Simply Mad (Girls of Wonder Lane Book 1)

by Christina Coryell

  “Absolutely. I will have Human Resources begin working on it immediately.”

  Yes! If they sent the information out now, I bet they will make an announcement sometime in the next two weeks. Before the month is out, that office will be mine, and all the perks associated with it. No more thanklessly pouring out my best efforts while someone else takes the credit. From now on I will create my own destiny in this company. I’ll start with this marketing position, and I’ll diligently work my way into being an executive.

  “Hey, Maddie,” Katie says, drawing me back to the present. “I take it you saw the mail I mentioned.”

  “Yes, I did,” I casually respond, pretending not to be interested. “It was the thing about the dress code, right?”

  “Yeah, that was the one,” Katie replies with a laugh. “I guess you better get to organizing that office pretty thoroughly. Sounds like it won’t be long until it has a new permanent resident.”

  “Well, it will just have to wait. I’ve got something more important to do.”

  “More important than setting up your new humble abode? I’m terribly worried about you. What could you possibly consider more important?”

  “If you really must know,” I reply, twisting in my chair so I can look directly into her face, “I have a résumé to write.”

  “Of course! This is so exciting. Just remember the little people while you’re on your way to the top.”

  “How could I forget you, Katie? I’ll even let you in on a little secret: When I move into my new office, I’m giving you my stapler.”

  Tonight marks my inaugural jog—my first foray into the world of exercise and physical fitness. I’m trying to forget about that darn Benji and the fact that he turned out to be such a disappointment. If I can’t forget, I figure it will be a great motivator as I try to make myself healthier. The more upset I get, the more physical I will become, which will help me go farther and faster than I normally could.

  Besides, I purchased some specialized running gear. The shorts have a special panel to increase air flow and reduce perspiration, and my shirt is completely breathable. The salesman at the fitness store highly recommended them. They were a little pricey, but I’m sure they will be totally worth it in the long run. The shoes are specially designed for people who do a lot of running, so they will cushion my feet at just the appropriate places, making my jog a lot like running on air.

  With my water bottle hanging around my waist and my running app open on my phone, I head out the front door, pausing only long enough to notice Mrs. Willows pulling weeds from her flowerbed. She turns and looks at me, and I wave with a winning smile. Don’t I look smart in my running outfit, Mrs. Willows? I’ll probably be doing marathons soon enough! She gives a slight wave and returns to her work.

  I’m feeling pretty good as I head down Wonder Lane. My feet have already found a rhythm, and I’m pounding the pavement in perfect time. Proper planning might have included music, but I doubt I need it today. I’m going to enjoy looking at the scenery and I feel pretty cool in my outfit, despite the heat of the day. Yeah, jogging could definitely become my new hobby.

  Rounding the corner at the end of the block, I peer casually into the neighbors’ yards. The house just past the corner is impeccably groomed and belongs to someone named Martin, which I know because they have a wooden plaque hanging by the door. They have a couple weeping willow trees and a big wooden bench on the porch, along with flowers in a built-in box on top of their mail receptacle. Naturally, I presume their house is as clean on the inside as it is on the outside.

  Whew, I am really feeling the oxygen going into my lungs now. I must have gone quite a long way. I’ll just check my app and see my progress…

  Two-tenths? That can’t be right. Let’s see, if I was in my car and I made that one left turn, I would have gone…

  I guess it is right. Sure didn’t expect to be winded after only two-tenths of a mile. How am I ever going to jog the five miles I anticipated?

  Never mind, maybe I am about to get my second wind. I hear runners talk about that sometimes on television; just when you think you can’t go any farther, you suddenly get a second wind and it’s like starting over fresh. I’m not sure these shoes are doing their job properly, though. It doesn’t feel much like I’m running on air—running through sand is more like it. It’s like the soles of my shoes are covered with chewing gum and it’s an effort to simply pick up my feet.

  Power through. I can do this, it’s just going to take a little extra motivation.

