Welcome to Penny’s Diary, a contemporary urban-fantasy serial. Read new diary entries every Thursday. Supporting readers can also access a weekly Writer’s Commentary, along with immersive audio and eBook editions, after each entry.
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Saturday, February 14, 2026
Looping Thoughts, Reset Brain
Last night I attempted the whole Netflix and chill thing—aka “Netflix and pretend your brain isn’t screaming”—and wow, it did not cooperate.
Because my brain?
Stuck.
On Ellie Horton.
Her dragon drawing kept replaying on a loop. The way her hand moved—so calm, so steady—like she wasn’t even aware how good she was. Dragons everywhere lately—her notebook, the Spring play, even my brain. Patterns again, or maybe nothing.
And then Candy swooped in with that planet-crushing glare, and Ellie shut down so fast it made my chest twist every time I thought about it.
The erasing of the drawing… yeah. That part hit too close to home. Exactly like the way Clearwater erases my memories. Here one second, gone the next, like they never existed.
So waking up this morning without my skull buzzing like a beehive made of anxiety?
Yeah.
I’ll take the win.
Whipped-Cream Warfare
Teddy texted mid-morning telling me to “put on something that can survive whipped-cream splash damage” and meet him at Cascades.
(Translation: I guess it’s time for that drink he promised.)
Cascades was fully Valentine’d out—pink bunting everywhere, heart-shaped marshmallows, a tower of strawberry cupcakes, and a chalkboard sign that said LOVE IS SWEETER WITH HOT COCOA in lettering so dramatic it felt threatening.
I finally noticed all the branding Teddy’s parents had done—the menu lettering, the Cascades logo in the window, the little waterfall motif on the pastry tags. Stuff I didn’t even look at during opening night because Mom was too busy interrogating me.
And now? They’d gone all-in on a Valentine’s overlay too—tiny rose icons on the drink labels, a limited-edition Cascades heart logo, and a whole pink chalkboard theme that screamed Chen Family Magic™.
Teddy didn’t brag, but I caught the tiny proud-smirk he always tries to hide.
And then came the roses.
Apparently the staff had a Valentine’s gimmick where they wandered around handing out red roses to couples. Cute idea in theory. Chaos in practice.
The second Teddy and I walked in, a server lit up like she’d discovered the town’s cutest couple. She power-walked over and practically presented us with a rose.
Teddy almost choked on his own air.
I stammered something like, “We’re not—uh—we’re not a…”
And Teddy blurted, “No romance! Just cocoa!”
The server nodded like she understood perfectly… and winked.
I would like to evaporate now, please.
Still, the hot chocolate delivered. Thick, melty, piled with a skyscraper of whipped cream. Teddy ordered the double-fudge special because of course he did.
On the way out, I grabbed a slice of their chocolate-on-chocolate Valentine’s cake for Gramps.
Chocolate is basically medicine. I’ve decided.
Valentine’s Day at the Meridian
When I got back to the Meridian, Gramps had already placed his annual red rose in the vase next to Gran’s photo.
He’s done it every Valentine’s Day, even after she passed.
It was simple.
Soft.
Beautiful.
The exact opposite of the Valentine’s Day chaos at Cascades.
I gave him the chocolate-on-chocolate cake slice, and he smiled in that quiet way that warms your chest from the inside out. He didn’t say anything about it being Valentine’s cake, but I swear his eyes did.
I don’t remember much about Gran—I was only two when she passed—just a couple of tiny flashes and the stories people tell.
But watching Gramps adjust that rose, I felt sure she would’ve loved this.
Sometimes the small things matter more than all the pink bunting and heart-shaped marshmallows in the world.
Clue Hunting, Again
Me and Teddy went digging through Younger Penny’s diaries for any more mentions of Eleanor or the other kids. We flipped page after page, memory blast after memory blast—hunting for anything useful—but Younger Penny was not exactly a generous narrator.
Logan and Eleanor kept turning up, though.
Again and again.
Not highlighted. Not explained. Just… there. Like they mattered more than the others ever did.
Teddy tapped his pencil against the stack. “Penny Summers. Queen of Vagueness.”
Rude.
But… not wrong.
Connection Calculations
If Ellie is the Eleanor Younger Penny kept scribbling about, then I need to talk to her—like, properly talk to her, not just a quick “hey” before Candy swoops in or Clearwater nukes my brain again.
