Skye Penderwick wanted to find and throttle the creator of Doctor Who with her bare hands. Sure, maybe it was slightly her fault that she had watched nine hours of the show in one sitting, causing her to go to bed at two a.m. and making her ten minutes late to the meeting of her career. But any sane person would do the same. It was dangerously addictive, really. They should give people some warning.

But never mind that, she needed to stay focused. First things first, she assessed the damage in her mirror.

Her hair looked like a possessed tangle of blonde seaweed.

Her comfy Star Wars pajamas appeared to have been involved in a food fight battle with the remnants of the Chinese takeout of the night before.

And the bags under her eyes were so huge she could picture some fancy designer whacking a Louis Vuitton price tag on them and listing them at almost $2,000 each.

All in all, pretty good, considering the circumstances.

She whipped her hair up into a bun and smacked some of the foundation Jane had gotten her for Christmas under her eyes. Next was tackling the blouse and pants Reserved for Professional Occasions that Rosalind had bought for her last winter (her older sister was tasked with buying many of her outfits after the Thanksgiving Pantsuit Debacle of two years prior). Although the tightly fitted buttoned top wasn't really her style (she much preferred comfy sweatshirts with science puns) at least it was plain blue and not the floral pattern Rosalind had been considering. The trousers, on the other hand, were stark white. Skye never wore white if she could help it, because she knew that no matter what, the piece of clothing in question would somehow get dirty. Her life motto was "Wear black, and never look back." She slipped on her favorite slides, ignoring the heels her sisters had forced her to buy that lay at the back of her closet (yes, she was short, but that didn't mean her feet had to suffer) and shrugged on the sleek trench coat that made her feel like Sherlock Holmes. She grabbed her keys, rolled her eyes at her cat staring resentfully at the empty food bowl in the kitchen, and dashed out the door.

On an average day she enjoyed the walk to the office. She was able to breathe in the crisp November air, people-watch the busy commuters hustling along the sidewalks of her beautiful city, and stop off at Starbucks to indulge in her favorite guilty pleasure (coffee loaded with heaps of cream and sugar, despite what she led others to believe). But today she didn't have time to appreciate her surroundings.

Her feet pounded the ground. Hordes of pigeons took to flight. Slits off her hair broke free from her tight bun to stream behind her like flags. Her arms whipped her sides as she pumped them. Thoughts tore through her head like New York City taxi drivers. What is wrong with me? Why do I always manage to destroy any opportunity I get? Watch out for that family! Finally, she made it to the final corner before the office building. All she had to do next was cross the street, and then she'd be home free. She stood at the edge of the concrete sidewalk, the tips of her shoes hanging over the asphalt of the road. Her eyes were hooked on the red stoplight glaring down on her.

"Please," she muttered under her breath, her hands curling up into fists. In her mind, she gave herself a countdown.

5. Still obnoxiously red.

4. Red.

3. God, why is this light so slow?

2. That creep was such a bad driver.

1. GREEN!

The sea of commuters rushed forward like water breaking through a dam. Waves of people faced Skye as she dodged around hipsters readjusting their non-prescription glasses and business men swinging their heavy suitcases. She zigzagged over the black and white stripes of the crosswalk like a flea dancing on a zebra's back. Finally, she was so close she was able to see Big Benjamin, the building security guard standing by the entrance door. She could do this. She could make it. Only a few more steps and-

BAM!

The collision knocked her off her feet, sending her flying to the ground. Her hands stung as they scraped the surface of the road, and her knee ached from the way she hit it while falling. She allowed herself to take one deep breath before she forced herself to her feet to look at the stupid half-witted imbecile who decided to tie his shoe right next to the crosswalk during one of the busiest times of the day. Skye almost considered becoming a part time hitman, as given the rush of heated anger she felt boiling up deep inside her she felt she could do some big damage to anybody standing in her way.

But that went against everything she was raised to do. She straightened her trench coat and gritted her teeth before examining the huddled mass of limbs tangled beneath her.

"Excuse me," she said, "are you alive?"

The mass twitched a little bit, which she took to mean as a 'yes'. Either that or it was possessed. She didn't care about the details, all that mattered was that she wasn't tried for murder.

"Do you think you need to go to the hospital?"

She seriously hoped that whoever it was would say no. She didn't want to pay any bills for a knucklehead that didn't have a brain or any good judgement.

The mass paused and slowly started to rise and shape into a man.

"No, that's fine," he said, kneeling to pick his hat off the ground. "Thanks for stopping, most people wouldn't think to."

"Yeah, well, I have some common sense."

"Was that a pointed comment?"

"Maybe."

"Sorry about tying my shoe in not a very good place. I'm not used to the city. I came yesterday from Massachusetts."

"Wow," said Skye sarcastically, checking her watch. She needed to make it clear that she wasn't interested in hearing about the guy's life story, for God's Sake!

"Well, I apologize for meeting you this way. The name's Jeffery Tifton," the man said, extending his arm.

