The Mistake

A grand gesture? I’m a guy, damn it. I need direction. “Is Wellsy coming back here?” I ask Garrett.

He smirks at my pleading tone. “Even if she is, I’m not letting you pick her brain. You’re gonna have to fix this one all on your own.”

There’s a pause, and then…

“You stupid jackass,” my friends say in unison.





34




Grace


I’m still fuming as I walk into the media building several hours after storming out of Logan’s house. Normally I don’t stay angry for long, but this time I’m having trouble expelling the volatile energy coursing inside me. I can’t believe he actually thinks I’ll dump him once he’s in Munsen full-time. That I’ll throw him away like an old busted-up toy and find something shiny and new to play with.

Jerk.

When I burst into the station, I spot Morris in the producer’s booth, balancing the telephone handset on his shoulder as he jots something down on a notepad. I frown, noticing that Pace and Evelyn are already in their seats in the other booth. Pace snaps his earphones over the backward baseball cap on his head, while Evelyn bends over a sheet of paper in concentration.

Am I late? I glance at the clock on the far wall. Nope. I’m early, actually. So why is Morris in my booth?

I take a step forward, only to halt when Daisy wanders out of the back corridor. She pushes her bangs off her forehead—they’re neon-blue now—and grins sheepishly when she sees me.

“Hey,” I greet my roommate. “What are you doing here?” She doesn’t usually hang out at the station unless she’s supposed to host or produce, and I know for a fact she’s scheduled to do neither today.

“Hey.” For some reason, she looks almost…guilty. “I just popped in to drop off coffee for everyone.”

“Since when are you the station gofer?” I narrow my eyes. “Your shirt is inside out.” I pause. “And backwards.”

She glances at her tank top, wincing when she notices the tag sticking out from her collarbone. Then her eyes flit toward the producer’s booth.

I follow her gaze, gasping when I find Morris grinning at us. “Holy shit. You and Morris are hooking up?”

Daisy sighs. “Maybe.”

My anger at Logan is momentarily eclipsed by her news. Our schedules are so hectic that Daisy and I are hardly ever in our room at the same time, which works out great for when I want privacy, but it also means I miss out on girl talk and up-to-date gossip.

“Since when?” I squeal in excitement.

“A couple weeks now?” She shrugs. “I didn’t tell you because we’ve both been so busy. You’re cool with it, though, right?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You know, because you and Morris went out.”

I laugh. “Once. And my behaviour didn’t exactly warrant a second date. I think this is awesome. You totally just made my day—and trust me, my day has been shit, so it really needed to be made.”

“Oh no. What happened?”

My bad mood returns like an unwanted rash. “I got in a fight with Logan. And that’s all I’m saying on the subject, because if I talk about it right now, it’ll just piss me off again and then I’ll be too distracted to produce Dumb and Dumber’s show.”

We both glance at the main booth, where Evelyn is using the reflection on her water glass to check her makeup, dabbing delicately at her eye shadow. Pace is engrossed with his phone, his chair tipped back so far that I predict a very loud disaster in the near future.

“God, I love them,” Daisy says with a snicker. “I don’t think I’ve ever met two more self-absorbed people.”

Morris saunters out of the booth and wanders over to us. He notices Daisy’s shirt and says, “Sweetheart, we’re at work. Show some decorum.”

“Says the guy who ripped this shirt off me in the supply closet.” Rolling her eyes, she takes a step away. “I’m going to make myself presentable in the bathroom. I’d do it out here, but I’m scared Dumber might take a picture and post it on a porn site.”

“Wait, the names Dumb and Dumber actually correspond to each of them?” Morris says in surprise. “I thought it was more of a general thing. Which one is Dumber?”

The second the question leaves his mouth, a muffled crash reverberates from the booth, and we all turn to see Pace tangled up on the floor. Yup, the guy who spent an hour regaling me about his cow-tipping days back in Iowa? Tipped himself right over.

From behind the glass, Pace bounces to his feet, notices us staring, and mouths the words, “I’m okay!”

Morris sighs. “I withdraw the question.”

As Daisy leaves to fix her shirt, Morris casually follows me to the booth door. “First caller’s already on hold,” he tells me. “I screened her and wrote her info on the sheet.”

My forehead creases. “Did you open the lines before I got here?”