the street where I parked. I glance behind me, relieved he is not following.
As I head home, I dial Blake. Predictably it goes to voice mail, because he actually has a life and probably has a Valentine’s date with Ms. Steele. “Blake, I hate you guy types. I never want to talk to you again! Just wanted to you to know.” I feel better already. “Hey, when you get home from whatever you’re doing, call me or hop online. By the way, I’m officially being stalked.”
I cry as I drive. I don’t heave-cry where it’s best to pull over, but tears are trickling down my face. I regret asking Laurel to sneak a peak. I would’ve rather just found out by e-mail like everyone else. Now I see why that rule is in place. And this is what happens when I break the rules. Other people break rules and live to brag about it. I break rules and live to be humiliated. I park on the curb outside the condo and dry my tears. The drive was good. It let me get some things out. I step out of the car to breathe in the coolness of the night. It feels safe out here. I suck in more air and try to remember there is a good reason that I am alive.
Then I spot him. I can’t believe what I am seeing, and it nearly backs me into my car. My stalker is sitting on the small wall of the porch at the top of the stairs of my condo. Something deflates insideme. I have no energy for stalker or Prince Charming. Perhaps it’s the irony that I can’t get a date but strange men are following me home. Normally I would cower back into my car, but I decide not to. I decide, truly against my better judgment, to take this freak on.
He stands as I approach the steps of my condo. “Do you really believe I’ve never done anything to help you, Jessie?”
I don’t know what he’s talking about.
He continues speaking in a pleasant voice that doesn’t fit my stereotype of freaky stalkers. “You can’t accuse me of something like that and expect me to not show up and defend myself. Come on.”
I stare straight into his eyes. “I’m not a big fan of men I don’t know following me home. Would you get out of my way?”
To my surprise, he actually does. Then he takes a gallant bow and gestures toward the door. “As you wish.” Terrific. Chivalry from a stalker. See? This is how my life goes.
I hold out my key, eying him. One startling move and I’m going to scream bloody murder. “How did you know where I live?”
“I’ve always known where you live. In San Diego, it was Carter Street until you were eight. Moved here when your dad was transferred. You inherited this place on behalf of yourself and your little sister.”
My hand plunges into my purse and emerges with the cell phone. “Okay, freak. Time for the police.” I accidentally dial 411 and have to start over, but he doesn’t seem to be going anywhere fast, which is part of the problem. “What? Did you look me up on the Internet? That’s really original.”
With my other hand, I finally jiggle the lock enough and the door opens. I step inside, the phone still to my ear, and lock the screen door.
Stalker Dude sits back down on the wall. “They’ll send Officer Garrety” he says. “He’s got a great sense of humor. I love that about him.”
“911. What is your emergency?”
“There is a stalker outside my door.”
“A stalker, ma’am?”
“Yes. He followed me home from a bar. I mean, yes, okay, it was a bar. I wasn’t there drinking or picking up men, though. Okay, I was picking up men—trying to—but it wasn’t…um, well, it was speed dating.”
“Speed dating?”
“Eight minutes, bell dings, change tables. That whole scene. Anyway, he’s followed me home.”
“Is this a guy you met there?”
“No. He was outside, like he was waiting for me.”
“Sounds like a successful night.”
“No, no. No. I left him at the bar. And now he’s at my house. He, like, followed me home or something. And he knows where I lived when I was eight. Can you please just send
As I head home, I dial Blake. Predictably it goes to voice mail, because he actually has a life and probably has a Valentine’s date with Ms. Steele. “Blake, I hate you guy types. I never want to talk to you again! Just wanted to you to know.” I feel better already. “Hey, when you get home from whatever you’re doing, call me or hop online. By the way, I’m officially being stalked.”
I cry as I drive. I don’t heave-cry where it’s best to pull over, but tears are trickling down my face. I regret asking Laurel to sneak a peak. I would’ve rather just found out by e-mail like everyone else. Now I see why that rule is in place. And this is what happens when I break the rules. Other people break rules and live to brag about it. I break rules and live to be humiliated. I park on the curb outside the condo and dry my tears. The drive was good. It let me get some things out. I step out of the car to breathe in the coolness of the night. It feels safe out here. I suck in more air and try to remember there is a good reason that I am alive.
Then I spot him. I can’t believe what I am seeing, and it nearly backs me into my car. My stalker is sitting on the small wall of the porch at the top of the stairs of my condo. Something deflates insideme. I have no energy for stalker or Prince Charming. Perhaps it’s the irony that I can’t get a date but strange men are following me home. Normally I would cower back into my car, but I decide not to. I decide, truly against my better judgment, to take this freak on.
He stands as I approach the steps of my condo. “Do you really believe I’ve never done anything to help you, Jessie?”
I don’t know what he’s talking about.
He continues speaking in a pleasant voice that doesn’t fit my stereotype of freaky stalkers. “You can’t accuse me of something like that and expect me to not show up and defend myself. Come on.”
I stare straight into his eyes. “I’m not a big fan of men I don’t know following me home. Would you get out of my way?”
To my surprise, he actually does. Then he takes a gallant bow and gestures toward the door. “As you wish.” Terrific. Chivalry from a stalker. See? This is how my life goes.
I hold out my key, eying him. One startling move and I’m going to scream bloody murder. “How did you know where I live?”
“I’ve always known where you live. In San Diego, it was Carter Street until you were eight. Moved here when your dad was transferred. You inherited this place on behalf of yourself and your little sister.”
My hand plunges into my purse and emerges with the cell phone. “Okay, freak. Time for the police.” I accidentally dial 411 and have to start over, but he doesn’t seem to be going anywhere fast, which is part of the problem. “What? Did you look me up on the Internet? That’s really original.”
With my other hand, I finally jiggle the lock enough and the door opens. I step inside, the phone still to my ear, and lock the screen door.
Stalker Dude sits back down on the wall. “They’ll send Officer Garrety” he says. “He’s got a great sense of humor. I love that about him.”
“911. What is your emergency?”
“There is a stalker outside my door.”
“A stalker, ma’am?”
“Yes. He followed me home from a bar. I mean, yes, okay, it was a bar. I wasn’t there drinking or picking up men, though. Okay, I was picking up men—trying to—but it wasn’t…um, well, it was speed dating.”
“Speed dating?”
“Eight minutes, bell dings, change tables. That whole scene. Anyway, he’s followed me home.”
“Is this a guy you met there?”
“No. He was outside, like he was waiting for me.”
“Sounds like a successful night.”
“No, no. No. I left him at the bar. And now he’s at my house. He, like, followed me home or something. And he knows where I lived when I was eight. Can you please just send
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