1,991 words - teen fiction
She was sitting on my front lawn when I got home, leaned back on her arms, face tipped up toward the sun.
"Hello?" I said. I pushed my sweaty hair out of my eyes and hitched my back pack higher, feeling how damp the shirt underneath was with sweat. "Can I help you?" I'd never seen her before, so I figured she was waiting around for one of my roommates. Jack especially always had girls hanging around.
She let her chin fall and gave a slow blink. When her eyes took me in, a huge grin split her lips. "Derek!" She jumped to her feet, messenger bag hitting her thigh, and held out her hand. "I'm Emilia, your girlfriend."
I had already taken her hand by the time the words hit my brain, and the handshake slowed, then stopped all together.
"Wait." I pulled my hand back. "Who's girlfriend did you say you were?"
She beamed. "Yours, of course."
"Uh." I looked around the yard, expecting to see Jack or Scott hiding in the bushes, laughing. "I don't-"
She held up her hand. "Wait. I know you're thinking this is weird because we've never met before, but I didn't have time to come up with anything else. I was going to wait around and pretend to bump into you or ask for directions or something, but what if you were in a hurry and didn't notice me properly? And besides, I wanted to start off the relationship with the truth. Lies never make a good foundation, right?"
She didn't want to lie, so she was pretending she was girlfriend?
"Look," I said. "I'm sorry. I'm not following this. Did one of my roommates put you up to this?" They could have hidden a camera in the bushes, or on her even.
She laughed, high and delighted. "No, of course not!"
"Uh-huh." I didn't believe her. I looked at my front door and back at this girl. "Well, like you said, I actually am in a bit of a hurry. Got a lot to do today. It was nice meeting you, Emily."
"Emilia." She didn't move. She didn't even stop smiling, like she was waiting for my amnesia to pass and for me to remember that I had a blonde girlfriend. It wasn't that she was bad looking or anything. Her smile especially was something from a commercial or billboard. Under normal circumstances, I would have been flattered by the attention. This was not normal.
"I know you must be confused right now," she said. She rummaged through the messenger bag and pulled out a bent-up pamphlet. "Here. This will explain some of it. I know it's weird, and I'm sorry. But I thought this would be the best way, just upfront and honest."
I eyed the pamphlet, then sighed and took it from her outstretched hand.
The Agency
Everyone Has a Match Somewhere
"The Agency?" I asked.
She nodded eagerly. "You needed a girlfriend, so they sent me."
I unfolded the pamphlet, but there were lots of blocks of text, next to pictures of happy couples, and my brain was feeling as tired as the rest of me. I looked at my front door again.
"Do you want to come inside?" I asked, and anticipated the smile that came. It wasn't because I wanted her to come inside. But it was hot, oppressively so, and I was starving. This Emily girl clearly wasn't going anywhere, and I had to get cooled off and fed before my brain did any more processing.
The air conditioner was instant relief. Over peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, she talked. I didn't say anything because there is only so much crazy a man can take in one conversation. I sort of listened and mostly thought of how to get rid of her.
"How did you think everyone found true love?" she asked, licking a spot of jam off her finger.
I swigged my water bottle in response.
"The Agency takes care of it. All of it. Well, we try to at least. Sometimes people get married to the wrong person. The Agency tries to prevent that from happening as much as possible, since they know the couple has less than a thirty percent chance of sticking together. But people are so stubborn. And, of course, we're all sworn to secrecy. So it's not like we can walk up to the couple and tell them they're leaving their real true loves all alone. Plenty of failed marriages were just because the wrong people married each other."
"Okay, okay, okay," I said, pulling out another set of bread slices. "So, what? You're saying this is like some hidden distopian agency that matches up couples? How do they know who everyone is supposed to be with? And if they're so secret, how to they get the couples to pair up?" Her story wasn't adding up, and I was willing to call her on it if it meant she'd leave sooner.
"Oh, lots of ways," she said, not at all put off by my questions. "The Agency has connections around the globe, so they can make just about anything happen. Offer someone a job in a new state where their match lives. Send someone a free coupon to a new store where their true love works. Host a party targeted to a specific couple. Rig a drawing so that two people meant to be together both win the all-expense-paid cruise to the Bahamas. It can be as simple as shorting someone's electricity so they have to contact the electric company while their significant other is on call. But it's all about timing. If people meet too soon, they might get together, but they are ready to commit or they haven't worked out their flaws, so the relationship falls apart. If the Agency waits too long, one of them might have chosen to settle down with someone else, which can be disastrous. With you-" She pointed the jelly knife at me. "The paperwork got mixed up. Almost never happens. We were supposed to meet five months ago." She stuck the knife in the mouth and licked off all the jelly.
