For Better Or Worse
I really don’t want to be sitting in a room with my best friend and her mother. Not right now. Something has gone wrong. I can feel it. And yes, I know how that sounds. I know I sound like a crazy person, but it’s true. When something goes awry, I get this tingling in my left leg. It starts at my foot, creeps up my to thigh, and it forces me to stand and start pacing. Shalana, my best friend, asked me to be here and to pretend to be her boyfriend to please her mother. And it’s actually fine with me because I do a lot pretending. My whole family does a ton of pretending because here’s the thing: My family works for the government doing- well, I can’t tell you what we’re doing. As far as you’re concerned, my family and I aren’t doing anything special or different. What you can know is: I need to be in France as soon as possible. Shalana can’t and won’t know that, okay?
Shalana Bing and her mother, Ms. Wallson, have cordially invited me to Shalana’s sixteenth birthday extravaganza. I was asked to come early to pose for photos with the birthday girl under a cloud of pink dust and cotton candy colored streamers. She is my best friend. My project. My mission. The photographer is late, and guests have started arriving. The first few people dropped their gifts at the front table and made their way into the dance hall. Shalana is still next to me. My leg is still tingling.
The door opens to reveal a girl in an orange floor-length gown. I recognize her face. She’s not supposed to be here. She’s supposed to be in France. Andra McGlintock, the other piece of my mission. She’s one of the many people who want Shalana dead. When you’re as famous as she is, everyone wants a piece of you. For better or worse.
Andra sees the nervous look that’s spread across my face and saunters over with her hand on her hip and a determined look in her eye. She stops to whisper to Ms. Wallson who leaves the room after a quick nod. Her seat is taken by Andra.
Andra wishes Shalana a happy birthday, but Shalana barely responds. She’s fiddling with the tulle hem of her dress. Andra gets up and squeezes herself between us on the couch and puts her arm around Shalana. I’m confused. As far as I know, the two of them had never met. I shift in my seat, suddenly uncomfortable. Shalana lets out a small croak. I turn to see a deep red stain seeping through her bright pink princess dress. Andra and I stand to face each other in the middle of the room, guns drawn. I shoot first, hitting her in her lower abdomen, and run out the door, never turning back.