for Wanda as well as Christy
She's walking back from her philosophy class, relieved that the day is over and she doesn't have to wake up till noon while frustrated at the production that cooking's going to be tonight because really, it shouldn't take that much to get ingredients and prepared soup up and down three flights of stairs with a shitty elevator. Fille's almost immediately drawn out of her thoughts by the tall, gorgeous blonde strutting across campus with broad shoulders and muscular legs. There was a Krav Maga demonstration tonight in the rec plex and that had to be the instructor. She'll just grab something at the In-Between and change into her nice workout clothes. Hell, maybe she'll even throw on makeup even though she's never seen the point of wearing it when it just sweats off.
How inappropriate would it be to proposition her after the demo?
Doesn't matter. For Wanda Wilson, anything is worth it. Maybe if she's lucky she'll get both sets of private lessons.
She'd begged her parents to take her out to Centralia for ages. It's in our home state, she'd argued, it's six hours away, don't you want to see it? Unfortunately, neither were willing, much less her younger brother who could not yet be a suitable driving partner and didn't even have his learner's permit. As such, Fille ended up driving out into the wilds of Central Pennsylvania by herself. Distracted by fiddling with the radio station to find one that wasn't country or about Jesus, she went on the permanent detour that keeps the curious out of Centralia and missed her turn entirely.
Sometimes she swears she saw an eight year old girl out of the corner of her eye holding a teddy bear with a gaping wound in her stomach, but neither her mother nor her brother believe in ghosts and it's hard enough to get her dad to talk about the time he woke up in the middle of the night and saw a woman in Puritan dress standing over him. And hell, if they won't acknowledge the ghost in their own house, why would they believe her?