"Right," I said. "Yeah, I thought something should have happened five months ago."
She gave me a head-tilt consideration, catching the sarcasm easier than I thought she would.
"Only people who work for the Agency know about it," she said. "So I can see how this would be difficult to accept. But, hey, even us employees have a match somewhere out there. I always wondered who my soul mate would be." She smiled a little and didn't drop her eyes like a normal person after a statement like that.
I leaned back in my chair, sufficiently creeped out. If my roommates were recording this somehow, I was sure they would be laughing right about now.
"Look," I said. "Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not interested in having a relationship right now." With you, I added in my head. "I'm just focusing on school and work."
She laughed, like I'd told a clever joke. "And that's why you've asked out a different girl every weekend for the past seven months?"
"Okay," I said. "This is getting old. My roommates have to have set you up for you to know that. Did they offer to pay you? Because I can compensate you instead. I just really don't have time for this."
"Do your roommates know you like dogs and wish you could get one?"
"I don't know. I probably mentioned it to Jack at some point."
"Do they know you donated a couple hundred dollars to the local humane society to make sure a couple dogs there didn't get euthanized? Do they know that you volunteered every summer at the local pet store growing up, so you could play with the puppies there? And that your mom never let you have a dog? Do they know you've checked out almost every book on dog breeds from the library? Do they know that you've read Where the Red Fern Grows at least a dozen times on your kindle app?" She cocked her head. "I've been wondering. Do you cry every time you read it?"
"Okay," I said, standing up. "That is called stalking." I felt like I was standing naked in front of her. "Geeze! Did you hire a PI or something? This could not get any creepier."
"I'm sorry!" She stood too, and for the first time, her blunt vibrance was held back. She bit her lip. "I'm sorry. That was stupid. I didn't mean to sound creepy."
"Well, good job. Next time you stalk someone, I recommend waiting until the second date to bring it up."
She dropped her gaze. "I'm telling the truth." Her voice was quiet. "The Agency has stuff like this on everyone. Even me. There aren't hidden cameras or anything, but all the online stuff, electronic stuff, anything there's a record of, background checks, phone usage info, stuff like that, they can access it all. I wasn't supposed to get your file, since I'm your match, but, like I said, the paperwork got mixed up. I had to learn everything about you and run all the info through the system to pair you up. But then the paperwork came through and you'd already been matched five months ago. With me." She glanced at me then back at the floor. "I'm sorry."
I took a deep breath. It was hard to stay creeped out with her looking like that. And, I had to admit, there was no way my roommates hired her. They didn't have the cash for a private investigator. And this was going way beyond a prank. If this was all an act, she was a great actress. If it wasn't, she was completely insane. Those were the only two options. No way was she telling the truth.
"If you want me to leave, I will," she said. "But you'd be giving up both of our best chances at happiness."
Ominous? Just a little.
She looked up at me and met my gaze. "Do you have a date this weekend?" she asked.
I let out a snort of laughter. "Why don't you tell me, miss stalker?"
She frowned and dropped her gaze again. "Can we just go on one date?" she asked. "Just one. And if you still are creeped out and think I'm lying, then I'll leave. I promise. If you still want me gone after one date, I'll go. And I promise I'll never come back."
"No," I said, before I could think about it too much. Because going on a date with a creepy girl was never a good idea. Because what if she lured me out into the woods and murdered me? What if she was escaped from a mental hospital? What if she was a hired assassin sent to take out everyone who liked dogs?
What if she was telling the truth?
"No," I said again, louder. "I'm not going on a date with you. You need to leave. Now."
Her breath hitched, like she was about to cry, and she swallowed hard. "I'm sorry," she said again. "I am so so sorry. I didn't mean to ruin everything like this. I just wanted to tell you the truth. I wanted you to be happy." She clutched at the strap of her messenger bag. "Derek?"
I frowned at her.
"I hope you find someone who can make you happy." She gave a tiny laugh, more like a sob almost. "Without creeping you out first." She walked to the door, opened it, and looked back at me, giving me a sad smile.
And in that smile, I could see, plain as the heat barged through the open door, that she believed she was telling me the truth.
"Good bye, Derek," she said. And walked out the door.
