Year of the Chick (book 1 in the "Year of the Chick" series)

Chapter Twenty-Two

I took a long sip of my tea, as a blanket of snowflakes fell down fast, obscuring my view of the street.

Sitting and staring out the window seemed like the best thing to do. There was always work of course, but me and work and Mondays rarely ever mixed.

I heard a muffled buzz as my phone began to vibrate from deep inside my bag.

A text message this early in the morning?

I pulled it out to read the message: “Eyes open, sailor! Because I KNOW I just caught you sleeping at your desk ;-)”

I smiled at Arjun’s latest text, and dropped the phone back into my bag, knowing I had to wait before replying.

Don’t want to look too eager.

Arjun had started texting me a week and a half ago. Most normal people would’ve probably talked on the phone by now, but there was still ten days until our very first “date,” and I didn’t want to go too fast. He did seem sarcastic and funny though, just like Eleanor had said. I wondered what it would be like to spend some actual time with him. Things would probably start out well, since my plum-coloured dress would totally rock his world. A steep three hundred dollars, my low-cut dress was a form-fitting masterpiece (and the material was thick enough to hide any lingering imperfections).

Aside from the outward confidence of having a sexy dress, I wondered how my insides would feel when I saw him. Would I get so excited that I’d feel the sudden urge to puke in his face?

I needed a guy who could make me feel like puking thick streams, ‘cause that’s when I knew it was real. Please make me hurl, Arjun.

I suddenly wondered if Arjun had a profile on Facebook. If he did he’d add me soon, but in the meantime I could check if his photo albums were public. Hopefully his hottest pictures would light the “Romi fire.”

I logged onto Facebook and scrolled through the newsfeed first, as I could never help but check people’s updates.

I moved down the page pretty quickly, until I reached a certain name that would always catch my eye.

James Caldwell.

And the update: “James Caldwell is…soon off to LA to talk films.”

I gasped.

He’d sold his script to Hollywood! Or perhaps I was reading too deeply.

I read the update again, and quickly realized that sold script or not, it would be rude to ignore the development.

But wouldn’t it be dangerous to open up that door?

Maybe I could send him my kudos in a one-line public message. But that was so impersonal! I wanted to at least be sincere.

What if it was me? What if I had a book deal? Would he congratulate me? Of course he would!

I opened up my e-mail and took a deep breath.

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Hey James,

I hope that Hollywood is ready for your greatness!

Will keep an eye out for your name on the silver screen.

Romi

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If this had happened back in that other dimension of “Internet addictive mental stimulation,” I’m sure my e-mail would’ve gone on longer, but for now I wanted to play it cool. Not to mention that it was the first time I hadn’t sounded like a self-absorbed or giddy and obsessive fool. Maybe I was growing up.