s h e

chapter nine

The email sits in your inbox unopened. The interviews had finished two weeks ago. One click will tell you whether or not the dream you've had since middle school has come true.

It's not like you don't want to know your fate. It's just that you're not exactly prepared for the consequences that knowledge will bring.

It's four days until St. Patrick's Day when Winnie sits down with a box of tissues under her arm and your laptop in her hands. There's a blanket on the couch and ice cream in the freezer, and you're ready.

Click.

The email opens.

_______________________________

"Winnie, let's get a move on!"

The blonde huffs in frustration, opening her door to reveal a lacy navy dress that hugs her hips. Her ears sparkle with faux diamonds, and she fiddles with a diamond heart that hangs around her neck.

"Melly, does this look okay?"

"Winnie," you put a comforting hand on the girl's shoulder, "you look good in everything. Now, come on. If I'm late, I'll get fired before my first day!"

Your cherry red dress swishes around as you lock up the apartment, and Winnie puts a beautiful gold chain around your neck 'for good luck'.

"It's from my parents. I figured one of us should get some use out of it." She shrugs, her eyes misty. You decide to pursue it later.

"Be good, Lambeau!" You shout into the barren flat. Lambeau doesn't even raise his head, too tired from the hour and a half long run Winnie had dragged him on. The Lovely Leviathans are at it again, causing the sweet little blonde to stress over nothing at all.

"Ready to go and face the start of all your dreams coming true?" Winnie smiles from the driver's seat.

You nod, grinning, and the two of you drive off into the night.

____________________________

"So, what's a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?" A guy says, swinging an arm around your shoulder. His outfit- a pink polo, khakis, and polished loafers- screams privileged. His hair is stiff from too much product. You gingerly remove his arm from your shoulder.

"Making connections for work. I start Monday."

"Ah, so you're the new reporter? Melanie Robbins, right? I'm your coworker, Dean Terrence." He simpers.

"I'm dating someone." You blurt out, immediately biting your lip. Melanie, why must you make your coworkers hate you?

"I don't see a protective boyfriend anywhere." His smirk never leaves his face.

Ah, and out come your ever so familiar narrowed eyes. "Protective girlfriend, actually, and she's got plans tonight. She works at the local high school, she's the art teacher, and tonight's a PTA meeting."

"Oh, so we're playing that card. You really must not like me to use the gay card, huh? I mean, usually a girl uses that a little later into a conversation."

"It's not a card," you hiss menacingly, "and I'm not gay, I'm bisexual."

"Whoop dee do, big difference." He pretends to yawn.

"There's a huge difference," You snap, completely done with this asshole, "but in neither circumstance is there a chance in hell that I would ever even consider sleeping with a lousy, no good, sorry excuse for a-"

"Melly?"

Ah, there's that timid voice again. Winnie fucking Seaford, the goddamn queen of bad timing. She always makes you melt at the most inopportune of times. And you were really going to enjoy ripping into this guy, too.