She was intrigued. Her eyelids scrunched and her forehead creased; her mouth paused in mid-chew. “‘gs’? S? What S? Stan? Ooh, maybe Sara? Wild Sara. Nah, been a year. Can’t be Scott—or, wait. That’d be too much of a coincidence. But I’ve been thinking about ...” Her hand felt all floury. “Burger, eh? Let’s find out.”
So she clicked on it and read the invite. He’d signed at the bottom “Great Scott?” Her eyes lit up. “Ta da! Old Scott. He read my mind. A year late, though; I’m a junior, gs. Hey, I could put Lucille’s bet to the test.”
So, her reply: “Kind of you to suggest I bring a dish; but I recall your burgers. You too, based on the signature. Say, I tried to email you last May. Your fiesta. Ever get it? Well, I challenge you. Let’s compete: see whose dish gets licked the cleanest by,
