Page 100 of Own the Eights Maybe Baby
Jordan moved from side to side.
“I don’t see anything. We’re in the clear. But…”
“But what? Did you see a spider?” she whisper-shouted.
“But…you have a ridiculous phobia,” he said, and she could hear the cocky grin in his voice.
“It’s not silly,” she hissed when someone in the room hushed her.
The nerve!
“There’s nothing on the ground but hay,” he said gently.
She nodded, then worked to slow her breathing.
Only hay. No spiders.
This would be her mantra.
She closed her eyes, listening as the baby goats padded around as the yogi instructed the participants to picture a serene place.
That was easier said than done.
All she could conjure up were rows of people seated in a darkened ballroom as bright lights cast her in an unearthly glow. She stood there, shoulder to shoulder, with the other teen pageant contestants, smiling into the void like animated Barbie dolls until the tiny beast descended from its hair-thin silk rope.
A spider, going about its spider life, crashed the Miss Drumstick Pageant.
She hadn’t wanted to compete in a Thanksgiving-themed pageant, but her mother had signed her up, nevertheless. And there she was, smiling so hard she thought her lips would snap while a spider hung, suspended a breath away from her nose.
Legs wiggling, she’d hope the pageant-crasher would continue its creepy descent without touching her. And it might have. But at the very moment the spider stilled, the contestant next to her flipped her hair, sending a whoosh of air strong enough to carry Mr. Spider right onto her cheek.
If ever she could sympathize with Miss Muffet, it was that moment.
And that’s when it happened. At this exact moment, in this very barn, she sensed a bevy of tiny arachnid eyeballs staring at her.
“Georgie, are you okay? Your heart rate is through the roof,” Stu said from somewhere in the barn.
Slowly, she opened her eyes and…
There it was.
Suspended in the air and lit by a shard of light, a spider descended from above.
And he was headed straight for Faby!
Oh, hell no!
She lunged forward, slicing at the eight-legged micro-monster with the envelope. Back and forth, she wielded the rectangular paper like a pregnant Lancelot brandishing a sword, intent on fending off an evil attacker—or multi-legged bug.
But her actions were in vain. She sliced through the thread of silk, and the spider landed right on Faby’s leg. She shot to her feet, dropping the envelope and swinging the fake baby like a tiny sack of potatoes.
“You will not touch my Faby!” she called as the spider seemed to hang on for dear life.
“Georgie!” Jordan cried, but she had to get that damned creature off of her fake baby.
She dragged Faby’s legs across the floor, praying the friction would knock the wicked arachnid off. After making a few circles in the hay, she lifted the doll, checked its fake baby body, then blew out a relieved breath. The spider was nowhere to be found, but Faby was covered in slivers of golden hay.
She gently dusted off the doll, then glanced around the barn. Shock and dismay graced every expression as the cameras recorded what must have looked like an insane outburst from an unstable pregnant woman. Even her trusty trifecta was left speechless.
