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"Starting Out" by A. Rhea King
Rating: PG Payback (4) Sherie walked into her quarters, stopping at her closet. She reached out to open the door and her fingers slid into something gooey. She yanked her hand back, staring at the peanut butter on her fingers. “Ew!” Sherie said. The door of her quarters opened and her roommate walked in. She stopped beside Sherie, staring at the peanut butter on Sherie’s hand. “Reverting to old eating habits?” her roommate asked. “Did you put that peanut butter on my closet door handle, Amanda?” Sherie demanded. “No. I’ve been at work all day,” Amanda replied. “Then how’d it get there?” “I dunno. You’re the prankster. You have enough enemies.” Sherie reached out and grimaced, opening her closet. A large piece of paper was pinned to her clothes inside and read: ‘I ACCIDENTLY put peanut butter on your closet door. I am sorry beyond words. Trip.’ Amanda chuckled, putting her arm around Sherie’s shoulder. “You’re not going to let him get away with that, are ya Sherie?” “Oh hell no!” Sherie ripped the note off and grabbed a towel. She wiped off her hand and the door handle. Sherie threw the towel in her closet before storming out of her quarters. # Trip looked down at the note landing on his plate of food and then grinned up at Sherie. “You accidentally put peanut butter on my closet door handle, sir?” Sherie asked, almost yelled. The mess hall fell silent. “I am so sorry, Sherie,” Trip pretended to be sympathetic, being sure to add a pitiful face to the mock apology. “It was an accident. It won’t ever happen again. I promise.” Malcolm picked up the note and read it. He looked from Trip to Sherie. Sherie put her hands on her hips, grinning evilly. “Of course it was, sir,” Her voice bleeding with imitated sweetness. “An accident. Pure and simple.” “Pure and simple accident.” She leaned toward Trip, coming down to his eye level. “But that accident just consigned you to war, sir.” Trip leaned toward her, smiling. “Bring it on.” Sherie stood up straight, crossing her arms over her chest. “Have a restful evening, sir. It’ll be your last for a long while.” Sherie turned to leave. “Uh, Sherie,” Trip called. She looked back at him. Trip leaned back and raised his glass of milk to her. “May the best man win.” “It won’t be a man that wins, sir.” An ‘Oo’ ran through the mess hall. Trip smiled, watching her turn and walk away with a grin. The din of the mess hall returned quickly. Trip looked at Malcolm. Malcolm was watching him, still holding the note Trip had written in his hand. “Was I being forward?” Trip asked. “Forward?” Malcolm asked. “Was it meant to be forward?” “No. It was meant to be a challenge.” “Oh...I think the challenge came across quite well, Trip. And I’m sure it had nothing to do with leaving a note at the crime scene.” Malcolm sat the note down on the table. “Ya think it was a little too much?” “It depends on your intent, sir. Did you want a private war?” Trip laughed. “She was pretty steamed, wasn’t she?” Malcolm smiled. “Should we announce it ship wide? I’ll be the bookie.” “Bookie for what?” “Which of you gets the highest score before the captain finally puts an end to it.” “She won’t hold a grudge that long.” Trip sipped his milk. “She’s a nice, down to earth woman that wouldn’t hurt a fly.” “Nice, down to earth women also have the worst bites, sir.” “I’m her senior officer. She’s not going to do anything. She’s too nice.” “Nice girls don’t say things like ‘It won’t be a man that wins’, Trip. And I’d be one to bet that you being her senior officer isn’t going to stop her.” “Good point. Guess you better start taking bets.” Trip looked at Malcolm with a devilish grin. “This could take a while.” Malcolm and Trip laughed. |
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