Little Mikey
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Ch 4: third preview
🕑 Added 2024-04-22 12:31:49 +0000 UTC(I'll probably tweak these passages a little bit, but here's roughly how the next part will go)
He felt Jen’s right hand detach from his shoulder as she reached for a marker nearby. Flicking the cap off, she leaned over him to write on the calendar just above his head. Her weight crushed down on him through her left hand. It was probably unintentional, too. Christ, she was heavy!
Jen felt her dad squirm under her palm, but it was trivial to ignore. “The Qualifier Round,” she uttered, whistling fondly under her breath. “Still feels like a dream.” It really did.
She moved the marker one line down and circled next Saturday once – then twice, and thrice. It literally couldn’t be emphasized enough. “The Champions Round,” she intoned, her voice dropping to a near- whispered reverence as goosebumps traversed her arms. “The biggest moment of our entire lives, just five days away.” She put an ‘X’ on last Saturday and Sunday, then slid her fingernail across the rest of the week and let it linger on the big day. THE big day. Her hand literally trembled with eagerness. “I mean, geezus, there’s over a million people who watch the show -- and they picked us. Us. Not just that, but we’re in the finals. Holy SHIT!”
Theo fought back a yelp as Jen’s fingers sank into the meat of his shoulder and hit bone. It fucking hurt! Was that an accident too? Or…
Jen couldn’t help herself. She spun him around to face her, almost giving him whiplash (Oops! He was so much lighter than expected). She wanted to strike while the coals were hot. “What’d’ya think: do we got any time to waste?” she belted energetically.
Theo gasped. Before he could massage his neck, or even backpedal, she clamped two hands on his shoulders – TWO! – and … oh dear god, please don’t squeeze!! “I-I …”
Her fingers drove into him like ten vice grips, her gaze boring down on him just as hard. Don’t shriek!!
“We took two days off to unwind. Awesome; we needed it. But I’m back now, with the biggest day of our lives around the corner. So tell me: How much time do we have to lose?”
Trapped, unable to flee, caught under the oppressive heat of her stare, he gave the obvious answer and did so with haste. “N-N-None. N-No time to waste.”
“Right!” Jen’s fingers pulsed. Her dad almost squealed! Thinking off the cuff, she let go of him and glided to the fridge to get something to write on. The back of a flyer: that’ll do. “C’mere,” she instructed. And before he seemed to know what was happening, she had him in front of her, facing the island counter, a pen pressed into his hand. CLAP! “You write, I’ll dictate,” she belted, so abruptly that his feet may’ve left the ground for a moment. She began to pace laps around the island with the sharp click-clack of heels. “ ’Team Wonder Jen,’” she recited, “’House Rules’.”