So I started writing conversation openers in the back of my diary—way more than any normal person should need.
Some normal:
“Your dragon drawing was really good.”
“What art supplies do you use?”
“Do you like fantasy stuff?”
Some… not normal:
“How do you feel about mysterious medical programs?”
“Do you ever forget whole chunks of your life randomly?”
“Do you recognize me from a forgotten memory?”
(Those are banned. Forever.)
Teddy read over my shoulder and nearly spit his hot chocolate.
Then we moved on to logistics.
Candy Interception Avoidance Plan (CIAP™):
no approaching Ellie when Candy is in sight
avoid cluster seating in the cafeteria
stick to natural overlap zones: Drama, History, Media Studies
nothing that sounds like interrogation
nothing that triggers panic
no glowing memory veins (Teddy insisted on this)
By the time we were done, I felt… something warm in my chest. Not hot-chocolate warm. Hope warm.
If Ellie is connected to me—to all of this—then maybe she’s been waiting for someone to talk to her too.
And if she isn’t?
Then I tried.
And I’ll still have my diary.
And Teddy.
Valentine’s Day could be worse.
Sunday, February 15, 2026
Digital Detective Mode
As soon as I woke up—and I mean before my eyes even fully opened—my brain snapped straight back into detective mode. No stretching, no yawning, no peaceful morning moment. Just: Ellie. Diaries. Clues. Go.
My phone was still on the pillow next to me, because apparently that’s who I am now, so the very first thing I did?
Opened Ellie Horton’s feed.
I wasn’t expecting anything. Ellie barely posts anything that isn’t a Candy Gang group shot—but today, there was something new.
A drawing.
Or… part of one.
Just a sliver of a dragon tail.
Barely visible.
Cropped within an inch of its life.
But even sliced down to nothing, I recognized it instantly—the clean lines, the soft shading, the way it looked like it might come alive if you blinked too slow.
It looked exactly like the dragon she drew in History class.
The one she erased the second Candy snapped her fingers.
I hovered over the like button.
Then the comment box.
I wanted to say something.
Even something tiny.
Love this.
Dragon supremacy.
Literally anything.
But I didn’t.
Because what if Candy stalks her comments?
What if Ellie freaks out?
What if this tiny step ruins everything?
So I locked my phone, told myself to chill, and rolled over.
Two minutes later, I checked again.
The drawing was gone.
Deleted.
Vanished.
Erased like it had never existed—just like the dragon in class.
I stared at the empty space on her feed, cold settling heavy in my stomach.
It wasn’t just a post.
Something was happening.
It was a message.
A pattern.
A warning.
Ellie is hiding parts of herself—and someone keeps making sure she does. And now I can’t stop wondering: is she hiding from Candy… or from something else?
Quiet Movie Magic
After a lovely after-lunch walk in Meridia Park with Gramps, I felt my whole brain finally slow down for the first time all week.
We stuck to our usual loop—past the frozen pond, across the little wooden bridge, through the row of pine trees that always smell like Christmas. Gramps talked about the Meridian’s restaurant makeover the whole time, waving his hands around like he could actually see the new décor floating in front of him. I tossed in a suggestion as a joke—that he should get Charisma Cavanagh to do the grand opening if she actually wins that Best Actress Oscar.
Gramps paused mid-step, eyebrows raised, like he was genuinely considering it.
Terrifying.
When we made it back to the Meridian, he announced it was an Official Movie Night—capital letters and all. We ordered pizza, curled up under mismatched blankets in the living room, and watched one of his favorites: Roman Holiday. Audrey Hepburn, Gregory Peck, the old-school charm, the whole dreamy black-and-white vibe.
Somewhere between the scooter chase and Gramps quoting half the lines under his breath, the noise in my chest finally softened.
It was the perfect kind of quiet—the kind where your brain stops doing backflips.
And honestly?
I needed this more than hot chocolate, clues, or trying to logic-map my scrambled brain.
Monday, February 16, 2026
Operation: Don’t Panic (Yet)
Drama class was my first attempt at Operation Talk-To-Ellie-Without-Getting-Socially-Murdered, and for once, the universe actually cooperated. None of the Candy Gang take Drama or Art—which meant this was my best shot at a normal conversation without Candy swooping in like a banshee with lip gloss.
