Stood Up
Jenny Fletcher was already two-thirds into her morning routine. She’d done the Wordle, checked her emails, and now was perusing her social media accounts. This last part never took long, as she didn’t have many friends, real or strictly online. One site she always reviewed was her high school graduation class roundup page, to see what they were up to: usually posts about who got married, gave birth, or was arrested. She didn’t care that much about her classmates, but other than Mr. Sykes and Nan at the accounting firm she worked for and her family, there wasn’t anyone else to care about.
One item in the Highland Heights Pioneers Class of ’16 Facebook page caught her eye. The dates for their tenth anniversary had been posted, and several of her classmates responded about going. She assumed most who still lived in Highland Heights would make it, but those who had moved away, like Jenny, were less certain. Jenny had no intention of going. Even if she still lived in Highland Heights, wild horses couldn’t have dragged her there.
She was tempted to post a nasty comment, but she didn’t want her private thoughts to go public. Then she saw a response from Brad Watkins: “I’m up in Oregon now, so getting back might be a problem, but I still hope to see all my fellow Pioneers!”
Brad was the most popular boy in their class. Jenny had adored him from afar, as did most of the girls. He was handsome, charming, and a star athlete; everyone’s best bud. But by graduation, Jenny hated Brad, and for good reason. Three, to be exact, as that was the number of times he stood her up.
When they were sophomores, Brad invited her to an after-game dance. Considering their differences, it was nothing short of a miracle he asked. He played football and hung with the cool kids, and she was one of the shy, brainy girls, not one to socialize, though both her parents pushed her to “get out there.” When he asked, she could hardly believe it, and she jumped at the chance.
Jenny watched the game from the bleachers, and though she knew little about the game, she endured it, knowing what was coming next. But when she went to the gym for the dance, she waited at the entrance for what seemed like forever until someone asked her why she didn’t go in.
“I’m waiting for Brad Watkins,” she beamed, proud of this moment. “He’s a tight end on the team.”
“Oh, Brad? Yeah, he got hurt playing and can’t make it. Sorry you didn’t get the word.”
Stunned, Jenny couldn’t remember Brad being injured during the game. She didn’t want to go alone to the dance, so she went home. The following Monday, she saw Brad in the halls looking one hundred percent. No injury that she could see. She was too shy to ask him what happened. He never apologized and barely looked at her as she passed.
Two days before the next home game, he invited her again. Her infatuation with him had waned slightly, but she agreed. But the no-show scenario repeated itself after the game when she went to the gym. This time, no one gave her the news. She waited at the door for what seemed like forever, hearing laughter carry from the gym that she assumed was directed at her. Once everyone else was inside, she left to take a long, dark, cold walk home.
Those experiences should have been enough for anyone to absorb the lesson. Not Jenny. By senior year, she’d lost her shyness and got involved in some extracurricular activities. She joined the Future Accountants Club, Chess Club, and the Martial Arts Team, the last one because she was keen on a boy who was a real survivalist.
She avoided crossing Brad’s path until both wound up as part of their graduation picnic committee. She was in the decorations group while Brad headed the activities team. At one of the last meetings, Brad sheepishly approached her to apologize for his previous errors.
“Look, I was a bonehead. Did it on a dare from the guys on the team, OK? I didn’t mean to hurt you, but I couldn’t back down. Let me make it up to you at the picnic.”
“How?”
“Marianne works on Saturday, and I don’t want to be there by myself. You can be my date for the day. Since we both need to be at the park early to set up, I’ll pick you up, say, around ten? We’ll have a great time, and we’ll forget the past, OK?”
Her mind said, “No way,” but her mouth said, “OK.” At 9:30, she sat on the porch, dressed in a Kardashian-inspired sundress, and waited. And waited.
By 10:30, she had doubts; by eleven, she was convinced. No longer interested in the picnic and facing humiliation, she walked over to the outlet mall where she knew Marianne worked at the Fads ‘n’ Fun clothing shop. She looked around and saw no Marianne, but to be sure, she asked one of the bored clerks by the register.
“Normally she’s here, but today’s her class picnic. You just missed her. Left about ten minutes ago with her boyfriend.”
That clinched it. For the rest of the school year, Jenny made conscientious decisions to avoid any run-in with Brad, even skipping her own graduation, knowing he’d be there.
