The Flynn Effect

55 | slow dancing

Jo

THE LAST TIME I saw confetti emojis and party poppers in my email was when I accepted Flynn's request to be his tutor in our school's peer to peer tutorship program. Then, I'd been shocked, confused and hoping I could tap on a rewind button.

So when the notification of an email on my laptop dragged me away from my half-dressed state in front of the mirror and the first thing I saw was the exact same thing from over three months ago, I was still shocked to say the least.

But this time, it's not from my school. It's directly from the write-a-thon website that I'd submitted my article to the other day. Within the few minutes that I've been standing here, I've read their email over ten times already. It's short and straight to the point.

Congratulations Josephine Pryce,

Your sample article has been selected among the top five that will qualify for the final writing contest which will take place on the 28th of this month.

It's a festive season and there are many topics to write about at this time of the year, so we're hoping you give it your best shot. We can't wait to hear from you. Further details will be communicated to you soon.

For further enquiries, contact theresalwayssomethingtowriteabout@gmail.com

Happy Holidays!

"You think now is the right time to watch porn?" I hear Drew ask and I cringe a little because his voice startles me out of my dazed unbelief state.

I glare at him. "Why didn't you knock?"

To annoy me even further, he opens my door wider and folds his arms. "Because you're not fully dressed and you know how mum gets when there's an occasion of any sort."

"Fuck," I curse as I struggle to cross the straps at the back of my dress. The email had successfully made me forget that I'd been dressing up for my school's winter formal that had been scheduled for six p.m today.

"Apparently, your winter formal could as well pass off as your engagement party."

"Oh god," I groan, pinching my highlighted nose. "I told her not to bake anything."

He looks down at the imaginary watch on his wrist and clicks his tongue. "She should be calling you in 3, 2—"

"JOSEPHINE MARIGOLD PRYCE! I swear at this rate, you'll be late for your own wedding!"

A little sweat breaks out on my forehead. "How late am I?"

"Your boyfriend's been waiting downstairs for the past fifteen minutes."

Oh my god. I grab my phone to see if he's texted and indeed, he texted that he was here fifteen minutes ago. I just didn't see it.

"Crap, come help me with this," I request but he doesn't budge. "Please."

Drew reluctantly shuffles himself inside my room and untangles the mess I made at the back before crossing the straps across my back. "No need to worry about him though, Grandma's keeping him company. Besides, we were having the talk."