L is for Laughingstock

LApril nearly vaulted out of her skin when Nick’s phone vibrated against her lap. She’d silenced it hours earlier, in aversion to conversing with anyone who knew she stole her brother’s phone. When she first left the house, the phone was screaming like a banshee every few minutes, caller ID chez elle. She finally understood why.


“Where are you, April? Do you still have my backpack?” His voice squeaked with anxiety. “I need it. Now.”

“What’s going on? I found the…money—”

“Just goddamn get it back to me!”

“Stop screaming!”

Nick choked out a laugh bitter enough to taste. “You didn’t meet up with Zach, did you?”

April’s spine stiffened and she glanced over her shoulder reflexively. Her voice was a whisper of shame, “How’d you know about that?”

“Who do you think wanted to take video of you in your panties, cockroach crawling between your tits?” That laugh again. “You got the love note, right? I mean, you don’t really think he likes you, do you?”

Her finger jabbed the end button while her heart tried to blast through her skull. She stared at the screen, concentrating all her will to stop from throwing it across the parking lot to watch it shatter in a million pieces. Within seconds a text message popped up.

“ur an idiot if you go to that party”

What party? There was the ignorant jackass brother she was used to; always screwing up the details and only privy to half the information. All she knew was that she didn’t want to carry around his money on her back.

“Mrs. Walsh, wait! Can you drop me home—just at the corner?”

Her neighbor paused in hanging up the gas nozzle, fixed her sunglasses in April’s direction. “Sure, honey. Just at the corner.”


This flash fiction is a part of the Blogging From A to Z (April 2015) Challenge. A new installment arrives every day in April, following the alphabet; check the calendar below to see which letters post on which days. Read more about this blogfest HERE.



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