Fake It | ✔️

Twenty-Two | 💋

Four days later, I sent:

Mr. Dalton has a meeting. Will update you soon.

Sent 8:06 PM

All I knew was the messages sent. We stayed the same. Did Sugar read them? I had no clue. She stayed silent.

What I wanted to say was: "Are you okay?"

"What happened at the bake sale?"

"We're good. Right?"

The bake sale.

Sugar ran to the bathroom.

She was fine, taking in my jokes and teases. The dessert received more glances than I did. I wondered, will she do another air-kiss? A hug?

I was tempted to remove the entire booth. The table created space, which was too much for me to accept. I leaned over to smell the goodies, when I had other motives. My hand reached the middle closer to where her hand was on the table's edge. The buckeye! Damn. I devoured the peanut butter chocolate dessert.

She created it.

All I did was glance up to compliment the delight. Her mouth gaping open, eyes observed my reaction.

This is delicious.

Stuffing the two remaining buckeyes into my mouth, I licked the melted chocolate from my fingers.

Is she watching me? I hope so.

I winked.

Closing my eyes, I continued in the moment. My thoughts wandered all over the place with endless possibilities on how Sugar will react, multiple scenarios played in my mind like a short video . . . spit was on my finger. Swallowing, I hummed. I opened my eyes.

She disappeared.

A two to four-minute bathroom wait turned into a ten. Then twenty.

I hovered near the bathroom's entrance.

"Lydia, can you, " Can she what, "I mean – I'm sure Sugar is fine. But can you-"

"Watch the booth. I'll check on her," Lydia responded.

"I'll help," Min-ho spoke up, "watch the-"

Lydia gave him a glare.

He held up his hands and laughed, unable to finish his sentence.

Min-ho and I took over while Lydia checked on Sugar.

Lydia said Sugar was sick. She took her home even though I offered to take her home. Sugar glanced at the ground, nodding her head, said, "Thanks, August. I'm good. Lydia will be taking care of me."

What happened? Why did she go to the bathroom, I thought as I sat in Mr. Dalton's office, recalling the bake sale exchange.

My thoughts returned to Sugar.

If Mr. Dalton wasn't late . . . perhaps he would help control my thoughts on the significant agenda. The show!

I brought my thumb up to my mouth. Fingernail grazed over my bottom lip.

What are the next steps in the show? What has Hazel Inc. decided . . . ignore the rumors? They can't stop the film . . . they've put a significant amount of money into the production already.

I crossed my right leg to move on top of my left knee. My fingers started to wave up and down the gray chair's arm. The soft smooth leather made a dull sound when I lifted my fingers up in the air and back down.