Miss Rivers split us into groups again—tech, set, lighting—and by some magical twist of fate (or divine intervention), I got assigned to prop organizing right beside Ellie. She was cutting fabric swatches for the costume board, quiet and focused, like the rest of the world didn’t exist.
My heart did that panicky hummingbird thing anyway.
I kept glancing over at her—snipping perfect little squares of fabric like it was some kind of meditation ritual. Eventually, I forced myself to breathe and walked over.
“Hey… that dragon you were drawing last week? It was really good. You shouldn’t let Candy make you erase stuff like that.”
Ellie’s scissors froze midair.
Her shoulders tightened—like I’d poked something bruised and still healing—and for a second I thought I’d ruined everything in one sentence.
But then she looked up.
And she relaxed.
Just a soft exhale. A tiny uncurling.
And then—miracle of miracles—she smiled.
Small, careful, blink-and-you-miss-it… but real.
My heart practically cartwheeled out of my chest.
She opened her mouth like she wanted to say something—something important.
But right before any words could escape—
She froze.
The smile flickered out.
She went right back to cutting fabric like the moment never happened.
She didn’t speak again for the rest of class.
And I was left with this awful twisting feeling in my stomach—like I’d seen something fragile, something hidden, slam itself shut.
The worst part?
Now I’m doubting myself.
If Ellie really is the Eleanor Younger Penny wrote about… shouldn’t some part of me have recognized her at school? Felt something? Wouldn’t something have clicked?
Urban Errand Energy
Even while I tried to focus on, you know, living my life, my brain kept replaying the Ellie moment from Drama.
That tiny smile.
That almost-sentence-that-died-in-her-throat.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d touched the edge of something important—and she yanked it closed before I could even see inside.
But life doesn’t stop just because my heart’s doing gymnastics, so… errands.
It was Mrs. Chen’s birthday today, so after school I hopped on my skateboard and zoomed down Main Street at full don’t think, just go speed. Mission: find the perfect birthday card for Teddy’s mom and a bouquet that said thank you for raising the best two people alive.
Halfway to the card shop, something made me hit the brakes.
Scoop & Swirl—the ice-cream place where the Great Milkshake Disaster began—was closed. Not just closed for lunch. Closed closed. Lights off, stools stacked, handwritten sign that just said “Thank you for the memories.”
Realistically? Cascades probably stomped them into the ground the moment it opened.
But the petty gremlin in my brain whispered a different theory: Candy, still raging about her pink hair, whining to her daddy until he “accidentally” buried their business for her.
Peak Candy Steele behavior.
I stood there for a minute, feeling weirdly torn. It sucked to see a local place die… but also? The poetic justice was kind of chef’s-kiss perfect.
Snap out of it, Summers.
Birthday mission, go.
Warm-Weather Whiplash
After scoring a card with a watercolor fox on it (Mrs. Chen loves foxes), I picked out flowers that looked way fancier than my budget allowed, then zipped back onto my board—determined to make Teddy’s mom’s birthday gift-level spectacular.
I cruised over to the Chens’ place—their apartment above Chen Print—to drop everything off, my brain still drifting back to Ellie Horton the whole ride there. That tiny smile in Drama. That moment where she nearly said something. It kept replaying like a glitchy video clip I couldn’t pause.
Mrs. Chen, being her usual sunshine self, insisted I stay for dinner. And honestly? I love hanging out with them—the warmth, the chaos, Squirt climbing on literally everything—but it was her birthday and family time is sacred, so I thanked her and turned it down, gladly taking the rain check.
When I stepped back outside, I froze.
Warm air. In February.
Not “a bit mild.” Not “a tiny thaw.” I’m talking full-on spring energy—the kind that smells like melted snow and muddy sidewalks. Meridia Falls’s trademark weather chaos had struck again.
The warmth hit me with a memory so vivid it made my chest pinch—Dad grabbing mine and Sean’s hands on a “random” nice day, saying, “Come on, kids, adventure weather waits for no one,” before dragging us off for spontaneous ice cream and kite flying. A little moment that felt huge now.
The air tonight felt just like that day.
And for a second, it made me smile.
And then it made me ache.
Both at once. Just… the feels.
Quiet Planning
Mrs. Chen’s birthday was still on my mind when I got home.
Which is how I remembered.
Gramps.
March 15.
Close enough that pretending I had loads of time would be a lie.
