Reality Check

REALITY CHECK

  by

  Niki Burnham

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  Reality Check

  Copyright 2006, 2011 by Nicole Burnham

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  REALITY CHECK

  To: [email protected]

  From: [email protected]

  Subject: Things That Are Wacked

  Val,

  So here's the thing: I know you're having a fabulous time over there in Schwerinborg, going out with a prince and all that. I'm sure Ron Howard is going to call and ask to make a movie of your life someday. In the meantime, I am having a minor crisis here in Virginia and need your help. And no, I can't talk to Christie and Natalie about it because they'll get all judgmental on me. (Yes, I had to spell-check judgmental. Mostly because I knew YOU'D know how to spell it and would mentally be correcting me if I got it wrong. And then you wouldn't be paying attention to what's important here. Namely, me.)

  Anyway, as you are aware, I tend to avoid relations with the male species that get any more touchy-feely than one would experience in, say, a pickup basketball game. I like being my independent, boyfriend-free self.

  Guys are generally more headache than they're worth, right?

  Tell me they are. REMIND ME. I need a list of reasons to keep me from doing something stupid.

  Teetering on the edge of oblivion,

  Jules

  * * *

  To: [email protected]

  From: [email protected]

  Subject: RE: Things That Are Wacked

  Jules,

  You obviously take me for a fool. (And not just because I know you're full of it with the Ron Howard thing. Five bucks says he can't even find Schwerinborg on a map.)

  You KNOW I must have details before I can answer your question. Otherwise, anything I say is going to be used against me at a future date. (Yes, I know you that well. You remember everything I ever say and remind me of it when it's least convenient.)

  So what's up? You fall for the fry guy at work or something? What've you been doing at Wendy's when you're not doling out Singles with Cheese or Biggie Drinks to anyone with a spare buck or two?

  Val

  P.S.—Did I e-mail you yesterday to tell you what Georg did? I had tons and tons of homework last night, and he didn't get mad when I stayed home to do it and ditched our plans to hang out in his family's apartment. He told me he understood and made me promise to see a movie with him on Saturday when he's done with his soccer game. (I think he got his hands on a copy of the newest flick with my Fave Aussie Actor, but he won't tell me for sure. He says it's a surprise.)

  P.P.S—My point is not to brag (well, maybe a little) but to prove that it is possible to have a boyfriend and be your independent self. It just has to be the right boyfriend. (And no, that does not apply to the fry guy. Fry Guy is not Right Guy, and therefore not worth the headache.) But you can't have my boyfriend. Sorry.

  * * *

  To: [email protected]

  From: [email protected]

  Subject: RE: RE: Things That Are Wacked

  Val, Val, Val,

  (Sigh.) You know I wanted to be the Future Princess of Schwerinborg, right? It's wrong that you got to Prince Georg first. But then again, you have to live in a country that sounds like a Swedish buffet. Nothanksnotforme. I like Virginia just fine. If having Georg means living with a bunch of people who speak German and eat sauerkraut and live in an unpronounceable country, well, you can have him.

  As to my situation: No, it is not the fry guy (Jeffrey? Not if he were the last living male on Earth. Give me some credit.) But it is someone truly inappropriate—which is why I can't tell Christie or Nat—and it is someone at work.

  Okay. Sit down. Or brace yourself or whatever it is you're supposed to do for big news.

  Did you do it? (Deep breath....)

  I have inexplicably developed this complete, total, all-encompassing obsession with the new night manager.

  I know, I know. It goes against all logic. He's far more likely to be a toad than a prince. But what can I do? I have it bad. I can't stop thinking about him.

  Tell me again that guys are nothing but a headache and that I should stay away.

  Tell me that I am much better off without guys, just as I have been for fifteen years now.

  Even better, tell me there is a cure so I can make this sickness go away.

  Jules, feeling like a Grade A Idiot with hormone poisoning

  * * *

  To: [email protected]

  From: [email protected]

  Subject: This and That and Jules

  Hi Valerie!

  How's everything in Schwerinborg? We're doing WWI in Mrs. Bennett's class, and so she had this big map of Europe out today and I was trying to see Schwerinborg. It was tough to pick out from the back row, but it still made me think of you.

  Well, and the fact that you'd probably ace the exam we have in her class this Friday. I'm dying trying to study for it without you.

  Anyway—have you heard anything from Jules in the last day or two? I picked her up after she got off work at Wendy's on Sunday night and she was acting all weird. I asked her how work went and she didn't complain like she usually does. She said it was "fine" and that was it. And yes, I'm sure it's our Jules and she wasn't kidnapped by aliens and replaced with an identical twin, because she snarled her Jules Snarl when I told her she didn't seem like herself.

  It was like she didn't want to talk at all. She was quiet the whole way home in the car, other than the "fine" and the animal noises.

  It gets worse.

  Yesterday, she went straight to work after school even though it meant she'd be early for her shift AND it meant I couldn't give her a ride because I had to find Jeremy and give him his water bottle before track practice (he accidentally left it in my locker.) She wasn't even willing to wait five minutes for me to see Jeremy!