  Something begins clicking behind me, and I turn slightly to see a little boy riding his bicycle down the street. He’s got training wheels, and he doesn’t look to be much older than a kindergartner. Expecting to see his mother or father, I look around and see no one.

  Never mind the kid. Just keep running. He’s not my responsibility.

  Focusing on the ground in front of me, I realize that I need to set some goals to push myself. If I just try to jog to the mailbox up the street, that seems like an attainable goal. Of course, walking for a moment to check my jogging app is important, and it’s not like that constitutes giving up.

  Three-tenths of a mile? Seriously? I’m going to die. They will have to pick me up with a spatula and get a body bag ready. Who’s going to come rescue me, though? Nobody even knows I’m running, except Mrs. Willows and now this bike kid, and I doubt either of them is going to send a patrol out looking for me.

  The clicking noise returns again, this time from my left. The little boy is riding directly beside me, glancing at me now and then.

  “Can I help you?” I ask the kid. My voice sounds funny—like I’m panting. It’s fairly pathetic.

  “I’m just riding my bike,” he says, not bothering to look at me. His peddling perfectly matches my strides, which are getting shorter by the minute.

  “Do you think you could ride it somewhere else?” I complain breathlessly. A little oxygen might be necessary soon.

  “You don’t own the road.”

  Well, I guess he’s right about that. I can’t force him to get away from me. Maybe I should try to make him nervous.

  “Where are your parents?” Gasp. I reach for my water.

  “Working.”

  “Who’s watching you?” I’m not sure I’ve ever ingested half a bottle of water in two gulps before. Maybe I’ll improve, now that I’m fully hydrated.

  “My grandma.”

  “Where’s your grandma?” My calves are starting to cramp. Honestly, I wish this kid would go away so I could walk for a moment without feeling like a complete loser.

  “Over there,” he informs me, not motioning to anywhere in particular. When we reach the end of the block, I turn off the road, hoping he won’t follow. He keeps going, not bothering to look and see where I went.

  Once that kid is completely out of sight, I slow down to a steady walk. Drinking all that water probably wasn’t such a great idea. It’s sloshing around my stomach now, with a “whoosh, whoosh” every time I take a step. Forcing the thought out of my head, I continue on the downhill stretch and head for home.

  As I round the last turn in the road, a small white dog begins barreling toward me, running as fast as his little legs will go. When he gets closer, he begins to release a high-pitched yap. Picking up my speed, I attempt to outrun him. No such luck, as he is almost immediately at my heels.

  Looking at the houses nearby, I don’t see anyone outside. Determined to ignore him, I simply continue past a man mowing his lawn. He looks at me inquisitively, no doubt alarmed to see a woman running with a half-crazed dog yipping at her heels. Instead of reacting, I simply wave as though my situation is perfectly normal.

  Alright, you little nightmare. I know you can’t keep this up all day.

  I decide to take off in a sprint, hoping he won’t be able to keep up and will instead watch in bewilderment from the center of the road. As it turns out, sprinting is not easy when you’re not used to jogging and you’re already winded and hav
e the water sloshing in your stomach. Where did that dog go, anyway?

  Yap, yap…

  Ouch!

  Stopping dead in my tracks, I glare down at that dog where he cowers in the road. Inspection of my ankle reveals two large scratches.

  “You bit me! I can’t believe you actually bit me!”

  “Spark!” a voice calls. “Sparky, get back here this instant.” The dog turns at the sound of that voice, so I believe it must be his owner. “There you are, Spark.” His owner is a middle-aged woman who is slightly overweight and red-faced. From all appearances, she was having about as much fun chasing Sparky as I was running away from him. The little dog wags his tail, yaps a couple more times, and then spins around her excitedly. She responds by scooping him up and cradling him in her arms like he’s an infant.

  “What did you do to him?” she asks accusingly, stroking his back.

  “You might want to watch your dog more closely,” I tell her. “He bit me.”