I was already on my phone, so I didn’t overthink it. I curled up on my bed and started scrolling, half-looking, half-dreading what I’d actually find.
And then I saw it.
It’s A Wonderful Life.
An original framed poster. Real film cells from the movie. Autographs.
I stopped breathing for a second.
It wasn’t cheap. I stared at the price longer than I meant to, thumb hovering while my brain tried to talk me out of it.
Then I tapped Buy It Now before logic could catch up.
The delivery estimate said three weeks.
Plenty of time.
I added the date to my phone calendar, just to be sure, and set the phone face down on the bed.
The house was quiet.
For once, planning something didn’t feel like tempting fate.
It just felt… normal.
Gramps.
March 15.
One solid thing I could hold onto.
Tuesday, February 17, 2026
Clue-Chasing Whirlwind
All morning, my brain kept replaying that almost-moment with Ellie in Drama—the tiny smile, the way she nearly said something before shutting down again. It sat behind every thought like a flickering neon sign: Talk to her. Try again. Don’t mess it up.
But Candy had her squad on lockdown. Full surveillance mode. Jemma, Kaelyn, Marilyn, and Ellie barely got three feet away from her without being reeled back in, like she had an invisible leash. Hard to have a normal conversation when the human glitter tornado won’t let her breathe.
Even in History—when Ellie was literally sitting right next to me—every time I so much as turned my head to say something, Candy would swivel around in her seat and laser-stare at us like she had built-in threat detection.
So that chance died fast.
Again.
Doubt Spiral Incoming
By lunch, doubt was gnawing at me again.
If Ellie really was the Eleanor from the diaries… why didn’t Younger Me recognize her at school? That was the thought I kept circling back to. In between those Clearwater visits, when she regained her memories from the diaries, why didn’t she make the connection? Why didn’t anything click until now? It didn’t make sense.
The tropical warmth from last night had done a one-eighty, and now the rain outside was auditioning for a full-blown monsoon. The hallways were buzzing about “snow coming soon,” which, in Meridia Falls, is basically like predicting normal weather—technically possible, but the universe refuses.
So I dragged Teddy into the library for lunch before we both drowned in hallway chaos. I spilled everything—the Ellie moment, the smile, the shut-down, the doubts—and he agreed it was weird. Younger Penny should have known Ellie if she was the Eleanor we were hunting for.
Then, right when we were about to drop the Ellie theory altogether, the universe tossed us a breadcrumb as we scrolled on a library computer.
We found an old article on the school website—buried under like fourteen menus and a PDF about a school play from 2013—that listed both Ellie and Felicia Horton as homeschooled until junior high.
Lightbulb moment.
Of course Younger Penny never recognized her. They didn’t go to the same school until way later, after she lost memory privileges with the diaries. Which means… the Eleanor theory is still alive and breathing.
Suddenly, we were back in the game.
Fully revived.
Detective hats on again.
Pop-Filter Panic
Afternoon Media Studies was one long reminder that I am absolutely terrible at casual conversation when my brain is screaming ASK ELLIE SOMETHING NORMAL, QUICK!
We were lining up to grab pop filters for the microphones—me, Teddy, and then suddenly Ellie stepping into line right behind us.
Like the universe placed her there on purpose and whispered, Don’t mess this up.
My heart did a full gymnastic routine.
I tried to act cool.
Instant fail.
Still, I managed to squeeze out something that sounded like a person speaking actual English:
“Hey… how are you doing?”
Ellie froze.
Not dramatically—just this tiny tightening in her shoulders.
She didn’t answer right away.
Then:
“I—uh—I’m fine.”
Short.
Clipped.
Almost apologetic.
And the way she said fine?
Yeah—it meant not fine at all.
The air went painfully awkward. Teddy pretended he wasn’t listening, but his eyebrows were doing that anxious cartoon bounce they do when he’s stressed.
Ellie kept glancing over her shoulder—tiny flicks of her eyes like she expected Candy Steele to materialize out of thin air and catch her talking to me.
I wanted to tell her it was okay.
That she didn’t have to look so scared.
That we could talk about dragons or art or literally anything without Candy dive-bombing the moment.
But the fear on her face wasn’t cafeteria-mean-girl fear.
It was something deeper.
Older.
Like a reflex—the kind you learn from years of being careful around the wrong people.
It made the back of my neck prickle.
When she reached the front of the line, she mumbled “thanks” to the TA and practically rushed off before I could find a second sentence.
