The Blonde, the Brunette, and the Redhead
The brunette and the redhead are sitting on the bench outside. They take up all the room, forcing me to stand awkwardly behind them. I don't know where the blonde went. She only whispered it to the redhead, who, of course, told the brunette but not me.
The two talk, and I vaguely overhear their conversation as my legs start to cramp from my awkward position. Finally, the redhead, the leader, stands and begins walking away. In a flash, the brunette follows her. I'm left all alone.
Halfway down the sidewalk, the brunette turns, realizing their little hanger-on isn't there.
“Melissa,” she calls. It's always the brunette who calls back, not the blonde, and never the redhead. “You can come with us if you like.
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