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Apr. 28th, 2010
Room 217, Wednesday Night
Apr. 28th, 2010 08:56 pmAfter cheerleading and parties, Savannah came back to her room and grabbed her phone.
She was a bit nervous and couldn't help thinking about what she had done on Monday. However, ever since seeing him on stage with the guitar and looking so not scary, she had been driven to paint him.
She had finished the painting on Friday night, but a weekend of being four again had prevented her from shipping it out until Monday.
Now she curled on her bed and dialed a number that she should NEVER have thought to dial. Thankfully, she remembered to block her number when she made the call.
"Nast Enterprises."
"Yes, I'm calling to verify the delivery of a package to Mr. Bryce Nast. It was very important."
"Let me check... Miss?"
"Storm," she suddenly said. "Mrs. Storm." There was no way she could give them her real name.
"Mrs. Storm? Mr. Nast picked up his package a few minutes ago. Would you like to speak to --"
"No," she said hurriedly. "That wouldn't be a good idea." Why why why? Oh! "My husband... he doesn't know."
"Ahh," there was humor in the man's voice as he deduced that this was a secret married lover of Bryce Nast. "Understood ma'am."
"Thank you," she said. "Good night." She hung up the phone and dropped her head back on the pillow. "Savannah you are a MORON!"
She was a bit nervous and couldn't help thinking about what she had done on Monday. However, ever since seeing him on stage with the guitar and looking so not scary, she had been driven to paint him.
She had finished the painting on Friday night, but a weekend of being four again had prevented her from shipping it out until Monday.
Now she curled on her bed and dialed a number that she should NEVER have thought to dial. Thankfully, she remembered to block her number when she made the call.
"Nast Enterprises."
"Yes, I'm calling to verify the delivery of a package to Mr. Bryce Nast. It was very important."
"Let me check... Miss?"
"Storm," she suddenly said. "Mrs. Storm." There was no way she could give them her real name.
"Mrs. Storm? Mr. Nast picked up his package a few minutes ago. Would you like to speak to --"
"No," she said hurriedly. "That wouldn't be a good idea." Why why why? Oh! "My husband... he doesn't know."
"Ahh," there was humor in the man's voice as he deduced that this was a secret married lover of Bryce Nast. "Understood ma'am."
"Thank you," she said. "Good night." She hung up the phone and dropped her head back on the pillow. "Savannah you are a MORON!"
Room 217, Wednesday Night
Apr. 28th, 2010 08:56 pmAfter cheerleading and parties, Savannah came back to her room and grabbed her phone.
She was a bit nervous and couldn't help thinking about what she had done on Monday. However, ever since seeing him on stage with the guitar and looking so not scary, she had been driven to paint him.
She had finished the painting on Friday night, but a weekend of being four again had prevented her from shipping it out until Monday.
Now she curled on her bed and dialed a number that she should NEVER have thought to dial. Thankfully, she remembered to block her number when she made the call.
"Nast Enterprises."
"Yes, I'm calling to verify the delivery of a package to Mr. Bryce Nast. It was very important."
"Let me check... Miss?"
"Storm," she suddenly said. "Mrs. Storm." There was no way she could give them her real name.
"Mrs. Storm? Mr. Nast picked up his package a few minutes ago. Would you like to speak to --"
"No," she said hurriedly. "That wouldn't be a good idea." Why why why? Oh! "My husband... he doesn't know."
"Ahh," there was humor in the man's voice as he deduced that this was a secret married lover of Bryce Nast. "Understood ma'am."
"Thank you," she said. "Good night." She hung up the phone and dropped her head back on the pillow. "Savannah you are a MORON!"
She was a bit nervous and couldn't help thinking about what she had done on Monday. However, ever since seeing him on stage with the guitar and looking so not scary, she had been driven to paint him.
She had finished the painting on Friday night, but a weekend of being four again had prevented her from shipping it out until Monday.
Now she curled on her bed and dialed a number that she should NEVER have thought to dial. Thankfully, she remembered to block her number when she made the call.
"Nast Enterprises."
"Yes, I'm calling to verify the delivery of a package to Mr. Bryce Nast. It was very important."
"Let me check... Miss?"
"Storm," she suddenly said. "Mrs. Storm." There was no way she could give them her real name.
"Mrs. Storm? Mr. Nast picked up his package a few minutes ago. Would you like to speak to --"
"No," she said hurriedly. "That wouldn't be a good idea." Why why why? Oh! "My husband... he doesn't know."
"Ahh," there was humor in the man's voice as he deduced that this was a secret married lover of Bryce Nast. "Understood ma'am."
"Thank you," she said. "Good night." She hung up the phone and dropped her head back on the pillow. "Savannah you are a MORON!"