I watched her go—shoulders rigid, eyes still tracking every doorway like an escape route.
And I couldn’t shake the thought: whatever Ellie Horton is afraid of… it’s not just Candy Steele.
Rain-Soaked Sabotage
The rain refused to chill, and at this point it felt personal. Me and Teddy were basically two puddles with backpacks, so we made a run for it across the parking lot. That’s when I spotted Ellie tucked under a tree, hugging her sketchbook like it was the last dry thing on Earth.
Finally. A chance. My heart did an Olympic-level vault.
I pushed off on my board, aiming straight for her—heart thumping, brain screaming say something normal for once—until a dark blue truck slid in out of nowhere and parked itself right between us like it had been summoned by my bad luck.
Candy Steele. Of course.
She was in the passenger seat, blowing vape clouds like she was auditioning to be her own weather system. And next to her, behind the wheel? Rich “The Dick” Cavanagh himself. A post–Valentine’s Day power couple straight from the depths of Nope.
Ellie hesitated at the door—just a tiny pause, like she wasn’t sure. Or like she wished she wasn’t sure. But then she climbed in anyway, shoulders folding tight as she squeezed in next to Jemma and Kaelyn.
Just as Teddy caught up to me, Cavanagh steered right at us.
You’d think he’d just drive past. Nope. Full villain arc. He aimed for the biggest puddle in the lot and plowed through it like he’d been waiting all day for this very moment.
Freezing water exploded over me and Teddy. Absolutely drenched. Ten out of ten for drama, zero for being a functioning human being.
Candy leaned out the window just long enough to yell, “Watch out, Freaks!” before cackling and disappearing into the rain like the world’s worst weather omen.
We stood there, soaked, freezing, dripping rage and rainwater while their truck fishtailed down the street in a cloud of vape fumes.
Honestly? I didn’t know what stung more—the splash, or watching Ellie disappear into that truck like she didn’t have a choice.
Wednesday, February 18, 2026
Locker Surveillance
Today was supposed to be a normal Wednesday—boring, predictable, caffeine-required, and the usual try-to-get-close-to-Ellie chaos. But the universe looked at my schedule and said, Nope, let’s stir the pot.
I was at my locker before Drama when I accidentally-on-purpose hovered close enough to hear Candy and Jemma whispering. Look, I wasn’t eavesdropping. I was… strategically researching.
Candy had her phone out, scrolling like she was hunting for someone’s criminal file. Jemma leaned in and murmured, “She needs to stay focused.”
Then Candy: “She gets… weird… around some people.”
Weird.
WEIRD.
My brain immediately lit up like a conspiracy board that did not ask to be plugged in today.
They were obviously talking about Ellie. Who else would Candy analyze like a lab project?
But what did “weird” mean?
Awkward?
Distracted?
Half-remembering things she shouldn’t?
That last one made something cold drop right down my spine.
The way Ellie freezes.
The flinching.
The way she deletes drawings like they’re dangerous evidence.
What if she’s remembering flashes too?
What if she’s stuck between two versions of herself—the same way I am?
My stomach twisted so hard it felt like it was trying to fold in on itself.
Candy snapped her gum and said something I couldn’t catch—sharp enough to cut through drywall. Kaelyn nodded like a loyal minion and the conversation ended.
But my brain absolutely did not.
Almost-There Energy
Drama was a total dud—the Art class was off doing their own thing today, which meant zero chance of Ellie sightings. So lunch was the usual—me and Teddy—me pretending to eat my sandwich while actually doing high-level wildlife-documentary observing of the entire cafeteria.
After lunch, History class almost gave me a win.
Ellie walked in a minute late, cheeks pink from the cold, and slid into the seat right beside me like it was the most normal thing in the world. For half a second, I thought the universe was finally throwing me a bone.
I said a quick, soft “hey.”
She looked up. Met my eyes. Gave the tiniest nod—a real one—and then… clammed up immediately. Like shutters dropping. Like she regretted even that brief second of connection.
Every time I tried to say something else—anything else—she tightened her grip on her pencil, stared harder at her notes, and pretended she was invisible.
So, yeah. No progress. Not even with her sitting close enough that our elbows almost touched. And yes, I was absolutely tempted to “accidentally” brush against her again just to see if we’d get the same spark as last time—but she moved her arm before I even had the chance.
