A/N: In the immortal words of Annie Edison: "Awwwwww, you guuuyyyyssss!" XD Seriously, I squee'd so much reading all of the super-sweet and awesome reviews you left me. :D *Hugs* The more feedback I get, the more encouraged I am to update faster. I also appreciate anyone who favorited or subscribed to this story; that really means a lot. Annnd, I really took into consideration the critiques I received (how could I have mistaken Jeff's eyes to be brown? That has been changed to their real color now, LOL). Again, please keep reviewing! I hope you guys love this next chapter. :) Please remember to review!
CHAPTER TWO
"Your smile is so big, I want to miniaturize myself with a shrink ray and ski across it," Troy says as I walk into our apartment.
Our apartment. Huh. I wonder if I'll ever get used to the simplistic joy of having two of my best friends as roommates.
"As appealing as the idea is, you'll have to wait at least another ten to twelve months for that, Troy," says Abed. He turns to me and adds, in way of explanation, "The Troybed Shrink Ray 3000 is still in the prototype phase. I keep saying we need to use a base core more durable than aluminum, but Troy likes the shininess of it."
"Ooh, shiiinnnyyy..." Troy gets this goofy grin on his face. "I can see my reflection in it. And we need the aluminum, Abed, so it can help mold our molecules into compressed versions, remember? Nothing molds better than aluminum! Besides maybe old cheese…Oh!" He gets this 'light bulb flashing above his head' look in his eyes.
Abed nods to appease him before turning back to me. "So, I'm taking it your job interview went well? You look happier than the Doctor with a plate of fish fingers and custard in front of him."
I sit down on the end of the couch, next to Abed, who is now between Troy and me. It's a bit of a tight squeeze, and as I sat down, my miniskirt rode up just an inch or two. So now at least half of my thigh is bare, and it is right up against Abed's leg.
I discreetly try to pull down the hemline a bit; my movement catches Abed's attention. His gaze jumps down to me adjusting my skirt. His eyes widen about a fraction of a centimeter when they meet my thigh; an unnoticeable gesture on anyone but him, who is usually the epitome of composed. He quickly looks away.
My face is suddenly hot as I finally respond with, "Yeah, I'm pretty sure I got the job. The interviewer said I reminded her of her out-of-state granddaughter, and she kept looking at me affectionately. She called me Courtney twice – the name of her granddaughter – and asked if I had remembered to feed her cat, so I'm pretty sure she might have Alzheimer's, but yeah, I think it went well."
"Let's just hope she remembers interviewing you," says Troy.
Abed says, "Be careful, Annie; this Courtney character might resemble you so much to her-grandmother-slash-your-job-interviewer because it turns out she is actually your evil Doppelganger who comes to town one day and pretends she is you and tries to steal your life. But she forgets to feed the cat, who is of course pivotal to the storyline. Hilarity and hi-jinks will ensue before the amusement takes a dark and dangerous turn, and then you will have to do something drastic to prove to all of us that you are the real Annie and not Doppelganger-Courtney-Annie."
"Whoa, Abed," I chuckle, "you should turn that into a screenplay or something. I'd love to watch a movie like that."
"Then all you have to do is pick through about 25% of all Lifetime Original Movies," he says. "The majority of them either involve a lookalike causing harmful shenanigans, adultery, murder, or a combination of the three."
"That's why I call them Knifetime Original Movies," quips Troy. "So, Annie, when will you know if you got the job?"
"She said I should know by this time tomorrow."
"You know what's a great way to pass the time until then?" Troy has a secret smile dancing on his lips.
He and Abed exchange a look before bursting out in unison, "Marathon of Inspector Spacetime!" They do their special handshake.
I grin. "I'll go make the popcorn."
It's Saturday. The day after my job interview. I am pacing the length of our small living room so much that I think I might have run down the carpet into a mere rug.
I am also biting my nails. Attacking the poor, hard crescents, chipping dark pink polish between my bared teeth. I probably look crazy. I feel crazy. With nerves, that is.
