“What is she?” I asked.
“A bitch,” Sassy replied. “That’s Swedish for heinous cow sphincter.”
“Right,” I said. “But is she a witch? Or a Shifter? Or something else?”
“Shifter… I think,” Sassy said. “No one knows for sure what she or her nasty lady barnacles are, which is odd, but they’re hideous—they wear black socks with sandals—all of them.”
“You lie,” I gasped out.
“Witch’s honor,” Sassy said with a shudder. “I screamed in horror when I saw them, but since I want a part, I pretended my nail polish was chipped.”
“Excellent move,” I said. Black socks and sandals were a fashion crime that warranted imprisonment.
I was now curious to see the cow patty and her cronies who had caused all this distress.
“Hey, am I late?” Zach asked as he breezed in and sat down next to Sassy.
“Late for what?” I asked, squinting at him in surprise. “Are you in the show?”
“Nope,” he said, giving me a grin that made me a little breathless. “Thought I’d support Zorro.”
Sassy’s head went back and forth during the exchange. Her grin grew wide and she nudged me with her elbow. “He likes you,” she whispered loudly.
“As a friend,” I muttered as I felt Zach’s intense stare. “We’re old friends.”
“Riiiight,” Sassy said with a giggle. “You want me to talk to him for you? I’ll be excrete.”
“You mean discreet?” I asked as Zach listened to the exchange with interest.
“No,” she said, shaking her blond curls. “Excrete is British for discreet. I was being fancy. British is a tricky language, but I’ve aced it. All you have to do to understand it is drink tea. I fucking hate tea, but I’m very dedicated to my world language quest. But back to the important stuff, I can send him a note with boxes on it. If he marks the yes box, it means he likes you. If he marks the no box, he’s a dumbass. If he marks the hermaphrodite box, you should date someone else.”
“Sassy, he’s sitting right next to you,” I pointed out, wanting to disappear.
She rolled her eyes. “Guys are idiots. He has no clue we’re even talking about him. No worries. I have your back.”
Zach bit down on his kissable bottom lip so he didn’t laugh. I was mortified. Smacking both of them right now seemed like an excellent plan.
“She’s coming! They’re all coming!” Bob shrieked, pulling out what was left of his unibrow. “Everyone, sit down in the house. Cast stay on the stage. She read the first draft of the script last night and will give us her notes and brilliant words of wisdom.”
All smackdowns would have to wait. The famous director and her troll-y entourage of mini-mes arrived. A strange dark pall came over the room as they entered. My gut clenched for a second and I tried to place the feeling.
Sassy and Zach didn’t seem to notice.
Maybe I imagined it. I’d been in a tree for a month and was still a little fuzzy. However, there was no mistaking that the vibe in the room had changed and taken a turn towards the weird.
The famous director, Mae Blockinschlokinberg, stood no more than four feet and was as wide as she was tall. She wore a frock that looked like a muumuu made from chartreuse sweatpant material, and her black socks and beige sandals were shocking.
Zorro was hyperventilating and had grabbed onto the piano so he didn’t pass out. Danger and horrific fashion choices were two things that made my fainting goat Shifter buddy lose consciousness. Mae Blockinschlokinberg’s black socks and sandals were clearly too much for Zorro to handle.
Her minions looked like even more disgusting versions of their leader, and they were playing obsessively on their phones.
The squat disaster of a director walked to the center of the stage. She nodded jerkily at her four bizarre looking little followers who were huddled in a clump and taking pictures of her with their phones. Then, the gross woman pointed at Bob the beaver who shook like a leaf.
Bob cleared his throat for a minute and a half. He desperately searched for more unibrow to pull out and came up empty. With a gulp of terror, he finally spoke. “Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Mae Blockinschlokinberg—the famed director of the musical Showgirls, the mimed production of Starship Troopers and of course, the twelve-hour interactive naked production of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. We are blessed, terrified and shocked beyond belief that Mae Blockinschlokinberg has graced Assjacket with her brilliance and artistry.”
“Naked production of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?” Zach grunted quietly with a laugh.
“Took the words right out of my mouth,” I whispered with a giggle. “However, I’m more curious about the mimed version of Starship Troopers.”
Zach’s grin made me tingle and feel strange inside. He’d always been kind to me—always been a loyal friend. However, this felt different.
Idiot. I was an idiot. My friend Zach was happy and relieved I was alive. Just like I was happy he was alive. Reading more into it was pitiful. He’d had ten years to make a move and hadn’t.
Sassy turned her back to Zach and leaned into me. “He’s not a hermaphrodite,” she informed me. “I have a radar for that.”
“You have a hermaphrodite radar?” I asked, wondering how insane Sassy truly was.
“Yes,” she confirmed. “If someone smells like a calla lily, they can do themselves. It’s the flower with a schlong and a va-jay-jay. It’s Canadian for, I can bang myself so I don’t need a significant other.”
“Umm… I thought you didn’t speak Canadian,” I choked out, losing my battle with holding in a laugh.
“Just a few words,” Sassy told me. “The guy sitting next to me who has no clue we’re talking about him is not a calla lily.”
“Good to know,” I said, avoiding Zach’s amused gaze for all I was worth.
Also,