  “Oh, not my Sparky-poo,” she coos, rubbing his nose with her finger. He makes a low noise that sounds almost like purring, licking her hand. “He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

  “Well,” I begin, attempting to catch my breath from the sprint, “I don’t know about any flies, but I do know that he bit me. Just look at my ankle, if you don’t believe it.”

  “I’m certain that my Sparky didn’t do that!” She continues to pet her dog, staring down at him lovingly. He just sits in her arms, letting her caress him smugly.

  “I’m jogging down the road, minding my own business, and your little yapping dog is chasing at my heels. How exactly do you propose I got the marks on my ankle? I don’t see any other obstacles in my way.”

  “I don’t know, maybe your shoe caught against your ankle as you were running and it left a scratch.”

  Is she kidding?

  “You know, I did forget to take the razor blades out before I started jogging tonight, so you’re probably right.” She puffs up with that little dog and tries to glare at me. At least I think that’s what she’s trying to do—the sweat is clouding my vision a bit.

  “Well, I’m sorry you got blood on your fancy little socks, but you don’t have to be snooty about it. Sparky was just having a little fun.”

  Snooty? Me, snooty? But they are fancy little socks—at least she noticed that.

  Fancy little socks with blood on them. A wave of nausea overtakes my abdomen, and I begin gagging from the sight of the blood coupled with the splashing water in my stomach. Giving that woman a piece of my mind is really tempting, but I’m incapable at the moment.

  Turning away from Sparky and his half-crazy owner, I walk to the corner and see my humble abode in the distance. I never thought that jogging one little mile would be so difficult. If you’re out of shape, you’re out of shape.

  Picking it up to a slow trot again, the sound of a honking car jolts me from my thoughts and I move over a tad. A black BMW slowly rolls by, and I glance over at the driver, who happens to be a beautiful young woman wearing dark shades and heading down my very own Wonder Lane. In fact, she looks a lot like that news reporter that’s always on Channel Six…Harleysomething-or-other. Naturally, I pick up my pace to see where she’s headed.

  Just a few houses down from Josh’s quaint little number, that Harley look-alike pulls that Beemer up at the large stately two-story at the end of the cul-de-sac, proceeding to walk up the steps and through the front door like she owns the place. Which she probably does.

  She doesn’t need to jog—practically perfect news reporter. If she did, she surely wouldn’t be out of breath and about to collapse. The waistband of her shorts wouldn’t be all wet with perspiration, even though they were supposed to have the special air flow and breathable fabric. And she definitely wouldn’t have been bitten by that little snarling Sparky, who probably has rabies.

  No, I can’t even think about that again.

  Of course, to add insult to injury, my app on my phone indicates that I’ve only gone nine-tenths of a mile. Pathetic.

  One thing has certainly been accomplished on my jog, though. Josh doesn’t need to worry about me having any guys come near the house anymore. Not since I know Harley is in the neighborhood.

  Chapter Eight

  Normally I would be really nervous about a job interview; however, interviewing with Doug Hamilton really isn’t intimidating. I’ve been working closely with him ever since I took on Kyle’s job responsibilities, so I feel like he knows my abilities quite well. Besides, there haven’t even been any rumblings about anyone else interviewing, so it seems like I may be the only qualified candidate. If that’s true, I was spot-on in my thinking before: Hamilton and Cooper opened the position internally just for me.

  Even though I really have nothing to worry about, I still wore my most impeccable suit today. No sense leaving him with anything less than the best possible impression. I even skipped lunch simply to avoid spilling anything on myself. Plus, I have minty fresh breath, which is always an advantage. Hunger might currently serve as my enemy, but I’ll power through. It’s not like I haven’t been hungry every day over the last couple weeks anyway, since I started trying to watch what I eat. It really is difficult to cut your calories with your stomach putting up a staunch fight.

  According to everything I’ve read lately, I should begin seeing the results of my hard work within the next two weeks. With my emphasis on healthy food combined with exercising every single day, I’m eager to see what happens. I have officially succeeded in jogging a whole mile without stopping, and I am pushing myself for two miles now.

