Describe Janice’s trek across the boards, her check of her reflection and the ultimate tumble into the mud.
Janice inhaled deeply, her pulse quickening as she prepared to make her approach. The construction site stretched ahead of her like an obstacle course, the silence of the incomplete homes amplifying the thud of her own heartbeat. She didn’t have much time; Jake and his companion had disappeared inside one of the homes, and she needed to act now.
The first set of boards lay in front of her, narrow and teetering slightly under their own weight. But Janice moved with purpose, her white canvas Keds gripping the wood as she carefully picked her way across the path. Her steps were delicately placed, her toes landing first to test the sturdiness before shifting her full weight forward. The boards wobbled now and then, but she adjusted quickly, her arms extending out instinctively to balance herself.
She momentarily admired how well the shoes were holding up, still pristine despite the dust and debris scattered everywhere—there was an odd sense of pride in how clean and cute they still looked.
"I knew these were a good choice," she mused to herself. Light, agile, and, most importantly, stylish. After all, it wasn’t just about getting there—it was about making an entrance, a statement. When they saw her, muddy or not, it would be impossible to ignore that she’d made an effort.
She paused for a moment, having traversed most of the dirt piles that littered the job site. There, reflected in the dark screen of her phone, she caught a glimpse of herself—her hair slightly tousled, a few stubborn strands coming loose from her ponytail. She swept them back into place with a few quick, deft movements, smoothing them against her head.
"Perfect," she thought, flipping her phone to check her reflection once more. Fragile but controlled, she wanted to look as if she’d stumbled across them by complete accident, looking effortlessly poised despite her day of “shopping.”
Then, she heard it—
"love"—Jake’s voice drifting from the window above her, muffled but unmistaken. Her stomach churned.
"Alright, time for my entrance." She gritted her teeth, adrenaline pulsing through her veins as she grasped the edge of the nearest wall and prepared to reposition herself under the window.
But the next set of boards was more haphazardly laid than the first, a path messier and narrower. Still, Janice pressed forward, determined to keep her white sneakers impeccable. She grimaced slightly as one board felt less stable underfoot. She daintily sidestepped a muddy patch and gingerly leapt onto the next plank, landing with what she thought was grace.
However, the board wobbled sharply beneath her once her weight fully settled.
“C’mon, not now,” she muttered through clenched teeth, quickly trying to regain balance.
It gave way before she could react.
The horror of the moment was instant. The board tipped with a creak, sending her reeling sideways, her arms flailing as she frantically reached for anything to steady herself. But it was too late—gravity yanked her downward, and she screamed, both from surprise and dread. Her breath caught as she landed with a resounding
splash in a wide, murky mud puddle that stretched about six inches deep.
It wasn’t a graceful fall. She hit the puddle on her side, the muddy water sloshing over her dress and soaking through the lightweight fabric. As if to add insult to injury, she rolled onto her back, her dress clinging to her mud-slicked skin, her hair a tangled mess against the muck. Her once-pristine white sneakers—and those previously dust-free ankle socks—were now soaked through with muddy water. The worst part? The cold, squelching sensation of the dirt filling her shoes.
"No, NO!" she thought desperately, as her beloved Keds were reduced to nothing but muddy canvases.
For a moment, she lay there in thick silence, utterly mortified.
What. Just. Happened. She could feel the mud seeping in, the grime coating her neck and seeping down her back. She had wanted to make an appearance, to dazzle them with her composed, accusatory entrance but instead ... instead, she was lying in a filthy puddle, her outfit in tatters, nothing elegant or poised about it.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw motion—Jake and the other woman, hurrying out from inside the house.
Oh no, not like this. The humiliation washed over her like a second layer of thick, cloying mud.
“Janice?!” Jake’s voice was filled not with anger or confusion, but pure shock. He rushed over with the “other woman” trailing behind him, her eyes wide with surprise.
Janice could not bring herself to look up immediately. When she finally did, she noticed through the mud-speckled strands of her hair that Jake was extending a hand to help her up. Beside him, the other woman stood politely, almost withdrawn.
"This is his girlfriend, isn’t it?" Janice thought bitterly.
But then came the blow she hadn’t been bracing for.
“Janice,” Jake said softly, still stunned.
“This ... this is my sister, Sarah.”
Mortified, Janice couldn’t breathe for a second. There was no disguising the horror on her own face, nor the deep flush of humiliation creeping up her neck as she soared from mortified to absolutely humiliated.
His sister?
Her voice came out quieter than she meant.
“Oh, great. Wonderful to meet you. Really.” Lying there in a puddle of her own investigative failure, Janice managed to croak out a weak, sarcastic response, one that couldn’t even mask her mortification.
And in that muddy pool, in her once-clean sneakers, drenched in filth and embarrassment, she realized the surprise was entirely her own.
