Page 26 of Worst in Show

This time it takes a while before he responds. I almost think he’s left the chat.

AlCaponesGhost25: You stumped me with that one. I was going to say love because everyone wants that, right? But with this new job and stuff, I guess I do need to figure out how to make some friends, too.

SingerQueen: It’s definitely harder as an adult.

AlCaponesGhost25: Yeah how do people do it?

SingerQueen: Maybe they connect online?

AlCaponesGhost25: *grinning face emoji*

I smile at the screen, warmth spreading through my chest. This seems like a good place to end our conversation for tonight. Any further and I’m not sure where it will take us.

I sign off and then wrap myself tightly in the blankets and shut my eyes. Doesn’t like sleeping, I think. But it feels so good. Hopefully, I get a solid night’s shut-eye to get me ready for tomorrow. I’ve got clothes to sew, a store to keep afloat, and a foe to foil.

Different possible scenarios for how to keep sabotaging Leo’s peace of mind play before me as I walk to work. Do I sign him up for a wake-up call service? Put fake bullet holes on his windows and cordon off the door?

I take out my key as I reach our street and approach the mailbox. Maybe a surprise confetti bomb would send the right message. I bite my lip, pondering this as I open the mail hatch, and I have my hand halfway there when I register what’s in front of me.

“Gah! What the hell?” I recoil in horror at the sight of the enormous brown recluse guarding our mail. I freaking hate spiders.

Every hair on my body stands at attention as my mind struggles to compute. What do I do? Do we just never get mail again? No, that’s probably not a viable option.

I squint at the eight long, pointy legs, and a ripple of phantom prickles runs up my arm as if my body already knows what it would feel like to have the creature use me as its personal runway. What I need is a stick or a can of elephant tranquilizer or a bazooka. I look around at the ground as if weapons of mass destruction will suddenly materialize, but as I run through my options, it occurs to some deep part of my consciousness that the arachnid in question didn’t move when I opened the hatch. It also occurs to me that it’s watching me a little too intently. Against my better judgment, I take a step closer.

“Nice spidey,” I whisper.

Fishing through my purse, I find a pencil that’s long enough to provide some distance and very, very carefully, I stick it into the mailbox and nudge my nightmare.

It stays exactly the same.

I nudge again, harder this time, and it tips over.

What? Finally, my shoulders relax, and I get close enough to see what I maybe should have guessed from the beginning. This is no ordinary recluse—it’s fake.

I don’t even have to think about it before I spin around to face Canine King, and there’s Leo, bright red in the face and wiping tears from his eyes.

You should have seen yourself, he mimes.

All I can do is shake my head and shoot virtual daggers. Now he’s just asking for it.

Grinding my teeth together, I pick up the rubber spider (I admit, it still makes me shudder) and the mail and storm inside.

“Good morning!” Harvey calls upon hearing the bell.

“Is it?” I mutter.

“Did you say something?”

“Nothing. Hi, Pop.” I put the mail down and throw the spider in the garbage. This time I’m going to have to think of something epic.

“I’ll be down in a bit. Will you put up the doorbuster sign?”

“Sure thing.”

The deal this week is buy a collar, get a free toy, and I’m pretty proud of the poster I drew Saturday. It’s one of my best ones yet, I think as I tape up the first corner, colorful with shaded lettering and a sweet pup off to the side.

Leo is doing the same inside Canine King, but about discounted dog food, and his sign has text only. He notices me a second later, and as soon as he does, he reenacts what I assume is supposed to be my reaction to the spider. He pretends to poke something in the air and jumps back, scrunching up his face with hilarity. In return, I pretend to crank up my middle finger, which makes his features return to RBF (resting brat face).

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