Page 3 of Finding Jack
Long hair.
I deleted the photo and stabbed Ranée’s speed dial number.
“Hey, Em.” Her voice was so innocent it was guilty.
“I already took it down but not before Paul texted me to ask me what was going on.”
“Took what down?”
“Stop. You only sound guiltier. I know you hacked my Facebook.”
“Hacking is a really strong word coming from someone who left her laptop open.”
“In my bedroom!”
“The door was open.”
“Just so we’re clear, I’m going to kill you.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Believe it. I have to go fix this.” I hung up and posted a quick “Roommate hacked my Facebook” status before I logged out so she couldn’t do it again. Then I sent Paul a quick text. “Sorry, Ranée thought she was being funny.”
He sent back a question mark. I tried again. “Ranée was pranking me with that picture. I don’t know who that guy is. Nothing to worry about.”
His reply was slow in coming, not pinging me until I was back in my car. “I don’t really get her.”
Yeah, no kidding. I heard that from both of them about each other at least once a week.
It took me a half hour to get home through traffic. When I opened the door to our apartment, Ranée jumped off the couch and ran for her room, but she wasn’t fast enough to keep me from getting my foot in her door.
“I left some Panda Express on the counter. We can talk after you eat.” She said it through the crack.
“Open up. You’re being ridiculous. Do you honestly think I’m going to hurt you?”
She flung the door wide. “Of course not, dummy. You’ll just lecture me to death, but it’ll be half as long if you do it on a full stomach.” Then she pushed me hard enough to get my foot out of the door and shut it again.
I scowled at it. “Junk food is why I had to go to the gym tonight, and you’re the reason I didn’t work off last night’s celebration. I lost my treadmill to Facebook drama.”
“That was your choice,” she called, unapologetic. “It’s orange chicken. And fried rice.”
I scowled for another second. But I really did love orange chicken. So I went into the kitchen. Ranée gave me five minutes before she came out.
“Have the happy food endorphins reached your brain?”
I finished my bite. “I think I won’t kill you.”
“Come on, it was funny.” She sat down on the other side of the table.
“Tell that to Paul.”
“Ha. I could diagram a knock-knock joke for him and he still wouldn’t get why it’s funny.”
“You just have very different senses of humor.”
“No. Ihavea sense of humor. He doesn’t.That’sthe difference.”
Normally this would be where I rolled my eyes at her, but I didn’t want to take them off my next piece of chicken. “You’re way too hard on him.”
