Chapter 3

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Chapter 3

Hey everyone! At the time of writing, you've chosen option 1- A bird pooped all over Audrey's hair and ruins it. So, enjoy this chapter and let me know which option at the end you think should happen next! Enjoy!


"What? Tell me what?" I prompt Owen to continue, trying to keep my voice at a non-hysterical level.

He bites his lip as his eyes flicker to the top of my head. "Um... maybe look in the mirror?"

I'm almost too scared to move. If I look in the mirror, it'll confirm it, and that's the last thing I want to do right now. I want to live in blissful ignorance, where Owen and I are jamming out to Def Leppard, with the trees flying past us and the fresh air around us and the open road in front of us, and nothing has gone wrong.

But I can't stay in that ignorance forever, I'm going to have to face reality eventually, and since we're on a time limit, that moment is now.

With a shaking hand, I flip down the sun visor and slide the mirror open. There, at the top of my head, mixed in with the brown of my hair I spent hours at the salon this morning getting done, is a splat of white.

Owen's voice is hesitant, "That's bird poop—"

"I know it's bird poop, Owen!"

His mouth snaps shut, and he looks around the single-lane-each-way road that cuts through the Canadian wilderness, then up at the sky. Not a single car has passed us since we've been pulled over on the shoulder, and the sky is completely free of any offending birds.

"Wow, that's just your luck to get pooped on with the roof down, especially while I was going 80," Owen says. "I've never heard of that happening before."

I resist the urge to grind my teeth together. "Thanks, Owen, but you're not helping." I open his glove box and riffle through the mess. "Don't you have any tissues or napkins?"

"Napkins, right." He riffles around various compartments until he pulls out a wad of mismatched napkins with various logos on them. He must've collected them from ordering out, but they all look relatively clean, so I don't care. I grab them from him and start trying to get the disgusting goop out of my hair, but it looks like I'm just smudging it around. Desperate, I try harder and more vigorously, but it's just spreading out.

"Does this look better?" I turn to look at Owen, whose eyes bulge as he recoils.

That's not a good sign.

"Yeah," his voice is high before he clears it. "I mean, kinda. You might just have to wet your hair to get it all out."

I frown in the mirror, trying my hardest to keep calm. He's right. It's not going anywhere unless I wash it, but if I do, it's going to be a frizzy puffball, especially in this humidity. But it's my only option. Better to be a frizz ball in a booger green dress, than a girl with bird poop hair in a booger green dress.

With a reluctant sigh, I grab a water bottle and exit the car. Owen scrambles around the car to stand next to me. I uncap the lid and hand the bottle to him.

"I can't see so you're going to have to do it. Just let me—"

He dumps the entire bottle over my head. The water splashes down my face and onto my chest and shoulders, thoroughly soaking me.

My fists clench as I take calming breaths, but not shouting at Owen is getting harder by the second.

He's your ride. He's your ride. He's your ride.

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