Page 2 of Hottie on Her Shelf
Megan winced in sympathy. “Mmm. The burning is the ginger. The slime is probably the raw egg. The taste? Probably the bitter combo of kale, celery, and turmeric. Now keep drinking.”
Hallie looked down at her previously white shirt, now wet, splotched with green, and sticking to her. “I need to change.” Good thing she had all those boxes of reading challenge tees—although they were sized for kids.
“Not yet.” Megan’s bright pink-slicked lips zipped in and out of a grin. “I’ve got one last present for you.”
Hallie gestured at her shirt. “I think you’ve done enough. Save it for my next birthday.”
“Nope. This one’s time sensitive. Sort of. I put your name on the ballot to be the next mayor of Swan Cove!”
Her brain was clicking along slower this morning. But that in no way explained the ridiculousness that Megan had just spouted. “Very funny. Now stay here at the desk while I go change.”
Megan shoved the mug back at Hallie. To assuage her, she braced, pinched her nose shut, and took one more big swallow.
“I’m serious, Hallie,” Megan said. “Today’s the last day to make changes to the ballot. Actually, it becomes officially locked in an hour. There’s you and Mayor Montgomery. That’s it.”
Crap.
This time her mouth just opened in surprise. “Why on earth would you do that?”
“It’s what you wanted.” Megan spoke slowly, over-enunciating, as if trying to explain something as obvious as how blow-drying hair upside down creates more volume.
“No.” Hallie lifted her hand to tick off points on each finger. “Not in any universe. Not in any reality. Not here. Not in Narnia, or Regency England, or Mars. Nowhere would I want to be mayor.”
Now Megan’s mouth fell agape. “But you said so. Last night.”
Not a chance. As far as Hallie was concerned, being mayor ranked right up there with living in a world without air-conditioning and antibiotics. And joining a submarine crew despite her extreme claustrophobia. “I promise you I did not.”
“You most certainly did. You were ranting on the walk home about what a bad job the mayor’s been doing for Swan Cove. We were at the edge of the swan pond, and you pointed at the swans and said they could do a better job than Fitz Montgomery.”
Hallie started to fold in half to bang her head on the desk. Then she remembered the pounding headache and, slowly, straightened back up. “That’s not the same as saying I want to be mayor.”
“I interpolated. Extrapolated? What am I trying to say?”
“That you lost your mind? That you overstepped?”
Megan tossed her head, which didn’t have the usual effect, since she’d chopped off her long blond locks last week and gone with an angled bob instead. She worked in Swan Cove’s toniest salon, and considered her own hair to be a walking billboard for her services. She changed up her look every six months. “You’re welcome, by the way. And happy birthday.”
Hallie half stood to lean across the desk and grab Megan’s arm. “Go fix it. Get my name off. Right now.”
“I can’t.”
“Of course you can.”
Megan twisted out of her grip with a crinkle of her nose. “First of all, there’s only an hour left before the ballot’s official, and I have to go open the salon. Can’t be late. My little old ladies are sticklers for punctuality. And, secondly, only you can take it off. The clerk was very clear explaining that. Protects the validity of the electoral process. Otherwise, any contender could just stroll up and demand someone’s name be stricken.”
Hallie blinked, grabbed the fritter, and took a huge bite. She’d need the sugar for fuel, not just to zoom out of here, but to sustain her through the awkward conversation with the city clerk. Hopefully, they could share a good laugh about Megan’s mistake/overreach. More hopefully, Hallie would be able to secure a promise from the clerk that nobody would ever learn that her name had even been on the ballot for a hot second.
She swiveled around, taking paper from the printer tray and a marker from her desk. It was electric orange, but she didn’t have time to search for another.
She was about to do the unthinkable—open the library late.
But more unthinkable was running for mayor.
With swift strokes, she penned an apology note to tape to the front door. Turned out her hangover was good for something—it’d forced her to wear sneakers. It’d make the six-block run to city hall borderline doable.
Hallie slammed her hand onto the cardboard box. “Leave all the donuts. You can take the smoothie, because I’m definitely not drinking or wearing any more of it. And although I can’t believe this has to be said out loud, do not ever again submit my name for anything official—not a marathon, not a blood drive, and certainly not an election—without checking with me first!”
Megan didn’t so much as blink at her stern tone. “Nope. You were ranting, Hallie. You always do. You think too much and get riled up and rant, but then you don’t take action. Whereas I’m great at action—lots less at thinking. You need me to help you get things done.” She lifted her chin. “I still say this is the best birthday present ever.”
