About 'vacancies for accountant'|National Youth Service Corps (NYSC) Vacancy : Accountant I (SGL 9) - Nationwide

About 'vacancies for accountant'|National Youth Service Corps (NYSC) Vacancy : Accountant I (SGL 9) - Nationwide

Ｔｈｉｓ               ｗａｓ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｅａｒｌｙ               ｏｎ,               ａ               ｓｔｏｒｙ               Ｉ               ｈａｖｅｎ'ｔ               ｔｏｌｄ               ａｂｏｕｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｍａｌｌ               ａｐａｒｔｍｅｎｔ               ｂｕｉｌｄｉｎｇ               Ｉ               ｕｓｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｌｉｖｅ               ｉｎ. Ａ               ｑｕｉｃｋ               ｒｅｍｉｎｄｅｒ               ｔｏ               ｐｅｏｐｌｅ               ｗｈｏ'ｖｅ               ｆｏｒｇｏｔｔｅｎ               ｏｒ               ａｎ               ｉｎｔｒｏｄｕｃｔｉｏｎ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｏｓｅ               ｗｈｏ               ｎｅｖｅｒ               ｋｎｅｗ:               Ｉｎ               Ａｐａｒｔｍｅｎｔ               5:               Ｆｏｕｒ               ｃｏｌｌｅｇｅ-ａｇｅ               ｗｏｍｅｎ               ｆｒｏｍ               Ｂｕｆｆａｌｏ               -               ｏｎｅ               ｗｉｔｈ               ａ               ｂａｂｙ               -               ｃｒａｍｐｅｄ               ｉｎｔｏ               ｔｗｏ               ｓｍａｌｌ               ｂｅｄｒｏｏｍｓ.                "Ｅｖｅｒ               ｂｅｅｎ               ｔｏ               Ｂｕｆｆａｌｏ?"               ｏｎｅ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｗｏｍｅｎ               -               Ｓｈａｎｎｏｎ               --               ｆｉｒｓｔ               ａｓｋｅｄ               ｍｅ. Ｓｏｍｅｏｎｅ               ｍｕｓｔ               ｈａｖｅ               ｔｏｌｄ               ｈｅｒ               Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｔｈｅ               Ｅａｓｔ.                "Ｎｏ. Ａｍ               Ｉ               ｍｉｓｓｉｎｇ               ｓｏｍｅｔｈｉｎｇ?"                "Ｗｉｎｔｅｒ               ｌａｓｔｓ               ｓｉｘ               ｍｏｎｔｈｓ,               ａｎｄ               ｓｕｍｍｅｒ'ｓ               ｍｉｓｅｒａｂｌｅ,"               ｓｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｗｈｅｎ               Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ｓｉｘ,               Ｉ               ｔｏｌｄ               ｍｙ               ｐａｒｅｎｔｓ               Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ｍｏｖｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               Ｃａｌｉｆｏｒｎｉａ. Ｉ'ｄ               ｎｅｖｅｒ               ｂｅｅｎ               ｈｅｒｅ,               ｊｕｓｔ               ｓｅｅｎ               ｉｔ               ｏｎ               ＴＶ. Ｂｕｔ               ｐｅｏｐｌｅ               ａｌｗａｙｓ               ｌｏｏｋｅｄ               ｗａｒｍ               ａｎｄ               ｃｏｍｆｏｒｔａｂｌｅ. Ｓｏ               Ｉ               ｓｔａｒｔｅｄ               ｓａｖｉｎｇ               ｗｈｅｎ               Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ｔｅｎ,               ａｎｄ               ｂｙ               ｔｈｅ               ｔｉｍｅ               Ｉ               ｇｒａｄｕａｔｅｄ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｈｉｇｈ               ｓｃｈｏｏｌ,               Ｉ'ｄ               ｃｏｎｖｉｎｃｅｄ               ｔｈｒｅｅ               ｏｆ               ｍｙ               ｆｒｉｅｎｄｓ               ｔｏ               ｃｏｍｅ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｍｅ."                