Page 6 of Take a Chance on Me

“That’s because I generally plan what I’m going to eat and know how much exercise to put into my day. If I’m going to be eating at new places, I will need to up my exercise regimen.”

She sighs. “You sound like my friend Charlie. A few weeks of eating more calories than normal isn’t going to kill you. Plus, we’ll be walking more once we get downtown, and you do want to have time to visit the rest of your “list”, don’t you?” She puts the word list in air quotes and adds a little sass to it as well.

My eye twitches as I glare at her. It’s the slightest twitch and something that rarely happens but it tends to rear its head when I’m annoyed, and she is definitely punching my buttons today. This is going to be a long two weeks if every decision is like this.

“How about we ask the eight ball?” She pulls it from her bag and smiles up at me, batting her lashes as if that’s going to convince me.

“That is not how rational people make decisions.” My words resemble a growl more than speech as they rumble out of my chest.

“But it’s a lot more fun. So, should we take the stairs?” She turns the ball over. “Cannot predict now. Ask again later.”

“That’s not a no,” I say.

“It’s not a yes either. Should we take the elevator?” She flips the ball again. “Yes! Ha, you can’t get much clearer than that.”

I shake my head as she punches the button for the elevator again. It doesn’t usually take this long to arrive. There aren’t that many floors in this building although we are near the top. “Fine, I’ll just add something athletic to the list. Perhaps we’ll rent a bicycle and go riding through downtown. Or maybe a nice five mile walk along the beach would be good.”

The ding sounds and the doors slide open. “Sure, we can do all of that… if the eight ball says so.”

“I am not consulting that toy for everything we do,” I grumble as we step into the elevator.

“You really need to lighten up a little. Have a little fun.” She punches the number for the bottom floor.

“Fun can have consequences.”

“So can being a bore,” she says as the doors whoosh closed.

I am not a bore, but I don’t dignify her statement with a response. We clearly have different definitions of the word fun, so there’s no need to argue about it. The soft hum of the machinery fills the air as the elevator moves. Above us, numbers light up and then go dark as we pass each floor. There is something oddly calming about the lights and the soft clicks as we pass each floor. And then there is a jolt and I fall back against the wall. The lights go off. All of them. A moment later they return but not nearly as bright as before.

“What’s wrong? Did we just stop?” I ask, punching the buttons that are no longer lighting up.

“Yeah, but I’m sure it’s nothing.” She at least has the decency to sound apologetic. “Probably a power outage and once it gets back on, then everything will be fine.”

“No, it will not be fine. We could be stuck in here all day. What if they don’t even know we are in here?” I’m not panicking exactly, but my voice is rising in pitch and my words are tumbling out faster than before. My heartbeat also seems to be beating a little faster and more erratically in my chest.

“We won’t be stuck in here all day. I’m sure they have cameras in the elevator. They’ll see us. Besides, almost everyone uses the elevator. Someone is bound to notice it’s stopped and come get us.”

“There are no cameras in this elevator. The building is too old for that.”

“Oh.”

“This is your fault.” I turn and glare at her as I slide to the floor.

“My fault? How is it my fault that the elevator broke?”

“It’s your fault because you had to consult that stupid toy. What is with that thing anyway?”

“It’s fun,” she says through clenched teeth.

“You find being stuck in an elevator fun?”

“Not with you.” I’m sure she meant the words to be softer, but they cut just the same. Her expression shifts. “I’m sorry, but look, it’s not that bad.” She rummages in her bag as she sits next to me. “I have some food and water, so we won’t starve or die of thirst. And I’ve got paper and pens. We can play hangman or something.”

“I don’t play hangman.” I fold my arms across my chest even though I fully realize it makes me look like a petulant child. In fact, I do like hangman; it’s a lot like Wordle, but I refuse to give her the satisfaction.

“Then draw something.” She says it like she’s talking to a bratty sibling, complete with a huff and an eye roll, but she holds out a notebook and pen.

I’m tempted to say no again, even though drawing will probably help. Doodling in class certainly helped me through high school, so I reluctantly take the proffered gifts. “Why do you carry a notebook around with you?”

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