Oh, me! Oh my, Ella!
Oh, me! Oh my, Ella! - part twenty one.
“Hey is Elle there?” A male’s voice questioned over the phone. Zach was sitting on the couch, flipping through various channels while talk to one of my new “interested men” on speaker phone.
“No, I’m sorry. This is her boyfriend who just got out of jail by framing someone else for the murder I commited.”
The line on the other end went dead.
“Huh. Eleventh one to hang up. I’m so good to you.” Zach said, setting the phone down on the coffee table.
It had been like this all day. I failed to notice that Alex had also handed out my contact information to the whole student body.
I got phone calls from guys asking for a hook-up.
Phone calls from girls, calling me a [censored]. (I handled those.)
Phone calls from christians telling me to repent.
Phone calls from a thirty year-old pedofile who had a foot fetish, and was asking for pictures of my feet.
Even a phone call from a teacher who was interested, but wouldn’t tell me the name. (Though, I know it was Mr.Berkley because his usual stuttering habit was evident. Statistics will never be the same.)
I shook my head and fell back on the couch, propping my feet up on the coffee table.
“I don’t know what to do to get him back, Zach...” I sighed, and just as Zach was beginning to say something, the phone rang.
I picked it up, quickly and banged on the talk button.
“I am not a [censored]. I will not give you sex. I already believe in god, I just dislike church functions, I feel like they are extremely over-rated and somewhat cult-like, in some instances, and I like my kool-aid without rat poison, thank you. I hate my feet, they are long and...I don’t know. I just don’t like to take individual photos of them that are intended to get you off. No, I will not take more photos. That photo wasn’t me in the first place. And I will not join your underground strip club.” I screamed into the phone.
“I know Alex did this.” A muffled voice said into the phone.
I looked back at Zach, curiously, and then hit the speaker phone button.
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“Alex Griendling is an egotistical jackas.s and he passed that false picture of you around the school today as a prank, because he is upset that he can’t have you. I hate him. And I want you to help me get our revenge. Are you in?”
Zach got up from the couch. “I’m in, if you are.” Zach said, smiling.
I stood there with my mouth, hanging slightly open.
“Um, I guess we’re all three in.” I said into the phone. “Who is this?”
“Claire Flourence.” A girl replied, laughing. “And great. I’ll meet you tomorrow in front of the Student Curris Center on campus, at 3 P.M.”
With that said, she hung up the phone, leaving Zach and I staring in disbelief.
“Yearbooks.” Zach said, breaking the silence and then running to his room.
He came back in, moments later with two yearbooks from Murray State University. We both sat on the couch, he handed me a yearbook, while looking through another.
I looked through every class with last name’s starting with F. There were no Flourence’s in freshman, sophmore, or junior classes.
Then, my eyes stopped at a senior girl with short brown hair and big glasses.
“Oh my gosh.” I said, hitting Zach on the shoulder and pointing to the yearbook. “I remember her. She’s that girl from last year that they filmed getting drunk at that one Frat party, and the video lost her the scholarship she was awarded. Is Alex in a fraternity?” I asked.
Zach flipped through the back of last year’s yearbook quickly.
“Yeah. Looks like he’s one of the presidents.”
“That explains it, I guess.” I said, smiling. “I guess we’ll just have to wait till tommorow to straighten this out.”
Zach laughed at me. “Well, aren’t we just the greatest detective team.”
I smiled, as he laid the yearbooks on the floor and then leaned over to kiss me.
“Hey, where’s Robin?” I asked, as he pulled away from my lips.
“She’s been sick all day, it’s pretty gross.” Zach said, gagging fakily. Sometimes, he reminded me of an eight year-old.
I jabbed him in the ribs.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know vomit was supposed to be pretty.” I laughed.
“Yours is.” Zach replied, batting his eye lashes.
“Oh, please. Your going to make me get sick by just hearing your corny compliments.” I said walking away from the couch, towards Robin’s room.
“Hey Robin?” I called out, knocking on her door, gently.
It was weird to not see Robin all day. Robin doesn’t get sick, she’s invicible, I swear. She would point and laugh at me when I got a cold, when we were younger.
“Yeah?” She mumbled out, sounding as if she had a stuffy nose.
“Are you okay? You don’t get sick. Are you dying? Do I need to call the parametics?” I questioned, but got no reply.
“Because...you know I will if I have to. Do you want a cookie? I could make cookies...”
But before I could finish rambling, Robin opened the door.
She stood there, still in her pokemon pajamas from last night, and a kleenex in-hand.
“Wow, you really are sick aren’t you?” I clarified.
She shook her head. “No...I’m upset.” She said.
I walked into her room and sat down on her zebra-striped conforter. “About what?” I asked, as she walked over to her bathroom, and rumbled through various drawers.