Ｔｈｅｙ               ｗｅｒｅ               Ｊａｃｋｉｅ,               Ｋｉｍ,               ａｎｄ               Ｌｉｓａ,               ｔｈｅ               ｌａｓｔ,               ｔｈｅ               ｐｏｓｓｉｂｌｙ               ｕｎｗｅｄ               ｍｏｔｈｅｒ. Ｔｈｅｙ               ｗｅｒｅ               ａｌｌ               ｔｈｉｎ,               ｐｒｅｔｔｙ,               ａｎｄ               ｈａｄ               ｖａｒｉｏｕｓ               ｓｈａｄｅｓ               ｏｆ               ｈａｉｒ. Ｅａｃｈ               ｈａｄ               ｓｏｍｅ               ｋｉｎｄ               ｏｆ               ｌｏｗ-ｐａｙｉｎｇ               ｊｏｂ.                "Ｓｏ               ｗｈａｔ?"               Ｊａｃｋｉｅ               ｊｏｋｅｄ. "Ｗｅ'ｌｌ               ａｌｌ               ｍａｒｒｙ               ｂｉｌｌｉｏｎａｉｒｅｓ."                Ｉｎ               Ａｐａｒｔｍｅｎｔ               7               ｗｅｒｅ               ｔｗｏ               ｃｏｌｌｅｇｅ-ａｇｅ               ｇｕｙｓ:               Ｌｏｎｎｉｅ,               ａｎ               ａｃｃｏｕｎｔａｎｔ,               ａｎｄ               Ｄａｌｅ,               ａ               ｍｅｃｈａｎｉｃ. Ｂｏｔｈ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｆｒｏｍ               Ｌ.Ａ. ｂｕｔ               ｃｏｕｌｄｎ'ｔ               ｈａｖｅ               ｂｅｅｎ               ｍｏｒｅ               ｄｉｆｆｅｒｅｎｔ. Ｌｏｎｎｉｅ               ｗａｓ               ｔｉｇｈｔ,               ｔｏｎｅｄ               -               ａｎ               ａｔｈｌｅｔｅ               ｗｈｏ               ｓｐｅｎｔ               ａｔ               ｌｅａｓｔ               ａｎ               ｈｏｕｒ               ｅａｃｈ               ｄａｙ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｇｙｍ               ａｎｄ               ａｎｏｔｈｅｒ               ｈｏｕｒ               ｏｉｌｅｄ               ｂｙ               ｔｈｅ               ｐｏｏｌ. Ｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ａｌｍｏｓｔ               ａｌｗａｙｓ               ｓｈｉｒｔｌｅｓｓ               ａｎｄ               ｗａｓ               ｏｆｔｅｎ               ａｃｃｏｍｐａｎｉｅｄ               ｂｙ               ｈｉｓ               ｐｅｔ               ｂｏａ               ｃｏｎｓｔｒｉｃｔｏｒ,               Ｙｕｃｋ.                Ｄａｌｅ               ｗａｓ               ｔａｌｌｅｒ,               ｔｈｉｎｎｅｒ,               ｓｈａｇｇｉｅｒ               ｔｈａｎ               Ｌｏｎｎｉｅ. Ｈｉｓ               ｔｈｉｃｋ,               ｄａｒｋ               ｈａｉｒ               ｎｅａｒｌｙ               ｃｏｖｅｒｅｄ               ｈｉｓ               ｅｙｅｓ,               ａｎｄ               ｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ａｌｗａｙｓ               ｇｒｉｎｎｉｎｇ.                "Ｇｒｅａｔ               ｄａｙ!"               ｈｅ'ｄ               ｓｈｏｕｔ,               ｏｆｔｅｎ               ｅａｒｌｙ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｍｏｒｎｉｎｇ               ｗｈｅｎ               Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ｆａｒ               ｆｒｏｍ               ａｗａｋｅ. Ｓｏｍｅｈｏｗ,               Ｉ'ｄ               ａｇｒｅｅ,               ａｎｄ               ｈｅ'ｄ               ｇｉｖｅ               ｍｅ               ａ               ｂｉｇ               "ｔｈｕｍｂｓ               ｕｐ."                Ｂｕｔ               ｙｏｕ               ｃｏｕｌｄｎ'ｔ               ｈａｔｅ               ｔｈｅ               ｇｕｙ. Ｗｈｅｎ               ｙｏｕ               ｎｅｅｄｅｄ               ｓｏｍｅｔｈｉｎｇ,               ｏｒ               ｅｖｅｎ               ｗｈｅｎ               ｙｏｕ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ,               ｈｅ'ｄ               ａｌｗａｙｓ               ｖｏｌｕｎｔｅｅｒ.                "Ｉ               ｈｏｓｅｄ               ｄｏｗｎ               ｙｏｕｒ               ｃａｒ,"               ｈｅ'ｄ               ｔｅｌｌ               ｍｅ. "Ｈｏｐｅ               ｙｏｕ               ｄｏｎ'ｔ               ｍｉｎｄ."                "Ｙｏｕ               ｎｅｅｄ               ｅｘｔｒａ               ｃａｓｈ?"               Ｉ'ｄ               ｋｉｄ.                "Ｏｈ,               ｎｏ! Ｎｏ!"               Ｈｅ               ｓｏｕｎｄｅｄ               ａｌｍｏｓｔ               ｏｆｆｅｎｄｅｄ.                "Ｉ               ｔｈｏｕｇｈｔ               ｙｏｕ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｓｈｏｒｔ               ｏｎ               ｒｅｎｔ..."                "Ｎｏ               ｗａｙ! Ｉｔ'ｓ               ｊｕｓｔ               ｔｈａｔ... ｗｅｌｌ,               ｙｏｕｒ               ｃａｒ               ｌｏｏｋｅｄ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｈｅｃｋ,"               ｈｅ'ｄ               ｗｏｒｄ               ｐｏｌｉｔｅｌｙ. "Ｓｏ               Ｉ               ｇａｖｅ               ｉｔ               ａ               ｓｑｕｉｒｔ."                Ｉｎ               Ａｐａｒｔｍｅｎｔ               9               ｗｅｒｅ               ｔｈｒｅｅ               ｏｔｈｅｒ               ｃｏｌｌｅｇｅ-ａｇｅ               ｗｏｍｅｎ,               ｔｈｅｓｅ               ａｃｔｕａｌｌｙ               ｉｎ               ｃｏｌｌｅｇｅ. Ａｌｌ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｆｒｏｍ               Ｃａｌｉｆｏｒｎｉａ. Ａｌｌ               ｗｅｎｔ               ｔｏ               ＵＣＬＡ. Ｔｅｒｉ,               ｔｈｅ               ｐｒｅｔｔｉｅｓｔ,               ｗａｓ               ａｌｓｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｍｏｓｔ               ｆｒｉｅｎｄｌｙ.                "Ｙｏｕ               ｈａｖｅ               ｔｏ               ｉｇｎｏｒｅ               ｃｅｒｔａｉｎ               ｐｅｏｐｌｅ               ａｒｏｕｎｄ               ｈｅｒｅ,"               ｓｈｅ               ｗａｒｎｅｄ               ｍｅ               ｐｌｅａｓａｎｔｌｙ               ｏｎｅ               ａｆｔｅｒｎｏｏｎ               ａｓ               ｗｅ               ｗａｌｋｅｄ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｏｕｒ               ｃａｒｓ. "Ｔｈｅｙ               ｓｏｍｅｈｏｗ               ｎｅｖｅｒ               ｌｅａｒｎｅｄ               ｍａｎｎｅｒｓ."                "Ｉ               ｃａｎ'ｔ               ｉｍａｇｉｎｅ               ｗｈｏ               ｙｏｕ               ｍｅａｎ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ,               ｌａｕｇｈｉｎｇ. Ａｎｄ               ｗｅ               ｂｏｔｈ               ｇｌａｎｃｅｄ               ａｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｐｏｏｌ-ｖｉｅｗ               ｗｉｎｄｏｗ               ｏｆ               Ｖｉｃ,               ｏｕｒ               ｐｅｒｖｅｒｔ               ｎｅｉｇｈｂｏｒ. "Ｈｅ               ｇｉｖｉｎｇ               ｙｏｕ               ｔｒｏｕｂｌｅ?"                "Ｈｅ               ｗｏｕｌｄｎ'ｔ               ｋｎｏｗ               ｈｏｗ."                Ｉ               ｂｅｌｉｅｖｅｄ               ｔｈａｔ. Ｔｈｏｕｇｈ               ａｆｔｅｒ               Ｖｉｃ               ｓａｗ               ｍｅ               ｔａｌｋｉｎｇ               ｗｉｔｈ               Ｔｅｒｉ,               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ,               "Ｉ               ｓｅｅ               ｙｏｕ'ｒｅ               ｆｌｉｒｔｉｎｇ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｔｈｅ               ｂｉｔｃｈ."                "Ｓｈｅ'ｓ               ＯＫ,"               Ｉ               ｄｅｆｅｎｄｅｄ.                "Ｓｈｅ'ｌｌ               ｔａｋｅ               ｙｏｕｒ               ｂａｌｌｓ               ｏｆｆ. Ｃｌｅａｎ."                Ｔｈｅ               ｓｔｒａｎｇｅ               ｔｈｉｎｇ               ｗａｓ               Ｔｅｒｉ               ｔｈｏｕｇｈｔ               Ｖｉｃ               ｗａｓ               ｃｕｔｅ. "Ｉ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｏｌｄｅｒ               ｇｕｙｓ. Ａｎｄ               Ｉ'ｄ               ｄａｔｅ               ｈｉｍ... Ｏｎｃｅ."                