Holly says it is. She says it’s step five of her ‘F system’. Find, Flirt, Fun, Fuck, Fantom.

She doesn’t let an inconsequential thing like proper spelling stop her.

But Blake didn’t exactly get much, not until I was standing on the other side of the door, listening like a creeper. I’d tiptoed back up when I saw his door close, just to see if he was being honest. And he definitely was.

I hope he didn’t hear me sneaking away.

That would be mortifying.

I am in so far over my head that I don’t even know what to think, and that’s just about this whole Blake situation. Add in a mystery that the professional in me doesn’t like leaving unanswered, despite what Jeff thinks, and I’m mentally flittering around like a firefly on crack. I need someone to talk me down, bring me back to Earth and reality.

Still in bed, and definitely not staring at Blake’s good morning, beautiful text, I call the one person I know will tell me the truth, whether I want to hear it or not.

“Hello?” Holly’s frantic voice answers. “Hang on.” She pulls the phone away, but only slightly, to yell, “If you’re out of bed, knock on the wall three times.” I assume she’s talking to Olive because I’ve heard this test before. I’m quiet while I wait for Holly to listen for the answering knocks. “Love you too, honey. Now get a move on. We’re out the door in thirty minutes.” Coming back to the phone, and me, Holly says, “Sorry. What’s up?”

I’m having second thoughts about making this call, but she’s the lesser of two evils. The worse option being Jacob’s graphic, too-personal interrogation. Although having a male opinion might provide insight about what’s running through Blake’s mind, but really, it’s his penis I’m thinking more about. And I can’t have adult relationship conversations with Jacob about my own sex life, though I’ve had the condom talk with him multiple times and unquestioningly restock the bathroom when I see the stock getting low.

“Can I stop by this morning to talk for a second?” I ask nervously.

“Uh, yeah. Of course. What’s wrong? Need me to kill someone and burn the body?” she asks, probably joking but also possibly serious. “Good morning, baby girl.”

She doesn’t even pause to breathe, and I can hear her rummaging around, probably making Olive’s breakfast. At least, I’m pretty sure that last part was for Olive. I only answer the questions that were directed at me. “No murder or body disposal needed. But I saw Blake again last night.”

“What?” she screeches, and then in her sweet mom voice, she says, “Eat that quick while Mommy talks to Aunt Zo-Zo, ’kay?”