"Wait."
She was sitting on my front lawn when I got home, leaned back on her arms, face tipped up toward the sun.
"Hello?" I said. I pushed my sweaty hair out of my eyes and hitched my back pack higher, feeling how damp the shirt underneath was with sweat. "Can I help you?" I'd never seen her before, so I figured she was waiting around for one of my roommates. Jack especially always had girls hanging around.
She let her chin fall and gave a slow blink. When her eyes took me in, a huge grin split her lips. "Derek!" She jumped to her feet, messenger bag hitting her thigh, and held out her hand. "I'm Emilia, your girlfriend."
I had already taken her hand by the time the words hit my brain, and the handshake slowed, then stopped all together.
"Wait." I pulled my hand back. "Who's girlfriend did you say you were?"
She beamed. "Yours, of course."
"Uh." I looked around the yard, expecting to see Jack or Scott hiding in the bushes, laughing. "I don't-"
She held up her hand. "Wait. I know you're thinking this is weird because we've never met before, but I didn't have time to come up with anything else. I was going to wait around and pretend to bump into you or ask for directions or something, but what if you were in a hurry and didn't notice me properly? And besides, I wanted to start off the relationship with the truth. Lies never make a good foundation, right?"
She didn't want to lie, so she was pretending she was girlfriend?
"Look," I said. "I'm sorry. I'm not following this. Did one of my roommates put you up to this?" They could have hidden a camera in the bushes, or on her even.
She laughed, high and delighted. "No, of course not!"
"Uh-huh." I didn't believe her. I looked at my front door and back at this girl. "Well, like you said, I actually am in a bit of a hurry. Got a lot to do today. It was nice meeting you, Emily."
"Emilia." She didn't move. She didn't even stop smiling, like she was waiting for my amnesia to pass and for me to remember that I had a blonde girlfriend. It wasn't that she was bad looking or anything. Her smile especially was something from a commercial or billboard. Under normal circumstances, I would have been flattered by the attention. This was not normal.
"I know you must be confused right now," she said. She rummaged through the messenger bag and pulled out a bent-up pamphlet. "Here. This will explain some of it. I know it's weird, and I'm sorry. But I thought this would be the best way, just upfront and honest."
I eyed the pamphlet, then sighed and took it from her outstretched hand.
The Agency
Everyone Has a Match Somewhere
"The Agency?" I asked.
She nodded eagerly. "You needed a girlfriend, so they sent me."
I unfolded the pamphlet, but there were lots of blocks of text, next to pictures of happy couples, and my brain was feeling as tired as the rest of me. I looked at my front door again.
"Do you want to come inside?" I asked, and anticipated the smile that came. It wasn't because I wanted her to come inside. But it was hot, oppressively so, and I was starving. This Emily girl clearly wasn't going anywhere, and I had to get cooled off and fed before my brain did any more processing.
The air conditioner was instant relief. Over peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, she talked. I didn't say anything because there is only so much crazy a man can take in one conversation. I sort of listened and mostly thought of how to get rid of her.
"How did you think everyone found true love?" she asked, licking a spot of jam off her finger.
I swigged my water bottle in response.
"The Agency takes care of it. All of it. Well, we try to at least. Sometimes people get married to the wrong person. The Agency tries to prevent that from happening as much as possible, since they know the couple has less than a thirty percent chance of sticking together. But people are so stubborn. And, of course, we're all sworn to secrecy. So it's not like we can walk up to the couple and tell them they're leaving their real true loves all alone. Plenty of failed marriages were just because the wrong people married each other."
"Okay, okay, okay," I said, pulling out another set of bread slices. "So, what? You're saying this is like some hidden distopian agency that matches up couples? How do they know who everyone is supposed to be with? And if they're so secret, how to they get the couples to pair up?" Her story wasn't adding up, and I was willing to call her on it if it meant she'd leave sooner.
"Oh, lots of ways," she said, not at all put off by my questions. "The Agency has connections around the globe, so they can make just about anything happen. Offer someone a job in a new state where their match lives. Send someone a free coupon to a new store where their true love works. Host a party targeted to a specific couple. Rig a drawing so that two people meant to be together both win the all-expense-paid cruise to the Bahamas. It can be as simple as shorting someone's electricity so they have to contact the electric company while their significant other is on call. But it's all about timing. If people meet too soon, they might get together, but they are ready to commit or they haven't worked out their flaws, so the relationship falls apart. If the Agency waits too long, one of them might have chosen to settle down with someone else, which can be disastrous. With you-" She pointed the jelly knife at me. "The paperwork got mixed up. Almost never happens. We were supposed to meet five months ago." She stuck the knife in the mouth and licked off all the jelly.
