.
Julia:Rox, how are you?! You better text me back this time!
Roxy:Hi. What do you mean??
Julia:You never replied to my text last weekend
Roxy:I distinctly remember texting with you for at least an hour last Saturday.
Julia:Yeah, but then you just went quiet
I leaned against the counter near the fridge and scanned my text history with her. Before today, the last text from her was Saturday night when she said goodnight. I started typing a response and then halted. I’d forgotten this aspect of my friend Julia. My only friend, really. She also had social anxiety, but it manifested differently than mine. Quite different, actually. She became very anxious when someone didn’t reply to a communication ofanykind.
Roxy:I’m sorry, I must have been tired
Julia:It’s OK ... how are ya?
