A Fault Line That's my FaultThe next day arrived like a slap in the face.
The thought of working with Mop was bad, even in a dream. But the fact that she WAS working with Mop in real life as well, looked a lot to her like fate. Mop wasn't ugly either. He was a little cuter than Mr. Cabidrige, but only because of his dimples and long eyelashes. I raced for the bus, hoping to make it late, so my time with Mop would be less than an hour. Maybe 2 minutes. Or seconds.
And the realization struck me when I walked into his Victorian house. Mop wouldn't be all genius around me. In fact, he would maybe try to "kiss" me. But that was definitely an understatement. He didn't have a book, so he must've memorized what he was going to say. But he didn't look like we were going to have a make out session which may or may not have made me sadder than I already was. It turned out, Mop was a pretty interesting project-er. I guess, you could say that. I was almost reluctant to go when the clock stroke 2:00 PM. But I left.
I didn't take the bus this time. Not only because if I walked I would have more time to ponder the recent events of the afternoon, but because I had spent most of my bus-fare money riding in style to Mop's house. I was almost to my house when I could sense a fault line in the rickety rocky road path. I looked up to the sky. Mae was in my house, eating a cookie, which made me wonder WHY I was thinking about that when I was on the epicenter of an Earthquake.
I could see an outline of Mop's confused face, and I wanted to scream at him to help, to save me. But coming from a 9th grader who took college courses, that must've seemed like a fantasy. But the biggest surprise of all, was when I disappeared and Mop followed me down.