Reality Check(4)

By: Niki Burnham






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To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: RE: RE: WACKED IS RIGHT!





Coolest Jules,

Sorry to leave you hanging last night. Dad came back from some dinner party just before midnight and he would've gotten all ticked off at me for still being on the computer—the rule is that I have to be off by eleven—so I had to sign off fast before he caught me.

Anyway, I am sorry for missing the day/night manager distinction. I am totally relieved. I was wondering how many cigarettes you've been sneaking out there at the Wendy's dumpster—which you should quit doing, you know—and if the nicotine was starting to affect your judgment (and yes, I did appreciate your earlier use of the correct spelling of judgment.)

But, that being said, the day versus night thing still does not make it right. He is eight years older than you. He is out of college and his ideal woman is probably closer to thirty than fifteen.

Unfortunately, I don't think there is much I can say to stop your obsession. Look how long I lusted after David Anderson before I discovered that he was wrong, wrong, wrong for me.

Just tell yourself that Kyle is a colossal waste of your time and energy, and that he doesn't deserve you or your sexy combat boots.

E-me when you get home from work and let me know how your shift went.

Val





P.S.—You know Nat would never really kick you or Christie in the head. She may have been brave enough to pierce her tongue (which still makes me squeamish), but she is not brave enough to mess with you.





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To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: World Peace





Val,

Jules and Christie both seemed better today. Thank you! What did you do? We sat together at lunch and all we talked about was what'd be on Mrs. Bennett's exam and about what movie Christie and Jeremy should see on Friday night.

No, don't tell me what you did. I don't want to know.

May you have a beautiful life with Prince Georg in your landlocked country, and access to a private jet so you can fly to Virginia and hang out with us whenever you want,

Nat





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To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Too Late





Val,

I read your e-mail too late. As in, after I got home from work today. As in, after I made a complete and total ass of myself.

I told Kyle in a very flirty way that I heard he has a thing for girls in combat boots. He laughed, so I thought everything was going well. Our usual behind-the-counter, before-the-dinner-rush conversation, you know? And then when we were alone in the walk-in fridge getting out supplies I said, "You know, I happen to have a pair of combat boots."

He got this look on his face like I'd just offered him crack or something equally vile and illegal. He walked out without saying another word and didn't talk to me the rest of the shift. I was working drive-thru and he was on the registers and in the back office, so it's not like there was a lot of opportunity for talking, but I got the feeling he was going to avoid me no matter what.

I definitely need to quit and go work at Subway. I hate to do that, but at least at Subway I won't come home smelling like the bottom of the deep fryer.

Humiliated,

Jules-I-probably-should-change-my-name-now-Jackson





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To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: RE: Too Late





Jules!

I am trying to calm down. I cannot believe you. What were you thinking?

Okay, okay. I know you weren't thinking. But you didn't say anything overly awful, it doesn't sound like. I mean, it's not like you professed your undying love for him or anything like that.

Next time you see him, make it clear that you were joking. You know you weren't, and I know you weren't, but Kyle won't be sure. So tell him that you overheard him telling whoever-it-was that he thinks combat boots are sexy and you wanted to yank his chain a little.

Don't go to Subway yet. Please.

Val





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To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: RE: RE: Too Late

Val,

You're only saying that I should stay at Wendy's to get free Biggie Fries and access to my Frosty machine whenever you're home, so don't you yank my chain. I know you and your grease addiction. I personally think it's worse than me sneaking the occasional cigarette.