CALL CHERRY
1100 Words
Myra hadn’t meant to run. She hadn’t meant to leave like that—so abruptly, so visibly. All it had done was expose her weakness. In front of everyone.
She exhaled and pressed her forehead against the cold glass window, letting the chill seep into her skin, dulling the ache behind her eyes.
Relief.
That, too, was a lie.
She’d built that lie carefully, layer by layer, to keep pity at bay. She didn’t need it. It was bad enough her name had already been dragged through the mud—but to be looked at like she carried something contagious? That, she refused to bear. She hadn’t climbed her way here by leaning on anyone. Every step had been carved out on her own.
So what’s the problem? her mind sneered. Couldn’t handle one cheap shot?
Her jaw tightened.
If only it hadn’t come from her mother.
The thought lingered, heavier than the rest.
Was she trying to make a statement?
No… that didn’t make sense. She hadn’t lashed out when she first found out. So why now?
What has changed?
The invitation.
Myra’s eyes narrowed slightly. Could it be that she suddenly cared—about appearances, about being in the Pooles’ good graces?
“What’re you doing?”
Myra stiffened. The voice cut clean through her thoughts.
“Move away from the window. Let’s talk.”
“Not now, Jane.” Her voice came out quieter than she intended. “I want to be left alone.”
“And what exactly is that going to fix?”
Boot steps thudded softly against the carpet as Jane moved closer. “Look, I’m sorry,” she added, a short, almost awkward laugh slipping through. “Actually, I don’t even know what I’m apologizing for—and that’s kind of the problem. The least you can do is let me in so we can figure it out. You know this project can’t afford distractions.”
Myra said nothing. Silence stretching between them.
“Sarah asked about you this morning.”
That did it.
Myra pulled away from the window and turned sharply. “What did she say?”
Jane crossed her arms, studying her. “You tell me.”
Confusion flickered across Myra’s face. What was Jane playing at?
Jane sighed in defeat. “Well, just a few things.”
She started pacing, slow and deliberate, and for a moment, Myra watched her—aware of the tactic. Jane was digging for information. She was circling, waiting for something to slip.
It wouldn’t.
Because when Jane finally found out, things would change. Maybe not immediately. Maybe not openly. But they would.
Jane stopped and faced her fully, her expression hardening. “Alright. This is how we’ll do it.” She held Myra’s gaze. “You tell me yours, and I’ll tell you mine. Simple.”
“For you,” Myra muttered, moving to the bed and sitting down.
Jane followed and sat beside her. “That hard, huh?”
Myra nodded.
A brief pause.
“Fine,” Jane said at last. “But don’t mess this up.”
Myra hesitated, just for a second. “I won’t. So……”
Jane gave her a sheepish look. “Well, she was looking for you so I told her where to find you.”
Myra blinked. “That’s it?”
“Yeah. What were you expecting?”
Despite herself, Myra let out a small laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And yet, here I am—your favorite person.” Jane nudged her lightly. “So? Did you see her? She looked like she was about to erupt.”
“Yeah.”
“And?”
“She told me about Schmidt… and the threat,” Myra said quietly. “And Sarah, I think she’s already pushing for the interview.”
Jane frowned. “But you haven’t even gone through with your plan.”
“I know.” Myra’s voice thinned. “All I’ve managed to do is make things worse with my mum.”
A brief silence settled before Jane spoke again, more carefully this time. “If anything, Rosa is right. Mr. Poole is not just anyone. Even if you knew him before, you can’t just walk up to him at something like that. Not without an invitation.”
Myra straightened slightly. “I’ve known him since I was nine.”
Jane didn’t look convinced. “That doesn’t mean things are the same.”
“You should listen to your friend.”
Both girls turned.
Rosa stood by the door, one hand resting lightly against the frame. There was no telling how long she had been there. Her gaze moved from Jane to Myra, measured, unreadable.
“She has a point,” she added, stepping inside. “And… I owe you an apology.”
Myra stilled, caught off guard.
“I was harsh earlier,” Rosa continued, her tone calmer now. “Insensitive. I shouldn’t have been.”
Myra said nothing.
Rosa pulled out the desk chair and sat, folding her hands loosely in her lap. For a moment, it seemed like she might leave it there but she didn’t.
“Jane doesn’t know the Poole family,” she said, her eyes flicking toward her briefly before returning to Myra. “She doesn’t understand that world. The party.”
Jane shifted slightly, uncomfortable, but stayed quiet.
“And yet,” Rosa went on, “you brought her into it anyway.”
Myra’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t force her.”
“No,” Rosa agreed gently. “You didn’t.”
That softness made it worse.
She leaned forward just a little.
“So tell me, Myra… why?”
Myra’s eyes lifted, wary now.
“What are you so afraid of that you can’t stop and think about what’s really happening here?”
A beat. “Because this—” she gestured faintly, as if to the invisible weight of it all, “—this isn’t just about an interview.”
Myra looked away.
Rosa’s voice dropped. “Who invites you to a party, buys you a dress… and then sends you an apology letter?”
Silence.
“That’s not casual,” she said. “That means something.”
Myra swallowed but didn’t respond.
“I’m not saying you shouldn’t interview him,” Rosa added, easing back into her chair. “You should.”
A small pause.
“But not there.”
Her gaze held Myra’s.
“Not like this.”
“What do I do then?”
“Call Cherry,” Rosa said simply, as if that should have been obvious from the start.
- Writer