She came back out, with her hair slightly even more disheveled, holding a plastic object in her hands.
“A preganancy test?”
“No, I’m sorry. This is her boyfriend who just got out of jail by framing someone else for the murder I commited.”
The line on the other end went dead.
“Huh. Eleventh one to hang up. I’m so good to you.” Zach said, setting the phone down on the coffee table.
It had been like this all day. I failed to notice that Alex had also handed out my contact information to the whole student body.
I got phone calls from guys asking for a hook-up.
Phone calls from girls, calling me a [censored]. (I handled those.)
Phone calls from christians telling me to repent.
Phone calls from a thirty year-old pedofile who had a foot fetish, and was asking for pictures of my feet.
Even a phone call from a teacher who was interested, but wouldn’t tell me the name. (Though, I know it was Mr.Berkley because his usual stuttering habit was evident. Statistics will never be the same.)
I shook my head and fell back on the couch, propping my feet up on the coffee table.
“I don’t know what to do to get him back, Zach...” I sighed, and just as Zach was beginning to say something, the phone rang.
I picked it up, quickly and banged on the talk button.
“I am not a [censored]. I will not give you sex. I already believe in god, I just dislike church functions, I feel like they are extremely over-rated and somewhat cult-like, in some instances, and I like my kool-aid without rat poison, thank you. I hate my feet, they are long and...I don’t know. I just don’t like to take individual photos of them that are intended to get you off. No, I will not take more photos. That photo wasn’t me in the first place. And I will not join your underground strip club.” I screamed into the phone.
“I know Alex did this.” A muffled voice said into the phone.
I looked back at Zach, curiously, and then hit the speaker phone button.
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“Alex Griendling is an egotistical jackas.s and he passed that false picture of you around the school today as a prank, because he is upset that he can’t have you. I hate him. And I want you to help me get our revenge. Are you in?”
Zach got up from the couch. “I’m in, if you are.” Zach said, smiling.
I stood there with my mouth, hanging slightly open.
“Um, I guess we’re all three in.” I said into the phone. “Who is this?”
“Claire Flourence.” A girl replied, laughing. “And great. I’ll meet you tomorrow in front of the Student Curris Center on campus, at 3 P.M.”
With that said, she hung up the phone, leaving Zach and I staring in disbelief.
“Yearbooks.” Zach said, breaking the silence and then running to his room.
He came back in, moments later with two yearbooks from Murray State University. We both sat on the couch, he handed me a yearbook, while looking through another.
I looked through every class with last name’s starting with F. There were no Flourence’s in freshman, sophmore, or junior classes.
Then, my eyes stopped at a senior girl with short brown hair and big glasses.
“Oh my gosh.” I said, hitting Zach on the shoulder and pointing to the yearbook. “I remember her. She’s that girl from last year that they filmed getting drunk at that one Frat party, and the video lost her the scholarship she was awarded. Is Alex in a fraternity?” I asked.
Zach flipped through the back of last year’s yearbook quickly.
“Yeah. Looks like he’s one of the presidents.”
“That explains it, I guess.” I said, smiling. “I guess we’ll just have to wait till tommorow to straighten this out.”
Zach laughed at me. “Well, aren’t we just the greatest detective team.”
I smiled, as he laid the yearbooks on the floor and then leaned over to kiss me.
“Hey, where’s Robin?” I asked, as he pulled away from my lips.
“She’s been sick all day, it’s pretty gross.” Zach said, gagging fakily. Sometimes, he reminded me of an eight year-old.
I jabbed him in the ribs.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know vomit was supposed to be pretty.” I laughed.
“Yours is.” Zach replied, batting his eye lashes.
“Oh, please. Your going to make me get sick by just hearing your corny compliments.” I said walking away from the couch, towards Robin’s room.
“Hey Robin?” I called out, knocking on her door, gently.
It was weird to not see Robin all day. Robin doesn’t get sick, she’s invicible, I swear. She would point and laugh at me when I got a cold, when we were younger.
“Yeah?” She mumbled out, sounding as if she had a stuffy nose.
“Are you okay? You don’t get sick. Are you dying? Do I need to call the parametics?” I questioned, but got no reply.
“Because...you know I will if I have to. Do you want a cookie? I could make cookies...”
But before I could finish rambling, Robin opened the door.
She stood there, still in her pokemon pajamas from last night, and a kleenex in-hand.
“Wow, you really are sick aren’t you?” I clarified.
She shook her head. “No...I’m upset.” She said.
I walked into her room and sat down on her zebra-striped conforter. “About what?” I asked, as she walked over to her bathroom, and rumbled through various drawers.
She came back out, with her hair slightly even more disheveled, holding a plastic object in her hands.
“A preganancy test?”