Lucy-Furr

* Names have been changed

The night air is crisp and still. The sound of our footsteps pads softly on the cement. It is accompanied by another sound, one that only I can hear. A sound that muffles the voice of the young man walking beside me. It is a steady thrum, thrum, thrum of blood, rushing through my ears, accompanied by a flushed face that I pray is not visible in the moonlight. Oh, how I like him. That boyish grin and, oh, those eyes. Those vibrant blue eyes and intense gaze seem to pierce through my very being.
Is he as nervous as I am? Why am I so nervous? He’s told me how much he likes me. I clench my fists, damp with sweat, wishing my body would calm down.
We’ve been hanging out for a few weeks now, talking and flirting.
He knows I’ve never kissed anybody. He also knows how proud I am to be 17 and… a VL. Virgin Lips.
Why did I tell him I was proud of that? He says he respects that I don’t want to be kissed yet. I lied. I want our lips to meet. I want to reach out and grab his hand and pull him in close. If it weren’t for these sweaty palms I might almost find the courage now.
All too soon, and yet, not soon enough, we arrive at his doorstep. What had he been saying? I know I was nodding and agreeing, but I can’t remember a word. No matter. We hug each other, tightly, for a span of at least 2 straight minutes. I don’t want to let go, but it’s late and my parents are certainly waiting for me.
We part, and I make the 10 minute walk home, smiling all the way.

The screen door slams behind me as I enter my house.

“Summer?” I hear my mom’s questioning voice.
I answer in the affirmative
“*Dan just called, he wants you to call him back right away.”

I hurry up the stairs and to the phone. Dialing the numbers quickly, worriedly, I head to my bedroom, a private place to talk.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

“Hello?” a voice answers
“Hi, it’s me. What’s going on?” I say
“*Janna was here.”
I am silent
“My mom let her in. She said she needed to leave me something for school.”
“Go on.” I encourage
“She stole my stuffed monkey.”
“No,” I say, incredulous.
“She left a note.”
“Well?”
“It reads, Dan, ditch the fruitcake or the monkey dies. Love Lucy-Furr”
“Fruitcake?” I question
“She means you.”

To be continued on next weeks edition of Soap Opera Sunday.
Soap Opera Sunday is hosted by Brillig of Twas Brillig and Kate of Walking Kateastrophe. Please visit either of their blogs for other Soap Opera Sunday posts!