Now, nine years later, she couldn’t help but click on his link to call up his profile, just to see if he really was in Oregon. His profile said he lived in Beaverton and worked in Portland for Obstek, a high-tech security firm. She checked their website and saw he was the V.P. of sales. The firm installed doorbell security cameras viewable “anywhere in the world.” Still not convinced, she searched LinkedIn for Brad Watkins and Obstek, and there was his picture, all rugged and handsome. Running late for work, she went back to the Facebook page and clicked the “Add Friend” button next to his name. She shuddered a little when she did this.
The first thing she did when she got home from work was check her status. He’d accepted her friend request and sent a message. She read: “Jenny—good to hear from you. I had no idea you’re in Oregon, too (I checked your profile—you’re in Gresham, on the other side of the river). We should get together…really, this time. Take care.”
Yeah, right. Get together. She dismissed the possibility, thinking that if he tried to make a date, she’d use it to tell him what she really thought of him; how he’d hurt her all those years ago, and where he could go and what he could do once he got there.
Nothing happened until a week later when he messaged again and proposed to meet: “I’m in Beaverton, which isn’t that far away from you. I work downtown on the east side in the industrial area, and there’s a nifty bar there that’s got the best chocolate martinis. How about we meet on Friday at six? Here’s a map…”
It was inconceivable that she’d accept, yet that’s what she did. She planned to let him buy her that martini, maybe two, and then…she’d not mince words.
On Friday, she was there fifteen minutes early, not expecting to see him since he’d said six, but half-expecting not to see him at all. She found a booth to sit and wait. At five to six, her phone buzzed. It was Brad, apologizing, saying he got caught up in an emergency at work, and it was impossible to break away. He’d contact her later to make it up to her.
She knew he deserved a response and decided to play it cool. She said she was disappointed and she’d wait to hear from him. Direct, with no malice in thought. Feeling like the bigger person, she hit “send” and set her phone down, immediately hearing a “ping” on a phone elsewhere in the bar. Was Brad there, hiding to see her reaction? Glancing around, she didn’t see anyone resembling him, so she left.
She didn’t hear anything for almost a week. On Thursday, she received a text from him with a most interesting proposition:
“Hey, I really want to make it up to you for last week and all those years ago. I’ve got a cottage out in Seaside, about a block from the ocean. Don’t get the wrong idea; there are two bedrooms. Anyway, I could meet you there on Friday night after work and treat you all weekend. There are some great restaurants, the weather’s supposed to be beautiful, and we can talk about old times at HHHS. I’ll leave a key under the mat so you can get in before I get there. Let me know.”
Was she really so hard up that she’d even consider such an invitation? Perhaps. She’d let him wine and dine her, then she’d tell him off once she’d had her fill. She wasn’t worried that he’d try to do something reprehensible with her; she knew how to defend herself thanks to joining that martial arts club. So why not?
She packed a small bag and took it with her to work on Friday. It was almost a two-hour drive from Gresham to Seaside, but traffic was light, and his directions were easy to follow. She pulled in front of the charming cottage just as twilight took hold, the sky a blaze of reds and yellows as the sun dipped into the Pacific. The house was dark, and the porch light was not on, so, grabbing her bag, she scooted up to the front door while there was still some sunlight and pulled the mat up from the corner to grab the key.
There was no key.
She pulled out Brad’s instructions from her bag, making sure she had the right address. It was correct, but she had a nagging feeling that something wasn’t kosher. She pulled out her phone and looked up the address in the city’s tax tables to see who the owner was. Disappointingly but not surprisingly, she saw the property was a vacation home owned by Jacob and Esther Sconby of Seattle.
She didn’t get mad, but rather, laughed out loud. “Good one,” she said out loud to no one, and headed back to her car. Before she got there, her phone buzzed. It was a text from Brad with a picture of her standing outside the cottage. The message below blared:
Obstek strikes again with the new Z-150 Security Camera. You can see who’s at your front door from anywhere, anytime!
Below this text was another one:
Sorry! I had to use you this way, but this client was impossible. Had to convince them our system worked as advertised. This should show them! Thanks—I owe you!
“Unbelievable!” she howled, along with some four-letter words, a few five-letter words, and a six-letter combo. She didn’t care who heard her. Once in the car and buckled into the driver’s seat, she opened her bag to check its contents. There was a black turtleneck, black tights, black shoes, a black ski mask, and a Walther 9mm F-series pistol she got from a guy her old classmate from the Martial Arts Club recommended. She had Brad’s home address and knew it would be dark by the time she got there.
Smiling, she headed east into the darkness.
After/Thought Literary 