James
Shock
She wasn’t good enough for him. Her name was Stephanie, and she was by far the worst thing that ever happened to him. Whenever they walked into a room together, I gave them both the cold shoulder. Most people probably thought I was jealous of what they had, but IO was quite the opposite. Her hard-partying ways and obsessive fawning over James had me in an uproar. She would hurt him. I could see it.
“Hey, babe,” Stephanie purred to James as she sat down on the sofa.
“Remind me not to sit on that couch anymore,” I whispered to Greg, which made him roll his eyes and laugh. “Seriously! She must have about 12 kinds of herpes.” This got me laughing, and we continued swapping insults about Stephanie for close to an hour. The New Year’s Eve party was in full swing, but around eleven James and Stephanie had disappeared.
“Have you seen James?” I asked Greg as we danced to some techno beat. He shook his head, but led me off the dance floor so we could talk without having to scream over the music.
“I guess he went off somewhere with that ‘thing’ Stephanie,” he joked, but he could see the worry in my eyes. “Look, E, I’m sure he’s—” The simultaneous ring of our cell phones cut through the conversation, signaling we both had text messages.
They read: Come to Saint Joe’s quick. James hurt. Stephanie dead.
“Hey, babe,” Stephanie purred to James as she sat down on the sofa.
“Remind me not to sit on that couch anymore,” I whispered to Greg, which made him roll his eyes and laugh. “Seriously! She must have about 12 kinds of herpes.” This got me laughing, and we continued swapping insults about Stephanie for close to an hour. The New Year’s Eve party was in full swing, but around eleven James and Stephanie had disappeared.
“Have you seen James?” I asked Greg as we danced to some techno beat. He shook his head, but led me off the dance floor so we could talk without having to scream over the music.
“I guess he went off somewhere with that ‘thing’ Stephanie,” he joked, but he could see the worry in my eyes. “Look, E, I’m sure he’s—” The simultaneous ring of our cell phones cut through the conversation, signaling we both had text messages.
They read: Come to Saint Joe’s quick. James hurt. Stephanie dead.