Page 117 of Ripped & Shipped
I put the phone down on a closet shelf and begin hunting for a different shirt. I’m walking back and forth in my walk-in closet, pulling shirts down, looking at them, and putting them back. I want to make the kind of impression on Chris that leaves him wondering why he hasn’t asked me out for real. And that means looking my very best.
“Ella Mae?”
Who is that? It sounds like Chris, but on a recording or something.
“Ella Mae? Hello? Are you there? Did you call me?”
I glance over at my phone screen.
It’s on a video chat!
Holy toadstools!
Faster than you can say, “corn cobs,” I drop down low and crouch at the bottom of my closet, leaving my phone on the shelf overhead. I think I scream “Agggggh!” on my way down, but everything happens so quickly, I can’t be sure.
“Um, yeah. That was a butt-dial,” I say, carefully staying out of view from the screen which is perched two feet above me.
I don’t think Chris hears that part because he asks, “Where are you?”
I answer him from my hunkered position, “On the floor of my closet.”
“What are you doing on the floor of your closet?” He sounds bewildered.
Trust me, no one is more caught off guard than me in this scenario.
“I’m picking my outfit! I’ll see you in a bit! Bye!”
“Ella Mae?”
“Hang up, please!”
“Are you okay?”
“Chris, please do what I say, and hang up this call. I’ll explain later.”
Silence.
“Chris? Did you hang up?”
“No.”
I’m lying on my belly now, as if getting lower than I already was would do a better job of keeping him from seeing me.
He can’t see me, I know that. But just to be sure, I’m apparently trying to become one with the carpet.
“Hang up!” I shout.
“Okay. I’ll see you in about forty-five minutes.”
“Okay.”
I wait a few moments. Then I say, “Chris?”
No one answers.
“Chris, if you’re still there, I’ll kill you.”
Nothing.