  And right now I can see that she's online, but she's ignoring me.

  Something isn't right. I think she's mad at me, but I don't know what I could have done. Natalie says it's just Jules being Jules and that she's probably PMS'ing or something, but I don't know.

  So have you talked to her?

  Christie

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  To: [email protected]

  From: [email protected]

  Subject: RE: This and That and Jules

  Christie,

  I hate to say it, but Natalie is probably right. You know how Jules can get. Things are always better if you just leave her alone and let her get out of her funk on her own. She knows you're there for her if she needs you.

  In the meantime, credit PMS for Jules's grumpy-girl attitude and don't think about it anymore.

  And I've seen Mrs. Bennett's map. Schwerinborg is practically non-existent, but it's on there. Squint at the border between Austria and Germany and look for the little red star. That's Freital, the capital city. I'm right there.

  As for studying, the only thing I know about WWI is that a prince from some small European country got assassinated and that started the whole thing. (And no, it was a not a prince from Schwerinborg. Don't even THINK it.) So start your studying with that little factoid. You know how Mrs. Bennett likes death and destruction and "who got killed when..." questions on her exams.

  Good luck Friday!

  Miss you lots and lots,

  Val

  * * *

  To: [email protected]

  From: [email protected]

  Subject: Stop the Madness!

  Dear Valerie,

  I'm sure you've determined by now that Jules is acting slightly more cranky than her usual crankypants self and Christie is do
ing her woe-is-me, Jules-is-mad routine.

  I told Christie to ignore her, to not take it personally...all the usual stuff. I told Jules to knock it off, at least around Christie.

  Neither one of them will listen to me.

  I beg you: STOP THE MADNESS!

  Natalie, ready to kick both Christie and Jules in the head

  * * *

  To: [email protected]

  From: [email protected]

  Subject: RE: Stop the Madness!

  Nat,

  They're both sending me e-mails right now. I'm on it.

  As usual, I will attempt to keep you out of it. This is more easily accomplished if you refrain from kicking anyone in the head, at least for now.

  Valerie

  * * *

  To: [email protected]

  From: [email protected]

  Subject: RE: RE: Stop the Madness!

  Val Pal,

  Thank you, thank you. It is my wish that you meet a fabulous guy—maybe even a dark-haired, soccer-playing prince from a small European country—and that he falls madly in love with you. May you raise a dozen children and live together happily ever after in a beautiful palace set in a field of wildflowers overlooking serene waters.

  Your dearest ever friend,

  Natalie

  * * *

  To: [email protected]

  From: [email protected]

  Subject: RE: RE: RE: Stop the Madness!

  Nat,

  Do you want me to handle this or not?!

  Yeah...that's what I thought.

  Val Pal

  P.S.—Even if your e-mail didn't make me want to gag (a dozen children?) there are no waters around Schwerinborg, serene or otherwise. It's landlocked.

  * * *

  To: [email protected]

  From: [email protected]

  Subject: WACKED IS RIGHT!

  Jules, Jules, Jules,

  First—you used your thesaurus for the "complete, total, all-encompassing" line, didn't you?

  Second—the manager? That's disgusting, revolting, nauseating, and all around repulsive. (And no, I didn't need a thesaurus. I'm just that appalled.) Isn't he, like fifty? Wacked is right.

  Third—no, no, no. Do not think of pursuing that. That is not what I meant by the Right Guy. That is AGAINST THE LAW.

  Fourth—you shouldn't need a fourth. Just. Stop. Quit your job at Wendy's and go to work at Burger King or Subway or something if you really have to. Do whatever it takes so you DON'T GO DOWN THAT ROAD.

  Val, off to the bathroom so I can hurl now

  P.S.—Christie is worried about you. I told her you're PMS'ing and to leave you alone, but I think you should talk to her. Even if you don't tell her about your abhorrent crush, at least sit with her at lunch or something so she doesn't think she did something wrong. You know how she gets.

  P.P.S—Natalie is ready to kick both you and Christie in the head.

  * * *

  To: [email protected]

  From: [email protected]

  Subject: RE: WACKED IS RIGHT!

  Val,

  EEEWWWW. You're thinking of the day manager, you moron. The cold weather in Schwerinborg is obviously affecting your reading comprehension skills. And fifty might be an estimate on the young side, since I think Mr. Ansen gets social security. Don't you have to be sixty or seventy for that? That would be so Anna Nicole Smith of me, and without even the hope of inheriting millions of dollars the way she did. And you know what happened to Anna Nicole in the end.

  How could you even think that of me?

  I'm going to hurl now, too. Mr. Ansen?! Just the image that brings to mind...give me a sec, let me think of something else.

  Okay, brain cleared. Back to my original issue: I said I've got it bad for the night manager. Got it? Night. The opposite of day. He started last week. His name is Kyle and he's twenty-three.

