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“Uh, what?”
“That the best you can do?” One of the most beautiful girls Calvin had ever seen was standing a few feet down the poolside, apparently engaging him in conversation. She was dark-featured all around (or maybe that was the shadows), wearing a light, lacy top with form-fitting jeans jeans. “After all the trouble you went through getting me here, I thought you’d have a better opening line than ‘uh, what?’”
Regarding the beauty of this girl, it bears repeating how remarkable it was. Still, that’s to be expected in stories like these.
Calvin: “Did I meet you somewhere? Should I remember you?”
“No, officer,” the girl cooed sultrily. “Should I remember you?” She was inching her way towards Calvin.
“Uh, are you seducing me?”
She centimetered closer.
“Uh, no,” she said, once again steamingly imitating Calvin’s nervous speech.
And then it stopped. The threat of sex she’d emitted immediately dissipated, becoming pure threat. “Despite the barrage of questions you’ve thrown, the fact is, in fact, reversed. I’m interrogating you.”
“Oh?” Now assured of his role as inquisitee, Calvin dispelled of the “uh”s.
“Yes. Why did you invite me here, and, perhaps more importantly - since it may involve some breaking and entering issues - how did you invite me here?”
“I didn’t invite you here.”
“Oh?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
This back-and-forth tête-à-tête over, the scene regained the spotlight. Two, confused souls stood in an abandoned poolhouse, a rustic autumn rising up behind them.
Something about what the girl said had caught Calvin’s ear, so he (re)started, “When you asked how I invited you…”
The creak of the front door sounded in the distance.
Girl: “It would seem our answers have arrived.”
The footsteps approaching were odd – almost squishy. Squod, squod, squod.
Calvin (reacting to the sound): “Apparently they’ve arrived in the shoes of some sea creature.”
Girl: “Makes sense. We are at a pool.” Calvin gave her a confused look, knowing that what he'd said made very little sense at all.
Calvin and the girl looked to the spot where the new entrant would first be visible. Neither was particularly scared, still feeling the positive rush of newness furling over them. The whole “squod” thing did make things weirder, though.
Thus entered our third character. Panning from top to bottom was a goggled, polo shirt-ed, slack-wearing fellow. With damp, squoddy sandals. Lifting the goggles from his eyes and setting them on his head, he spoke, “Hey, I’m Rog.”
Calvin and Midnight (in unison): “Hi Rog.”
Rog: “It’s starting to drizzle outside. Whosever bike that is should move it inside.”
Calvin lifted his hand a little. “It’s mine.”
Rog: “Good, good. So, who’s in charge here?”
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