Over. (This. Is. Not. Over. #2) by Shannon Dianne Page B

Stop acting silly Laura, my mother always said as she buttered her toast. I’m missing twenty dollars, have you seen it? My dad always asked as he threw his newspaper on the kitchen table. (I used to steal twenty dollar bills when I was younger.) Oh god, you made it through the night, Lola would say, while browsing through The Globe’s society section. So when I saw Friend, I gave them my standard greeting.
                  “Yes, I know.” Friend said from the doorway. “What the hell do you want?”
                  “I need a favor.”
                  “Excuse me?”
                  “A favor.”
                  “You’re joking.”
                  “No. Why would I show up here to tell you a joke? I just would have told it to you over the phone.”
                  “What do you want?”
    “A favor. ”
                  “I get that! What is it!”
    I knew that this was going to be hard, considering that Friend was looking at me like I was a mad woman, so I immediately brought out the picture and held it up for Friend to see. Friend looked at it, studied it and then eased their eyes up to me. “What the hell do you want?” Hook … line … sinker.
                  “Money.” I answered. Friend said nothing, just waited for me to continue. Friend has a lot of money, just like the rest of you. The Rossi family is the only ones who look like kings but live like paupers. Just think about it, how would my father know that one measly twenty dollar bill was gone out of his wallet, if he had a stack of them?
    “How much?” Friend eventually asked .
    “Well Malcolm would give me $250,000 a year.” Friend’s eyes nearly fell out of their head.
    “You’ve got to be kidding me!”
    “Isn’t he a nice guy? I swear, he’s one of the best. That’s when he’s not trying to kill you.”
    “A quarter of a million dollars, you’ve got to be crazy.” Crazy. Oh, I hate that word.
                  “I’m not crazy, I’m disturbed.”
                  “Yeah Laura, you’re something. That we can both agree on.”
                  You see Danielle, by the very definition of the word crazy, I wouldn’t be included in that category. Crazy means you were born that way. Disturbed means that someone made you that way. Listen to the definition of crazy: mentally derangement that’s carried out in a wild and aggressive way. Look at me. I’m just asking Friend for a favor. Now look at the definition of disturbed: having had normal pattern or function disrupted. Doesn’t that explain what happened between Malcolm and me? Wasn’t he the disruptor? Did he not disturb me?  Our life? Our plans? Yes, I am disturbed.
                  “I’m disturbed.” I say again, to make sure Friend gets it.
                  “Uh, huh.” Friend shakes their head in agreement.
                  “Thank you. Now, the $250,000 will hold me over for a year and by the time it’s gone, I’ll have a book deal.”
                  “What the hell are you talking about?”
                  “Oh, I’m getting ahead of myself. I need both your money and your assistance.”
                  “What do you mean?”
                  “I plan on selling Danielle the rights to this diary.” I unbuttoned my coat, and exposed the diary that was strapped to my stomach with a scarf. It’s too valuable to lose. “In here are all the gory details of the Blair, March and Rossi families. In here, is ten years’ worth of stories and cover-ups and clean-ups. This will be a bestseller, so I want Danielle to publish it.”
                  “What in the hell makes you think that she’ll give you a book deal instead of just telling Malcolm on your ass?” I was so happy Friend was smart enough to think of