Skye looked up from her watch. Jeffery Tifton. That name, it sounded familiar. But he didn't look like anybody she would know. He had a nice enough face, with scruffy brown hair, freckles, and the sort of green eyes that look hazel when seen in the wrong light. Maybe he truly was just a little clueless tourist. She sighed and forced herself to smile and shake his hand.

"Well, there's no need to talk like someone from Downtown Abbey. Hope you feel alright, but I should best get going."

She gave a little nod for appearances, planted her heel, and sped off towards the office building once again. This time, there was nothing that would stop her. Not Big Benjamin, wanting to make small talk, not the smell of donuts from the bakery by the entrance, not the slow old elevator that needed you to press the floor beneath the one you wanted. She ignored the stares of some of her coworkers as she burst into the workplace, raced down the long-carpeted hallway, and barged into the conference room.

"I'm so sorry I'm late! There was a humongous car crash on- "

But there was no one there. Not a face, not a soul. Her heart felt like it fell three stories down into her stomach. Had she missed the meeting altogether? It was supposed to begin at 7:00 and she was twenty minutes late, but it should have gone on for at least an hour and a half. What was going on? Was she going to get fired?

And then her eyes settled on the great brown and gold owl clock her boss, Mr. Fielder, had set up at the top of one of the walls. And everything made sense. The time read 6:50. The clock couldn't have been slow, Mr. Fielder was a man of precision. If anything was a little bit off, he would notice it and fix it immediately. Which meant that Skye's own watch was broken.

"Oh. My. God." She said.

She settled herself into a seat, took a deep breath, straightened her hair, and preceded to bang her fists into the table. After that was done, she felt much better.

"Skye, nice to see you here early for once. Excited, I presume?" Mr. Fielder said as he swept into the room. He was a man in his late forties, with a thick moustache and three daughters that he brought to work each day in the form of drawings and family photographs. Although he appeared imposing at first glance, Skye had grown to like him.

"Yes, sir," she said. "I'm very excited. But I have a few questions about the project- "

He waved his hand to stop her. "We'll go over all the details once everybody has arrived."

After him came in Nate, the intern that she was sure had a crush on her and was known for spilling coffee every time he carried it. Then arrived Michael, the media specialist that had a love for jigsaw puzzles, Tom, the bowling enthusiast in the astrophysics department with Skye, and Melissa, who she considered to be her personal enemy. A few other people trickled in that she usually didn't get to see all that often.

Someone poked her in the arm.

"Are you nervous?"

It was Genevieve, one of her closest friends and the person she could always count on to make her smile.

"Kind of," she whispered. "You know I hate being on stage."

"But it's not like Broadway, it's a movie. C'mon, you know you would be good at it."

"I don't look like an actress."

"Oh please, Skye, half the people here think that you're drop dead gorgeous, don't lie to me."

"That's beside the point."

"I mean, didn't you say you were inspired by Neil DeGrasse Tyson? You could become him!"

"Genevieve, I'll never be black, a man, or with a beard."

"You know what I mean. You could inspire other little girls to be astrophysicists!"

Skye sighed. "Hmmph, maybe."

"And you know that Melissa would lord it over you if she got the spot and you didn't."

"That was probably the best point you could have made."

"I know," smiled Genevieve, "that's why I'm your best friend."

The two of them laughed just as the conversation in the room started quieting down. It was about time for the meeting to start but nobody was moving to start discussing the topic in question.

"Who are we waiting for?" Skye whispered into Genevieve's ear.

Somehow, Melissa heard her from across the table.

"Did you do not do your research before coming? Don't you know that the movie's director, producer, and music specialist are all going to be at this meeting? Ugh…, Skye, you really should be knowledgeable about what's going on." Melissa then turned her attention back to her pristine manicured pink nails that matched her magenta pant suit perfectly.

Skye turned towards Genevieve again, and whispered even quieter this time.

"Melissa, you should really be knowledgeable about the fact that I hate you."

"God Skye, you two really need to sort things out," said Genevieve.

"I know," Skye said. "It's just hard."

"Not for any normal person. You too are just so stubborn that you can't think about the possibility that the other person might have a point."

"Are you saying that Melissa is right?"

Genevieve sighed. "Forget I said anything."

Just then, a quiet knock came at the door.

"These must be those really important people from the movie company."

Genevieve nodded.

Through the door first came a bald man, with eyes that seemed to pop out of his head and a stylish red turtleneck that peeked from under his coat. After him came a tall lady that rather reminded Skye of a windmill. She was remarkably pale, with long arms and legs and a short black bob that curved around her oblong face. Lastly was a skinny young man wi- wait, hadn't Skye seen him before? He looked familiar.

With a sinking heart, she realized she knew who it was.

Jeffery Tifton.

Why was she always so unlucky?

Hope you enjoyed this chapter! I don't know how I feel about the story but I have a pretty good idea of what I think should happen next. I need me some reviews, because I love hearing from the people who read my stories and they inspire me to write more. Thank you for reading!

-ladybirden