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LEAH is moving restlessly around her apartment, idly picking things up and moving them around. Every now and then, though, she pulls out her phone and checks the screen.


He still hasn't called. Awesome. Isn't there some kind of cliché sitcom rule about waiting three days? What kind of stupid crap is that? Like, if he calls earlier than that I'm going to think he's desperate or something? What if I just think he actually wants to talk to me?

(Pauses to check phone again)

I guess technically it hasn't been three days, because it was like 2 A.M. when I left, but still.

(Shakes her head and laughs in a self-deprecating way)

Okay, I just heard myself say that out loud? And now I'm thinking there's definitely something wrong with me. I could call him, I guess. It's 2015, that's something I'm allowed to do. I just…don't want to seem desperate. I'd like to know he's interested in me. But maybe he'd like the same thing? I dunno.

(Checks phone again and sighs)

I should just go out. This isn't the '80s—I don't have to be shut in my apartment in order to stare at my phone all night. But I probably won't, because I've spent my whole life waiting for everything to come to me, and it never does.

(Finally stops pacing and sits down)

I don't know why I do that, except that it's not just this, or my job, or that I never travelled. I can remember when I was just a kid and we all played kick-the-can in the street. I was the one kid who would never go for it. I'd just sit there in my hiding place, not really sure if I wanted to be found and caught or never found, ever. I just knew I didn't want to try for it and fail.

You know, I think I was just waiting for the right time, for the right signal. Sometimes they'd forget about me and start another game without me. But I was just sitting there, knotted up and breathless, crouched behind the bushes, waiting for the call, waiting for someone to shout Olly-olly-oxen-free!

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