Game 4Game 4 Outline| Game 4 |
Game 4 Outline |
Your mother grabs the covers firmly and yanks them off you. A look of horror comes over your face. She gasps. "Who the hell are you?" she demands. "And where`s Evan?"
You twist uncomfortably in the bed and try to think of a lie. Hopefully, your mother will not have the police take you to jail for breaking and entering. "I am Yvette," you start to explain in that sexy French accent. "Monsieur Evan . . . I mean, Evan and I were just, um . . . playing dress-up!"
"Where`s Evan?" your mother repeats suspiciously. She is not falling for your lame story one bit.
You stand up and turn to face your mother. "He . . . went out to get something to eat," you tell her. "He should be back soon."
You can sense a mix of confusion, anger, and concern emanating from your mother as she stands there trying to make sense of all this. Here you are, a young woman dressed as a French maid and hiding in Evan’s bedroom (your mother, of course, does not know YOU are actually Evan). "I suppose Evan let you in?" she asks.
"He did," you answer. "When he gets back here, the two of you are going to explain . . . this," your mother says, grabbing the edge of your poufy skirt and shaking it lightly.
Your father enters the room, baseball bat ready to swing. The surprise on his face when he sees you is all too evident. He was ready to take on a dangerous burglar, not some blonde in fishnet stockings and a frilly little maid dress. "What in the name of . . . ."
"This is Yvette," your mother says, turning toward your father. "You can put the bat down, John. She doesn`t look too dangerous to me. She sounds like some foreign exchange student."
"Did Evan invite you in here?" your father demands.
"He did," you reply, realizing you are going to be in some serious trouble when you turn back to your normal self . . . IF the brunette ever decides to turn you back, that is. "But we were just . . . ."
"I think I get the picture," your father interrupts. "Is this some kind of weird sex game you two are playing?"
"John!" your mother shouts, looking appalled.
Suddenly, everything stops. Literally. The ticking of the clock in the next room falls silent. The wind outside has stopped blowing, and the tree branches have stopped swaying. Your mother and father stand frozen before you as still as statues. Everything is frozen except for you . . . and, of course, you-know-who.
The brunette instantly becomes visible again, a big smile on her face. "Having fun?" she asks you with an evil laugh.
"Oh, yes, a real blast," you reply with all the sarcasm you can muster with your French accent. "Now how about undoing all this and making my parents forget this ever happened?"
Written by an anonymous author
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