Because something is happening with Ellie.
Something big.
Something she can’t hide forever.
And I need to reach her before Clearwater hits the reset button on me again next week.
Thursday, February 19, 2026
Sketchbook Spill, Panic Edition
The universe clearly woke up today and said, Let’s keep Penny and Ellie on opposite sides of the school. Art wasn’t mixing with Drama again this afternoon—like the universe had us on some cosmic no-fly list—so I wasn’t expecting anything major to happen.
Then Ellie dropped her sketchbook in the hallway before last class.
Not gently.
Not “oops, I slipped.”
More like it exploded on impact—pages everywhere, skidding across the hallway like startled pigeons.
Before my brain caught up, I was already kneeling to help. Reflex. Fate. Or me being helplessly nosey with zero self-control.
I grabbed the first page that slid near my foot.
A dragon.
Not just one—a whole cluster of them. Same delicate lines. Same expressive eyes. Same almost-storybook vibe I’d seen her draw in History. My stomach did a full Olympic flip.
I told her—softly—that her art was amazing, but she spun toward me like she’d been caught holding classified government files.
Real panic.
Not shy panic.
Not embarrassed panic.
Something deeper.
She snatched the page from my hand so fast it crinkled, gathered the rest into a half-collapsed armful, and bolted. No goodbye, no thank you, no eye contact—just full-speed escape mode.
I was still kneeling there like a confused NPC when Candy rounded the corner with Jemma, Kaelyn, and Marilyn trailing behind her—all of them on their way to Fashion Design class, all of them clearly on the hunt.
Candy didn’t even notice me. She was too busy scanning the hallway, jaw tight, like she expected Ellie to be there.
I stood up slowly, heart pounding.
Because two things became painfully, obviously clear:
One: Ellie is hiding things.
Two: Whatever she’s hiding… she’s hiding from Candy—not because of her.
Late-Night Spiral Mode
After dinner, I was this close to calling Teddy for a full diary-deep-dive download. But he was streaming a Super Mario speedrun—headset on, laser-focused, pure gamer bliss—and honestly, I didn’t have the heart to interrupt his personal Olympics.
So I let him be.
And instead, I let my brain run laps.
What if Ellie is Eleanor?
What if I’m only connecting the dots now because Clearwater hasn’t erased them yet?
I grabbed Dad’s old flash drive Gramps gave me and watched a couple of his skate videos—my comfort food for the soul. Not to cry or anything (okay, maybe a little), but because watching him fly always helps me think. The way he tore up the skatepark… that was where it all started for me. My love for skating. My love for movement. My whole everything. It felt like a tiny piece of him was still alive in every trick.
And tonight, even while watching Dad feel impossibly alive on camera, all I could think about was Ellie.
Ellie dropping that sketchbook like it was contraband.
Ellie panicking the second I touched her drawings.
Ellie running from Candy like she was running from something bigger.
Something is connecting all of this.
Linking Ellie-maybe-Eleanor to Younger Penny.
Something present-me is only just starting to feel.
Clearwater is next week.
I need answers before my brain gets factory-reset again.
So tomorrow… I’m done tiptoeing.
Whatever happens, I’m asking Ellie if she has ESD and if she goes to Clearwater for observations.
Friday, February 20, 2026
Operation Ellie: Failed Before It Even Began
I woke up this morning ready to do it—ready to actually ask Ellie if she has ESD and if she goes to Clearwater. Full bravery mode. Full heart-in-my-throat determination.
And then Ellie wasn’t at school.
Just… gone. No sign of her anywhere. My entire Operation Talk-to-Ellie plan collapsed before I even opened my locker.
Me and Teddy went into detective mode anyway—which mostly looked like us pretending not to listen while totally listening to Candy hold court at her table in homeroom. She was going on about her oh-so-romantic date with Cavanagh last night, which was gross enough to make my breakfast rethink its life choices.
But buried under all the exaggerated drama was the real clue:
Ellie got a one-day leave from school.
Apparently Mayor Daddy whisked Ellie and her sister off to Toronto for “official business” over the weekend. Amazing timing, Mr. Mayor. Truly. The universe really said: Let’s delay Penny’s entire destiny by seventy-two hours.
So no Ellie today.
No Ellie tomorrow or Sunday.
No answers. No progress. No spark. Nothing.
I swear, the universe is messing with me on purpose.
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DB
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