You wouldn't think waiting to find out if you are the new secretary at the local bank would be as nerve-racking as a contestant on American Idol auditioning. But maybe it's not the job so much as the fact that it's another opportunity to succeed or to fail. Am I worthy, or unworthy?
"You're wearing the carpet to a nub." Troy's voice comes out of nowhere; I jump about a yard high. "You're going to scare away the poor dust bunnies; I was going to teach them how to jump through hoola hoops!"
I whip around to face him. Abed, who stands beside Troy, takes one look at my surely frenzied expression before saying in his know-it-all way that should sound arrogant but doesn't at all, "Worried about getting the job?"
I yank my nails from my mouth and wring my hands together to hide the evidence. "Noooo, not at all. I was just…making sure the carpet was safe enough to walk on. You know, in case the fibers of it were…slippery…and would make us fall and hit the edge of the coffee table with our heads and then die and there would be blood everywhere, and the carpet is white, and blood is extremely hard to get out even before it sets, and I know this for a fact because there was this one time when – "
"Annie." I snap my mouth shut. The way Abed says my name is both firm and gentle. His eyes are commanding yet concerned. "You're rambling. It's okay to be nervous about getting a job. We're your friends; you can tell us the truth."
"Okay!" I groan, throwing up my arms and letting them fall down with a loud smack to my thighs. "I'm really, really nervous, you guys! What if I don't get the job? What if I'm not good enough? If I'm not even worthy of working as a secretary, then how am I going to make it in the big time? I could end up as one of those crazy bag ladies who yells at shopping carts and keeps dead sewage rats as pets!"
"Annie, that is not going to happen to you," Troy insists. "You're way too anal to keep a dead sewage rat as a pet. ... Heheh. I said 'anal.'"
My cell phone rings; I scream this terrified scream, as if it's a giant snake about to lunge at me.
"What if it's her?" I start pacing again. "What if it's not her? What if she calls to tell me I've got the job? What if she says I'm not competent enough to answer phone calls and give out jelly beans to clients from those cute little glass bowls?"
"Annie…"
"I mean the jelly beans will be in the bowls, of course, not the clients. You know what? I don't even want that stupid job! It's beneath me! Yeah, I said it! Annie Edison is too darn good for any stupid ol' secretary job!"
"Annie…"
"I can go on to Broadway! Even though I don't really like acting… But still! I'll do something that'll make me famous, a star, and then I'll come back into that stupid bank with a whole entourage of people that are just as douche-y as those people from Entourage themselves, and she'll be all, 'Whoa, we really should have given Annie Edison the secretary job after all!' Yeah, that'll teach them to miss with – "
"ANNIE!"
"WHAT?"
"While you were walking back and forth and muttering under your breath with this crazy look in your eyes, Abed answered your phone for you."
I squint at Abed. "You did?"
"Yes. It was Mrs. Jefferson, from the bank. I asked her how she was enjoying the East Side, but she didn't get my reference. Then she told me that you got the job," he informs me. "But should I call her back and tell her that you are too big for secretary-ing, and that you'll see her in a few months after you've acquired your own entourage of actual Entourage douchebags with unfairly good hair?"
I jump up and down and squeal with joy, then do my happy dance.
"Guess not," says Abed, and a smile flashes across his face for a moment.
"This calls for some seeee-reeee-ooousss cele-bray-shee-UHN!" Troy cheers, pumping his fists in the air. He whips his cell phone from his pocket and starts punching in numbers.
"Congratulations, Annie," Abed says.
He walks over and gives me a hug. His arms are stiff; he smells good. I hug him back, tightly.
I'm just so happy that I got the job! I am worthy! I'm not going to end up as a crazy bag lady!
For just a second, Abed's arms tighten around me into an embrace that is actually warm rather than awkward. "I'm proud of you, champ," he says, ruffling my hair.
I wonder what movie or TV show he's quoting.
For some reason, I hope he isn't quoting anything.
