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“No, thanks. I’m allergic to running.” “What?” “Last time I ran, my skin was all flushed, my heart raced, I got sweaty and short of breath. I looked my symptoms up online, and the Internet diagnosed them as an allergic reaction.”
I reluctantly gave my driver’s license to Parallel Universe Chris Pratt. He input some information and then handed it back to me. “Thank you, Miss Miller. Do you know how to get to Mr. Covington’s house?” One-F must have put me on a list. “I have directions on my phone. Thanks.” I considered telling him how much I loved him in Guardians of the Galaxy but decided against it.
“Oreo has started putting jokes on the side of packages. Listen to this—‘Serving size: three cookies.’ That’s hilarious,” Lexi said before shoving said serving size into her mouth.
