The Truth Chase

Chapter 4

"Remember to pick up the fruit salad from the counter," my friend Amy says as I get into my car.

"You've told me like a thousand times now," I reply exasperatedly "I'm sure, even if I had amnesia, I'd remember to bring the fruit salad to the barbecue because of the amount of times you've tired my ears with 'remember the fruit salad.'"

"Well, it's not my fault you forgot it last time, is it?"

"Oh come on! That was just one day out of the whole year where you had to go without your special mangoes." I say as I shut the car door.

"I don't say anything about your addiction to Netflix." She replies.

"It's not an addiction, it's a relationship." I say before rolling my car window up and sticking my tongue out at the laughing blonde 5"6 mango addict.

Amy and I clicked as soon as I started at the University. It took one mention of The Flash and we became best friends. One could say, we became friends as fast as Barry Allen can run.

Ever since we both started at the University, we joined the summer barbecue tradition where we were given the prestigious job of being the 'Fruit Salad Ninjas'. Well, Amy was given that job, considering I am as skilled a cook as a pineapple is skilled a murderer. And pineapples are not murderers. They are one of the best fruits on Earth so that means I'm a pretty bad cook. My delicacies consist of toast, cereal and cereal on toast so it's a good job I have Amy as a roommate to cook for me.

I've always been that weird person who hates summer. I may have an Olaf onesie but I sure don't love summer as much as him. It's not just the blistering heat but the fact that people actually have to socialise. I mean, in winter, I am encouraged to embrace my cocoon and hibernate with my favourite tv shows but in summer? In summer, I'm expected to go to barbecues like this one. And I'm expected to talk. A lot. Especially, when Ms Golding, the town chatterbox, approaches me.

"Maggie, dear," the blond 47 year old begins, "it's because I care for you that I have to warn you not to try Ellen's lasagne." She raises her eyebrows and gives a side eye to the table not far from us. "I don't have anything against that woman but I really wonder what she put in that thing," she leans in closer to me and continues "I've been leaving presents ever since I tried a slice... if you catch my drift..."

I smile uneasily at her. This is why socialising is bad. The only person's toilet troubles I want to think about are my own but now, instead of having my peaceful toilet time, I'll conjure up an image of Ms Golding 'leaving presents' everywhere.

Still, there is a plus side to her talking to me. Ms Golding is one of those people who initiates a conversation where you don't have to talk at all. And she can talk for hours so I'm free from anyone else bothering me.

Just as I find the silver lining in my chat with Ms Golding, a tall brown haired man approaches us. Not the white hair I was used to in the courtroom.

"Judge Stone, how nice it is to see you!" Ms Golding turns to face the man who judged the case that I was a jury member for a few weeks ago.

"Please, call me Bradley," Judge Stone smiles at us both before adding "I'm actually here for the famous fruit salad everyone keeps on telling me about."

I smile nervously as I pass him a plate. I don't think I'll ever see him as a middle aged man called Bradley who likes Amy's fruit salad. He'll always be the scary guy in a wig to me.