  I know what you're going to say. Twenty-three is probably still too old for me (he graduated from college last year) but I'm totally fixated on him. He's mind-numbingly hot without being all preppy-cute. He likes all the same music I do and makes all the same jokes about the customers.

  Unlike half the guys at Vienna West High School, he actually has some semblance of intelligence (he majored in Economics at the University of Richmond) and he thinks it's wrong that Mr. Ansen gets on my case about the Frosty machine. (You know I'm extra careful about cleaning it, but Mr. A. has a serious stick up his butt about that machine.)

  Anyway, get this: I heard Kyle tell one of his friends that he thinks it's sexy if a girl owns combat boots. Which, of course, I do. Not that I can wear them to Wendy's and make him fall to his knees with a serious case of lust, because then I'd be out of uniform and Mr. Ansen would fire my Wendy's black polyester-covered ass, but still.

  Part of me wants to go for it, but the smart part of me realizes that Kyle thinks of me as a mere child.

  How can I stop thinking about him? How, how, how?

  Now you see why I can't say anything to Christie and Natalie. I mean, Nat would probably tell me to go for it, but she would spill the beans to Christie, and Christie would be horrified. Christie still lives in the Leave It To Beaver world where every girl wants to date the neat-o guy with the letter jacket and the crew cut who'll give her a beee-yoo-tiful corsage for prom, and where people have nothing better to do than smile at each other and say "please" and "thank you" all the live-long day.

  Any indication that I have a Kyle obsession would give her a total conniption fit.

  According to the Official Val Clock I keep by my computer (well, it's really an old alarm clock I swiped from Michael, so let's hope he doesn't notice and rat me out to Mom), it's nearly midnight where you are in Schwerinborg, and it looks like you've signed off your computer for the night, so I guess I'll talk to you tomorrow.

  Jules

  P.S.—I will say something kind to Christie next time I see her so she doesn't think I'm mad at her.

  P.P.S.—If Natalie does kick me in the head I pray it's hard enough to stop my fixation on Kyle. However, she should know me well enough to know that I kick back. And I kick harder than she does.

  * * *

  To: [email protected]

  From: [email protected]

  Subject: RE: RE: WACKED IS RIGHT!

  Coolest Jules,

  Sorry to leave you hanging last night. Dad came back from some dinner party just before midnight and he would've gotten all ticked off at me for still being on the computer—the rule is that I have to be off by eleven—so I had to sign off fast before he caught me.

  Anyway, I am sorry for missing the day/night manager distinction. I am totally relieved. I was wondering how many cigarettes you've been sneaking out there at the Wendy's dumpster—which you should quit doing, you know—and if the nicotine was starting to affect your judgment (and yes, I did appreciate your earlier use of the correct spelling of judgment.)

  But, that being said, the day versus night thing still does not make it right. He is eight years older than you. He is out of college and his ideal woman is probably closer to thirty than fifteen.

  Unfortunately, I don't think there is much I can say to stop your obsession. Look how long I lusted after David Anderson before I discovered that he was wrong, wrong, wrong for me.

  Just tell yourself that Kyle is a colossal waste of your time and energy, and that he doesn't deserve you or your sexy combat boots.

  E-me when you get home from work and let me know how your shift went.

  Val

  P.S.—You know Nat would never really kick you or Christie in the head. She may have been brave enough to pierce her tongue (which still makes me squeamish), but she is not brave enough to mess with you.

  * * *

  To: [email protected]

  From: [email protected]

  Subject: World Peace


  Val,

  Jules and Christie both seemed better today. Thank you! What did you do? We sat together at lunch and all we talked about was what'd be on Mrs. Bennett's exam and about what movie Christie and Jeremy should see on Friday night.

  No, don't tell me what you did. I don't want to know.

  May you have a beautiful life with Prince Georg in your landlocked country, and access to a private jet so you can fly to Virginia and hang out with us whenever you want,

  Nat

  * * *

  To: [email protected]

  From: [email protected]

  Subject: Too Late

  Val,

  I read your e-mail too late. As in, after I got home from work today. As in, after I made a complete and total ass of myself.

  I told Kyle in a very flirty way that I heard he has a thing for girls in combat boots. He laughed, so I thought everything was going well. Our usual behind-the-counter, before-the-dinner-rush conversation, you know? And then when we were alone in the walk-in fridge getting out supplies I said, "You know, I happen to have a pair of combat boots."

  He got this look on his face like I'd just offered him crack or something equally vile and illegal. He walked out without saying another word and didn't talk to me the rest of the shift. I was working drive-thru and he was on the registers and in the back office, so it's not like there was a lot of opportunity for talking, but I got the feeling he was going to avoid me no matter what.

  I definitely need to quit and go work at Subway. I hate to do that, but at least at Subway I won't come home smelling like the bottom of the deep fryer.

  Humiliated,

  Jules-I-probably-should-change-my-name-now-Jackson

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  To: [email protected]

  From: [email protected]

  Subject: RE: Too Late

  Jules!

  I am trying to calm down. I cannot believe you. What were you thinking?