In open fields of wild flowers,
she breathes the air and flies away
She thanks her Jesus for the daises and the roses
in no simple language
Someday she'll understand the meaning of it all
He's more than the laughter or the stars in the heavens
As close a heartbeat or a song on her lips
Someday she'll trust Him and learn how to see Him
Someday He'll call her and she will come running
and fall in His arms and the tears will fall down and she'll pray,
"I want to fall in love with You"
-Jars Of Clay; Love Song For A Savior
When Daphne entered the lunch room at the strike of twelve, she spotted Mike browsing the vending machines. She stood beside him and dropped a few quarters into the soda machine. She chose her drink and tapped the button. It illuminated and a can of cream soda rolled into the narrow chute below her knees. She grabbed it and yanked the tab, and took a sip of the fizzy beverage. She watched whimsically as Mike was still deciding what he wanted.
"Picky eater?" she chuckled, digging out a few more bits of silver from her purse.
Mike turned his head. "Didn't hear ya, Daphne," he replied. He smirked and turned back to the machine. "No, I'm just having trouble deciding between the ham sandwich and the cheeseburger." He eyed the selections locked away on the shelves of the rotisserie vending machine.
"I'd go for the sandwich," Daphne replied, getting a brownie from a plate on the counter, "at least you can see through the wrapper and notice that the bread isn't moldy." She followed her statement with a soft smile as she sat down with her soda and an apple.
"Ah, what the heck. I'll take your advice," the red-haired man replied with a shrug of his shoulders. He dropped some change into the machine and slid open the compartment, grabbing his prize from the shelf. After purchasing a can of cola, Mike pulled up a chair across from his guest.
"So, did you have any trouble with the traffic?" Daphne joked, taking a bite of her apple.
"If you mean the small bunch rushing to the lunch room, then yes. I tried to stay behind them," he countered. Daphne arched a brow.
"You've got a good sense of humor there. I like that," she stated.
Mike swallowed a mouthful of his sandwich. "These days, you need to have one."
Daphne nodded, looking up when she heard a familiar voice. Mike followed her gaze as a short, bespectacled woman called Daphne's name from the doorway. Daphne smiled and waved her over.
The small woman came closer, and Mike could make out freckles dappling her round face. Her eyes were behind a pair of thick black frames, the wide pupils looking like dots, hidden by blue-tinted lenses. A heavy turtleneck sweater, a dark shade of orange, draped over her torso, billowing out at the base in the form of a maroon miniskirt. Stocky calves were wrapped in thick knee socks, also orange. Her small feet wore a pair of maroon Mary Janes. Ironic. The shade of her shoes and skirt were closely matched with her reddish-brunette hair, which she kept cut short to her chin in a neat bob cut.
"Jinkies! Hey, Daphne, who's your friend?" the woman inquired, looking towards Mike, who at the moment was mulling over the word "jinkies" with a slightly quizzical furrow on his brow.
"This is the new gardener, Mike," Daphne replied. "Mike, this is my friend, Velma Dinkley."
Mike smiled, extending a hand to shake the petite one Velma had offered. "Nice to meet you, Miss Dinkley. This is an awfully nice group here, I think I'll really like it here."
"I hope so," Velma chirped, sitting beside Daphne and snatching the older woman's brownie from the napkin it sat on. The redhead looked at her nonchalantly and scoffed. Velma already had a mouthful of the pastry in her mouth, a delighted smile on her lips.
"Thank you! You know I have a sweet tooth!" Velma said.
"Even if it means stealing from my plate?"
"What are friends for?"
"For telling you that next time you can walk to the counter?" Daphne asked, playfully bumping her shoulder against Velma's.
Mike laughed. "Alright, so now I know a TV reporter and a brownie thief. What else you got hidden?"
"A hippie and his dog," Daphne replied, putting her arm on the table as if to guard her half-eaten apple from Velma.
"Who?" Mike asked.
"Shaggy and Scooby. They're currently unemployed. We'll take you to meet them later," Velma stated. Mike nodded agreeably.
"Now, about the word 'jinkies'?" Mike asked, "What is that?"
Velma opened her mouth the speak, but then they heard another person approaching their table. They greeted Fred with hellos as he pulled up a chair and took a seat between Daphne and Mike.
"Hey, gang. What's up?" he asked. Despite his cheerful demeanor, the others detected a trace of irritancy in his voice.
"Nothing really. Just eating and deciphering the meaning of the word 'jinkies'," Velma replied sheepishly.
"Velma, I really don't think anyone will be able to figure that out," Fred replied flatly.
"One can dream," Daphne countered, leaning back.
"You're the Fred I met this morning, right?" Mike asked.
"That's me," Fred replied with a grin.
Mike ignored the blonde man's behavior and said, "Well, I'm glad to have met all of you. You're the first people I've associated with in America who weren't passport inspectors and flight attendants!"
"Oh, we know that feeling," Velma said. Mike raised his brows.
"Daphne told me that you travel?"
"Oh, yes. Daphne's godfather paid for us to go on all these trips, and along the way, we would usually encounter some type of mystery," Velma replied.
"Yeah, usually in the form of the supernatural," Daphne added.
"Who were all fakes," Fred finished.
"Alright. You've got my attention," Mike chuckled. "Care to tell me about one of these episodes?"