Shy Charlotte’s Brand New Juju (Romantic Comedy) by Bethany Bloom Page A
Authors: Bethany Bloom
could
hardly lift them. “The last three repetitions should be very difficult. If they
are not, we will increase the weight,” he told her.
In this fashion, she successfully executed a set of one-arm
alternating bicep curls and a set of hammer curls. Then it was on to tricep
extensions and one-arm alternating tricep kickbacks. And then it was down to
the floor for standard pushups, military pushups and diamond pushups. Each time
her back dipped, he straightened it with his hands. “Your core needs strength.
Much strength.” He scribbled more notes on his clipboard. Her stomach gnawed on
itself and she knew to stand up very slowly and carefully; making sure her head
was the last thing to come up.
Leopold produced a stopwatch from his pocket. Surely they
were nearly done. If she had been feeling more comfortable, if she hadn’t been feeling
so shy, she would have told him that she was feeling a little dizzy. She would
have told him about her blood sugar problem. But he seemed like the kind of guy
who wouldn’t care if she had an excuse anyway.
“Run,” he demanded, popping at the top of his stopwatch as
she set off along the track. She rounded the first corner and spied a clock on
the wall. Five fifteen. Only fifteen minutes had passed? She felt the room spin
once. Vroop. She slowed and took a deep breath, and then her skin prickled in a
rush. That’s how she knew it was too late.
And that’s when it happened. All the lights flickered and her
skin went barbed and brambly and she felt herself dissolving into the darkest,
tiniest pinhole, just as she felt her body slump to the floor.
***
A red-headed man who smelled like spearmint was staring
straight into her face, and her insides felt squishy but bristly at the same
time. Another man was making notes on a clipboard and, behind him, stood a
whole group of men with pressed white shirts and blue slacks and squawking
walkie-talkies.
“Ah, there she is,” the redhead’s voice said. “Hello,
beautiful.” She blinked her eyes. He had a smooth, unlined face and a mop of
angled red bangs, which swung as he pushed a rolled towel behind her neck. She
found it oddly embarrassing to have someone so young taking care of her. She
blinked her eyes again. “What did you eat this morning?” he was asking.
She shook her head. Closed her eyes. Tried to sit up. A pair
of hands forced her backward.
She squinted. What the hell? Her stomach felt like it was
caving in on itself and the lights were too bright and her ears were ringing, and
who were all these people?
“What did you have to eat this morning? Anything? Do you
remember?”
“No, nothing. But I meant to.”
The red-haired man (whom she immediately named Lucky for
reasons she didn’t have the wherewithal to determine) took her pulse. His hands
were smooth. Then he moved the blood pressure cuff onto her arm. “I think I
know you,” he said.
She squinted up at him. Why were these lights so bright?
“You are Fiona’s sister. Right?”
She wrinkled her brow and squinted. Ah, it was because he
looked like the leprechaun on the Lucky Charm’s box. With his red hair and his
button nose and all of that early morning exuberance. Did that leprechaun have
an actual name? Surely it was Lucky. He was talking now. “Fiona does my wife’s
hair. I think my wife is scheduled to help you with something…finding you a job
or some such thing.”
“Oh.”
The paramedics formed a horseshoe around her, nodding and
grinning. Just behind them was Slicky, his eyebrows expressing eagerness and
concern. She braced herself up on her elbows. “Where’s Leopold?” she asked,
realizing she might be pronouncing it wrong. Her head throbbed.
One of the men pointed. He was standing near the rail on the
side of the track, his arms folded tight across his chest, his chin raised. His
eyes met hers, and then he moved his head from side to side.
“I just need a peanut butter sandwich,” she said, in
hardly lift them. “The last three repetitions should be very difficult. If they
are not, we will increase the weight,” he told her.
In this fashion, she successfully executed a set of one-arm
alternating bicep curls and a set of hammer curls. Then it was on to tricep
extensions and one-arm alternating tricep kickbacks. And then it was down to
the floor for standard pushups, military pushups and diamond pushups. Each time
her back dipped, he straightened it with his hands. “Your core needs strength.
Much strength.” He scribbled more notes on his clipboard. Her stomach gnawed on
itself and she knew to stand up very slowly and carefully; making sure her head
was the last thing to come up.
Leopold produced a stopwatch from his pocket. Surely they
were nearly done. If she had been feeling more comfortable, if she hadn’t been feeling
so shy, she would have told him that she was feeling a little dizzy. She would
have told him about her blood sugar problem. But he seemed like the kind of guy
who wouldn’t care if she had an excuse anyway.
“Run,” he demanded, popping at the top of his stopwatch as
she set off along the track. She rounded the first corner and spied a clock on
the wall. Five fifteen. Only fifteen minutes had passed? She felt the room spin
once. Vroop. She slowed and took a deep breath, and then her skin prickled in a
rush. That’s how she knew it was too late.
And that’s when it happened. All the lights flickered and her
skin went barbed and brambly and she felt herself dissolving into the darkest,
tiniest pinhole, just as she felt her body slump to the floor.
***
A red-headed man who smelled like spearmint was staring
straight into her face, and her insides felt squishy but bristly at the same
time. Another man was making notes on a clipboard and, behind him, stood a
whole group of men with pressed white shirts and blue slacks and squawking
walkie-talkies.
“Ah, there she is,” the redhead’s voice said. “Hello,
beautiful.” She blinked her eyes. He had a smooth, unlined face and a mop of
angled red bangs, which swung as he pushed a rolled towel behind her neck. She
found it oddly embarrassing to have someone so young taking care of her. She
blinked her eyes again. “What did you eat this morning?” he was asking.
She shook her head. Closed her eyes. Tried to sit up. A pair
of hands forced her backward.
She squinted. What the hell? Her stomach felt like it was
caving in on itself and the lights were too bright and her ears were ringing, and
who were all these people?
“What did you have to eat this morning? Anything? Do you
remember?”
“No, nothing. But I meant to.”
The red-haired man (whom she immediately named Lucky for
reasons she didn’t have the wherewithal to determine) took her pulse. His hands
were smooth. Then he moved the blood pressure cuff onto her arm. “I think I
know you,” he said.
She squinted up at him. Why were these lights so bright?
“You are Fiona’s sister. Right?”
She wrinkled her brow and squinted. Ah, it was because he
looked like the leprechaun on the Lucky Charm’s box. With his red hair and his
button nose and all of that early morning exuberance. Did that leprechaun have
an actual name? Surely it was Lucky. He was talking now. “Fiona does my wife’s
hair. I think my wife is scheduled to help you with something…finding you a job
or some such thing.”
“Oh.”
The paramedics formed a horseshoe around her, nodding and
grinning. Just behind them was Slicky, his eyebrows expressing eagerness and
concern. She braced herself up on her elbows. “Where’s Leopold?” she asked,
realizing she might be pronouncing it wrong. Her head throbbed.
One of the men pointed. He was standing near the rail on the
side of the track, his arms folded tight across his chest, his chin raised. His
eyes met hers, and then he moved his head from side to side.
“I just need a peanut butter sandwich,” she said, in