“Oh, hey, ” Michelle says, stopping and turning back to Jane. “We’re just going to grab lunch at that little French place, if you want to come with. “
Becca’s face twists, like a baby with gas, then smooths into a plastic smile.
Jane looks down at her desk top, her wilted PB&J, the free apple and Coke from the company kitchen, the escape of her book.
“No, but thanks just the same,” she says.
Michelle shrugs, “Suit yourself, ” and the two turn to go, but Jane hears, as she is no doubt meant to, Becca’s muttered “Not my fault.”
This is a vignette from The Life and Times of Jane Doe for the Six Sentence Stories blog hop. This week’s cue was “fault.”
More fun Sixes from other writers can be found here.