"Right," I said. "Yeah, I thought something should have happened five months ago."
She gave me a head-tilt consideration, catching the sarcasm easier than I thought she would.
"Only people who work for the Agency know about it," she said. "So I can see how this would be difficult to accept. But, hey, even us employees have a match somewhere out there. I always wondered who my soul mate would be." She smiled a little and didn't drop her eyes like a normal person after a statement like that.
I leaned back in my chair, sufficiently creeped out. If my roommates were recording this somehow, I was sure they would be laughing right about now.
"Look," I said. "Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not interested in having a relationship right now." With you, I added in my head. "I'm just focusing on school and work."
She laughed, like I'd told a clever joke. "And that's why you've asked out a different girl every weekend for the past seven months?"
"Okay," I said. "This is getting old. My roommates have to have set you up for you to know that. Did they offer to pay you? Because I can compensate you instead. I just really don't have time for this."
"Do your roommates know you like dogs and wish you could get one?"
"I don't know. I probably mentioned it to Jack at some point."
"Do they know you donated a couple hundred dollars to the local humane society to make sure a couple dogs there didn't get euthanized? Do they know that you volunteered every summer at the local pet store growing up, so you could play with the puppies there? And that your mom never let you have a dog? Do they know you've checked out almost every book on dog breeds from the library? Do they know that you've read Where the Red Fern Grows at least a dozen times on your kindle app?" She cocked her head. "I've been wondering. Do you cry every time you read it?"
"Okay," I said, standing up. "That is called stalking." I felt like I was standing naked in front of her. "Geeze! Did you hire a PI or something? This could not get any creepier."
"I'm sorry!" She stood too, and for the first time, her blunt vibrance was held back. She bit her lip. "I'm sorry. That was stupid. I didn't mean to sound creepy."
"Well, good job. Next time you stalk someone, I recommend waiting until the second date to bring it up."
She dropped her gaze. "I'm telling the truth." Her voice was quiet. "The Agency has stuff like this on everyone. Even me. There aren't hidden cameras or anything, but all the online stuff, electronic stuff, anything there's a record of, background checks, phone usage info, stuff like that, they can access it all. I wasn't supposed to get your file, since I'm your match, but, like I said, the paperwork got mixed up. I had to learn everything about you and run all the info through the system to pair you up. But then the paperwork came through and you'd already been matched five months ago. With me." She glanced at me then back at the floor. "I'm sorry."
I took a deep breath. It was hard to stay creeped out with her looking like that. And, I had to admit, there was no way my roommates hired her. They didn't have the cash for a private investigator. And this was going way beyond a prank. If this was all an act, she was a great actress. If it wasn't, she was completely insane. Those were the only two options. No way was she telling the truth.
"If you want me to leave, I will," she said. "But you'd be giving up both of our best chances at happiness."
Ominous? Just a little.
She looked up at me and met my gaze. "Do you have a date this weekend?" she asked.
I let out a snort of laughter. "Why don't you tell me, miss stalker?"
She frowned and dropped her gaze again. "Can we just go on one date?" she asked. "Just one. And if you still are creeped out and think I'm lying, then I'll leave. I promise. If you still want me gone after one date, I'll go. And I promise I'll never come back."
"No," I said, before I could think about it too much. Because going on a date with a creepy girl was never a good idea. Because what if she lured me out into the woods and murdered me? What if she was escaped from a mental hospital? What if she was a hired assassin sent to take out everyone who liked dogs?
What if she was telling the truth?
"No," I said again, louder. "I'm not going on a date with you. You need to leave. Now."
Her breath hitched, like she was about to cry, and she swallowed hard. "I'm sorry," she said again. "I am so so sorry. I didn't mean to ruin everything like this. I just wanted to tell you the truth. I wanted you to be happy." She clutched at the strap of her messenger bag. "Derek?"
I frowned at her.
"I hope you find someone who can make you happy." She gave a tiny laugh, more like a sob almost. "Without creeping you out first." She walked to the door, opened it, and looked back at me, giving me a sad smile.
And in that smile, I could see, plain as the heat barged through the open door, that she believed she was telling me the truth.
"Good bye, Derek," she said. And walked out the door.
"Wait."
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