The Dropout Detective - A Comedy Mystery

10. Second thoughts

Saturday 3rd Feb 2018

Upon arriving home I did what any sober and mature secret agent would do, which is to say I raced to my laptop and danced in excitement to find an email from a sender named Adam A. It had an e-ticket for the university gala dinner attached.

Can't say I was overly impressed with his code name. Then again, perhaps 'Adam' is a code name itself. It could even be an acronym! A Divinely Appealing Man? Hmmm.

Anyway, the delicious Mr A didn't write anything in the message body. Probably for security reasons, to prevent The Future from intercepting a message and so on. It definitely wasn't because he didn't have anything to say to me. I mean, when you think about it, he spent a long time sitting on a bench in the freezing cold when he technically didn't have to. I mean, he did have to, because it was his job to try and recruit me, but I mean it didn't have to be outside.

Sooooo that means he likes me, right?

Right, Sophie.

Thanks, Dear Diary. I knew I could count on you to follow me through convoluted leaps of improbable logic.

I spent most of yesterday writing up my epic conversation with Adam and then inspecting my wardrobe for potential gala dinner outfits. The way I've written that last part makes it sound like I devoted hours to the task of rooting through hundreds of garments and deciding among umpteen possibilities. In actual fact it was more like this:

Sophie's wardrobe inventory:

1x neon blue slut dress (bought for visit to Blue Zone nightclub),

1x frilly beige Laura Ashley summer dress. (Present from former foster mother. Unworn).

Layla came sidling into my room as I was gazing with great concentration into my open wardrobe. After a few seconds of watching me she asked whether the clothes would multiply if I stared at them hard enough.

"The testing phase is still underway," I replied. "What's up?"

"I'm bored and was hoping you might have another excursion planned."

"You mean you're hoping for another opportunity to stun everyone with your Elf Queen impression."

"It wasn't like that!" she protested.

I rolled my eyes. "You knew exactly what you were doing, Elf Girl."

She slapped me on the arm. Ouch!

Note to self: Do not underestimate strength of elves

"Alright, fine," I admitted. "I have a ticket for a gala dinner thing later, but that's only if I can manage to cobble together a formal outfit out of these things." I gestured towards the inadequacy of dresses in my meagre excuse for a wardrobe.

Layla shook her head. "You'll never do it. Borrow something from me." Grabbing my hand, she dragged me into her room and began hunting through her own overflowing closet.

It was the first time I'd set foot in Layla's room. I wasn't surprised to find that it was a lot bigger than mine. Or that the walls were decorated with photo collages. I was mildly surprised to see that the bedsheets were black. Not what I would have expected. Maybe that was Dylan's influence. A guitar stood in one corner and there was a bookcase that held photography equipment instead of books.

I didn't expect Layla to have any clothing that would fit me, given how she's half the circumference of a normal person, but I was pleased to be proven wrong when she unearthed a floaty black dress that was loose enough to forgive the fact that I'm not fairy-shaped.