October 7, 7:28 a.m.

Hello, Notebook. I had just finished reading what I wrote by the cold light of morning and I was just about to write how foolish it all was. And then my phone rang. It was Jules.

"I gave Sarah your number last night. Did she call?"

"What?!"

"I guess not. Well, anyway, she’s got it."

"Why did you do that?"

"She asked for it," Jules said, trying to sound innocent. Well, maybe she was innocent, but at the time I wanted to hang her like the traitor she was.

"Why?"

"I don’t know."

"Did you tell her anything?"

"No! I just gave her the number."

"Didn’t you ask why she wanted it?"

There was a pause, and I knew Jules was shrugging. "Nope. Listen, I gotta run. I just wanted to see if she’d called."

"Yeah." I hit the TALK button with my thumb and put it back on the charger.

You know, I pity Jules. She’s going straight to hell for her wicked deeds.

Sarah wanted my number. What for? She doesn’t even know my name. At least, I don’t think she does. She didn’t call, though…

That’s enough of this, I think. I doubt I can put it all out of my mind, but I’m going to try, at least for a little while. Maybe see if I can finish that poem I started. It doesn’t seem so bad now; it actually looks better to me than what I turned in.

But I know one thing’s for sure now…it’s not about Karen.

God, what could I have ever thought was pretty about the name Karen when the name Sarah was out there all this time?

--Chris

 

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