Chapter 4
Shantelle wrapped a handful of spicy noodles around her fork, stomache growling like a caged animal as the steam rose in waves from the tangled fork. Her feet tingled in pleasure as she dipped them into a hot water bowl. Today was her relaxation day before she started investigating like crazy. Not that anyone knew.That's when the phone rang. A normal teenager would've probably let it go to voice-mail, or trudged slowly towards the phone, but she wasn't a normal teenager. This could be a phone call holding vital information. Every phone call counts!
As she got up, her bowl of hot water tipped over splashing all over her Winnie The Poo pyjama bottoms. Heat flared up her legs as wet material clung to her skin like leeches. This caused her to trip over head first into the steaming hot noodles bowl. Steam reddened her sore face as four, sharp jagged needles tangled themselves in her hair. The damn fork! Urgent, she tried to get up, right as she slipped on a pile of slippery red sauce on the ground. "Ewwww!"
Something sharp was poking at her head. The goddamn fork! Why couldn't she have eaten with a spoon? She tried to untangle the dirty object from her mane of caramel hair but only ended up tangling it up even more.
Frustrated, she heaved herself up anyway, a pile of hot mess. Right as she was running towards the phone, she tripped over on the furry carpet beneath her. Pain shooted up her knee and numbed her hands. Great.
Eventually, she managed to reach the phone. Breathless, she heaved out, "Hello?"
"Hi Shantelle!" A voice chirped.
"Maria?" Shantelle cocked an eyebrow, disappointment settling in the pit of her stomache. All this hurry for nothing.
"Nice to see you too."
Rudely, Shantelle ended the call, banging her fist in frustration on the wall. Damn wrong person!
"Cuz I'm your tuxedo..."
The phone started ringing it's familiar ring tune.
"And your my bowtie!"
She lifted up the phone again, huffing impatiently into it.
"What? Li-"
"Shantelle, Shantelle help!"
Confused, Shantelle furrowed her eyebrows in confusion.
"Wh-"
"Shantelle! Tell them! Tell them! They think I'm 'the mole'."
Her breath caught in her throat.
"Who? Who think you're the mole?"
"SHANTELLE! PLEASE! TELL THEM I'M NOT THE MOLE. I'M HANDING IT OVER!"
She winced at her friends shrill tone of voice, fear pumping in her veins as rustling came from the background of the phone.
"Answer. Answer now."
A deep, manly voice boomed down the phone. She couldn't though. They couldn't hear her voice. Guiltily, she slammed shut the phone, tears pricking in her eyes. Oh god! She had to call the police! But if she did, well, they might have a possibility of tracking her number.
What should she do?
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