  Katie’s been in an especially good mood lately, too, ever since I found out about the interview. She said it just reinforced the fact that I was actually going to get the job. Until then, she was still afraid they might hire another Kyle and we would just show up one day and someone would be in the office – my office. It’s spotless now, and everything’s arranged just the way I want it. It should be no problem to pick up my paperwork and personal effects and move on in.

  When the clock on the wall shows 1:45, I begin to get a bit fidgety. The 2:00 interview is looming ahead of me, and I can hardly wait. What could he possibly have to ask me? He knows I’m completely capable of doing the job. I’ve been here three years, after all. If he doesn’t realize my potential, he must not have been paying any attention.

  When I hear my phone begin to ring, I hastily grab the receiver. “Madeline speaking,” I chirp, probably a little more brightly than usual. I can’t help it—I’m on top of the clouds right now.

  “Heard, it’s Doug Hamilton.”

  Calling to remind me about the interview? Don’t worry—I won’t miss it.

  “There’s been a slight change in plans regarding your interview.”

  Change in plans? I don’t like the sound of that.

  “Kent Cooper has decided that he would like to handle the interview himself. He would like to see you in his office at 2:00. Okay?”

  Huh? Not okay!

  “Yes, thank you,” I answer instead, completely betraying myself.

  Cooper wants to interview me? No—I was prepared for Hamilton. He knows about the department, knows what I do, knows my capabilities. Cooper doesn’t know anything about me! He’ll probably ask me all types of questions, trying to test my knowledge. I’m not ready for that type of inquisition!

  What if he doesn’t trust Hamilton to do the interview?

  Or, yikes, what if Hamilton really wants me to have the job, and Cooper isn’t sure?

  This is not good—not good at all.

  “Katie,” I hiss. She looks up from her computer, inquisitively eyeing me through her curls.

  “Hey, it’s almost time,” she informs me with a smile. “Are you excited?”

  “No. I just found out I have to interview with Cooper.”

  Katie’s eyes grow a couple sizes, and her face suddenly looks a little pale. “Cooper? What happened?”

  “I don’t know. There’s been a chang
e in plans. What do you think that means?”

  “I’m sure it’s a good thing. At least he’s taking it seriously. Don’t worry, everything will be fine.”

  That’s easy for Katie to say. She doesn’t have to go to the top floor and face Cooper in his big office with the big chairs and big doors. The place is practically built for giants. I’m going to look like a tiny bug.

  Well, so I’ve heard. I’ve never actually been in Cooper’s office myself, or even on the top floor, so I’m just basing this on hearsay. This is not good—not good at all. (I know, I said that already.) Now I feel very nervous, and it’s starting to feel stiflingly hot in here. What if I begin to feel sick?

  “You better go, if you have to make it to the top floor in time.” She’s right, I know, but I’m not prepared. What if he doesn’t like me? What if I’m nervous and come across as scatterbrained or unprofessional? What if my weak stomach rejects the fact that I want this promotion and I throw up on his rug?

  Still, I guess I have to face the music, and there’s no getting around it. I have to go.

  Scratch that…I want to go, because I want this job. The job is mine, and I deserve it.

  That’s it! I’ll just keep reminding myself of that fact, and I’m sure I will be assertive and impressive in the interview.

  The job is mine, and I deserve it.

  Pushing the button for the elevator, I prepare to wait for the doors to open, but they slide apart almost immediately, as though they were awaiting my arrival. Hmmm… I was hoping for a moment to stand here and calm my nerves, but it looks like it’s not happening.

  The elevator jerks upward in its ascent to the top floor. What if Cooper doesn’t come out of his office to greet me? How am I going to approach him? Should I go up to his desk and shake his hand, or should I just politely sit in one of the chairs? What if the desk is so enormous that I can’t reach across it to shake his hand, and I wind up doing a belly flop on its surface, and he is appalled and thinks I’m crazy, sprawled out across his desk with my arms extended toward him?