Page 11 of Catfish

Good ‘ole thirteen-year-old Jacob couldn’t wait until after his big night to make the colossal announcement that he wanted to be Catholic—absolutely not.

That would’ve been too convenient and less dramatic for the three hundred people in attendance and the wet cloths that I had to keep running back to the kitchen for because Grandma Martha collapsed to the floor.

Even though I couldn’t control the actions of my guests and the surprises they wanted to arrange on these said celebrations, my name was linked to these events—my business. The one my younger cousin, Sadie, and I ran, bled, and slept with.

A Series of Fortunate Events.

It's almost comical at this point—literally. I laughed about it on my way home because why the hell would I pick that name over something stupid like Royal Designs or something basic like Pretty Planners seriously is beyond the fuck out of me.

Regardless of the bullshit name and the fact that I don’t have any cigarettes, too much rode on this. Mama needed the financial backing for her cancer treatments and for my brother, Marty, to have a place to come home to when he did, in fact, come home.

It’s all that matters at this point.

My phone buzzes off my beige satin sheets as I slide my black skirt off my hips.

Chase, the lawyer.

I won't deny that I Googled said Chase, to see if he even existed. He wasn't hard to find; he was one of Connecticut's most sought-after lawyers. His Google rating was five stars, which was impressive but still posed the question if he was a shady ass one or if he really was just good at what he did.

So I wasn’t offended when he didn’t think it was me on the other side of the phone. I owed it to him after I judged the hell out of him and his pictures.

Chase looks entitled, rich, and stuck up. Classic Ivy League school preppy boy with pretty blue eyes and a nice smile.

He messaged me.

I took it upon myself to knock him down a few pegs with the “hey beautiful” line because, hey, I was having a bad day and needed someone to take it out on.

But then he kicked it right back.

That I could respect.

And that’s why I’m still speaking to him at the present moment. If Ivy Prep wants to shoot the shit for a few hours, I’m good with it. I’m in need of a somewhat social life anyway.

My phone dings again, another text coming through before I swipe it up to see what other smart ass things he has to say.

Chase: Holy shit, it IS you.

Me: Told you.

Chase: Telling and seeing are two totally different things, Sox.

Me: I won’t lie, I Googled you.

Chase: Figures. I knew you were too good to be true. Is this the part where you plan how to reel me in, make me fall in love with you, and take all my shit?

Me: Wow. You really need some help with that paranoia.

Me: Yale University?

Chase: Yep, Handsome Dan, and all.

Me: Handsome who?

Chase: Our mascot…

Me: Ohhh...you Ivy League schools are extra, I forgot.

Chase: Loyal.

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