Into My Own

Thirteen

Monday morning rolled around, once again too early for my liking.

I put on some music and worked on getting dressed. It was gonna be a hot one.

Mom was just putting breakfast on the table when I clattered down the stairs.

"Morning mom." I grinned, sitting down.

I was surprised when she actually sent me a small smile. 

She sat down across from me as I was taking my third bit of a bagel. "How was camping?" 

I glanced up, surprised that she made any effort to ask. "It was great!"

She nodded and turned her attention to yesterday's newspaper, officially ending the conversation.

I scarfed down the rest of my breakfast and headed out to my pickup.

I hadn't bothered to check my phone yet that morning so I was very surprised when almost twenty messages showed on the screen.

The low battery symbol was flashing obnoxiously. As soon as I went to open to texts, the device powered itself down.

I threw it in the passenger seat in disgust, not even bothering to plug it in. The texts could wait.

For once, I got to work before Oakley and set up shop.

She breezed through the door with all of her normal grace and confidence.

"Mornin," I called out from behind the register.

"Hey there!" She yelled cheerfully. "Sorry I'm a little late! Got behind a tractor!"

"Good excuse," I teased.

"Hey now!" She exclaimed, tossing a pair of gloves in the direction of my head.

"Truce! I was kidding!" I giggled, dodging a pair of wool socks.

"I win," she grinned and began replacing the socks and gloves I tossed back to her.

"Sure you do. Anyway, how was your night?"

"It was okay. Mom was kind of pissed off, but that's normal."

"I feel you. Aren't dads supposed to be more strict?" I asked aloud.

"You would sure think so!"

She spent a fair portion of the morning complaining about her mother while we had breaks in between customers. I did nothing but listen and make occasional grunting noises in response.

The day seemed to stretch out endlessly since we weren't all that busy. The boss man came in at one point just to see how we were getting along.

"I think we should be pretty caught up on everything. We've stocked all the shelves, ordered the feed we need, checked on deliveries, etc..." I rattled off a list of tasks.

"Looks like you two are a good team," Alan commented, looking around the store.

"Thanks," we grinned.

I climbed in my rig at the end of the day, shooting my dead phone a dirty look.

Seeing as I had enough stuff in there to live for a week, finding a charger was a challenge.

I was greeted by a barrage of messages the second it powered back on.

Hey sexy

Hey

Coda

Hey cutie

Coda

Answer your phone

Why aren't you answering

Don't be a bitch

C'mon Coda

It's always the sexy one that are bitches

Why the hell aren't you answering

They went on and on, all from an unknown number. I wracked my brain, trying to remember if I'd recently given my contact information out to anyone. There was nobody I could remember, making the messages that much creepier.

With no desire to find out who was stalking my, I ignored everything, only to find out the hard way that I couldn't block texts or calls with my low end phone.

They continued to pour in.

I received 20+ texts per day from the same number the next day. Thankfully, I had been smart enough to leave my phone out in my pickup.

On Wednesday, I shut off my phone, determined to ignore whoever it was until they gave up.

"Coda, are you okay?" Oakley questioned after she caught me spacing out for the fifth time.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just been really busy so I'm tired."

She dropped the issue for the time being. "By the way, I texted you last night. Did you not get it?"

That was the question I had been dreading. With all the messages coming in from the creep, the ones from my friends were hard to find. I hadn't bothered to reply back to anybody in three days.

"My phone is being really retarded lately. If you wanna get ahold of me, just shoot me a Facebook message. I still have my old iPod." I shrugged, hoping I sounded convincing enough to be left alone.

"Okay," she nodded. "By the way, are you going to Spring Show this weekend?"

"That's this weekend?" I yelled in alarm.

"Yeah, it's always at the end of June." Oakley looked at me strangely as if I'd just grown a third eye.

"I didn't realize it was already that late," I muttered.

"Time flies when you're having fun!" She chirped, going back to the feed magazine she was reading.

Spring show was the practice livestock show that our county put on every year. It gave us an opportunity to work our animals in an actual show setting without as much stress as fair.

"Are you going?" I questioned, unable to remember if she showed an animal or not.

"Yeah, it's the weigh-in for the sheep."

"Oh, I forgot about that. We weigh our steers in March."

"The feeding time for a sheep is a lot less. That's why I take them; they're easy," she chuckled. "Plus you make pretty good money depending on the year."

I smirked. "Bet you can't clear two grand on a sheep though."

Oakley's eyes widened. "Clear? As in profit?"

"Yup. Steers are a lot of work but they're definitely worth it."

She let out a low whistle. "Damn. Looks like I might be taking a steer next year."

"You should!" I grinned. "And cattle have personalities. Sheep don't. They're just stupid."

"But they are kinda cute..." She protested.

"Not cute enough to put up with," I laughed.