Reality Check

REALITY CHECK

by

Niki Burnham

SMASHWORDS EDITION

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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

* * *

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 doing 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.