Ｔｅｒｉ'ｓ               ｒｏｏｍｍａｔｅｓ               ｗｅｒｅ               Ａｎｎｅｔｔｅ               ａｎｄ               Ｖｅｒｏｎｉｃａ. Ｔｈｅｙ               ａｌｌ               ｈａｄ               ｉｎｄｅｐｅｎｄｅｎｔ               ｃａｒｅｅｒ               ｐｌａｎｓ,               ｎｏｔ               ｉｎｖｏｌｖｅｄ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｍａｒｒｙｉｎｇ               ｍｏｎｅｙ. Ｗｅｌｌ,               ｍａｙｂｅ...                Ｉｎ               Ａｐａｒｔｍｅｎｔ               6               ｗｅｒｅ               ｆｏｕｒ               ｍｏｒｅ               ｇｕｙｓ,               ａｌｌ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅｉｒ               ｅａｒｌｙ               ｔｗｅｎｔｉｅｓ,               ａｌｌ               ｇｒｕｎｇｉｌｙ               ｇｏｏｄ-ｌｏｏｋｉｎｇ               ａｎｄ               ｓｕｒｅ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅｍｓｅｌｖｅｓ. Ｔｗｏ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｆｏｕｒ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｂｒｏｔｈｅｒｓ,               ｔｈｅ               ｙｏｕｎｇｅｒ               ｂｅｉｎｇ               ｏｕｒ               ｎｅｗ               ｍａｎａｇｅｒ. "Ｈｅ'ｓ               ｏｌｄｅｒ,               ｂｕｔ               Ｉ'ｍ               ｍｏｒｅ               ｒｅｓｐｏｎｓｉｂｌｅ,"               Ｙｏｕｎｇｅｒ               Ｂｒｏｔｈｅｒ               ｃｌａｉｍｅｄ. Ｔｈｅ               ｕｎｒｅｌａｔｅｄ               ｐａｉｒ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｔｈｅｉｒ               ｂａｓｓ               ｇｕｉｔａｒｉｓｔ               ａｎｄ               ｄｒｕｍｍｅｒ.                Ａｓ               ｔｈｅｉｒ               ｓｈａｒｅｄ               ｖａｎ               ｆｉｒｓｔ               ｐｕｌｌｅｄ               ｉｎｔｏ               ｏｕｒ               ｐａｒｋｉｎｇ               ｌｏｔ,               Ｉ               ｒｅａｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｒｏｌｌｉｎｇ               ａｄｖｅｒｔｉｓｅｍｅｎｔ               ｏｎ               ｉｔｓ               ｓｉｄｅ:               "ＰＡＲＴＹ! Ｒｏｃｋ! Ｊａｚｚ! Ｄｉｓｃｏ! Ｒａｐ!"               Ａｎ               ｏｌｄ               ｐｈｏｎｅ               ｎｕｍｂｅｒ               ｗａｓ               ｎｅｗｌｙ               ｐａｉｎｔｅｄ               ｏｕｔ.                Ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ａ               ｐａｒｔｙ,               ｔｏｏ,               ｂｅｃａｕｓｅ               -               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｆｏｕｒ               ａｐａｒｔｍｅｎｔｓ               -               ｗｅ               ｈａｄ               ｓｉｘ               ｂｕｃｋｓ               ａｎｄ               ｓｅｖｅｎ               ｐｏｔｅｎｔｉａｌ               ｂｒｉｄｅｓ. Ｙｏｕ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ｅｖｅｎ               ｈａｖｅ               ｔｏ               ｉｍａｇｉｎｅ               ｔｈｅ               ｐｏｓｓｉｂｉｌｉｔｉｅｓ. Ｙｏｕ               ｃｏｕｌｄ               ｊｕｓｔ               ｗａｔｃｈ.                Ｋｅｖｉｎ               ｓｔａｒｔｅｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｇａｍｅｓ. Ｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ｔｈｅ               ｂａｎｄ'ｓ               ｂａｓｓ               ｐｌａｙｅｒ               ａｎｄ               ｍａｄｅ               ａｎ               ｅａｓｙ               ｐａｓｓ               ａｔ               Ｔｅｒｉ. Ｓｈｅ               ｒｅｓｐｏｎｄｅｄ,               ｇｒｉｎｎｉｎｇ,               ｔｈｏｕｇｈ               Ｋｅｖ               ｗａｓ               ｐｒｏｂａｂｌｙ               ｙｅａｒｓ               ｙｏｕｎｇｅｒ               ｔｈａｎ               ｈｅｒ               ｕｓｕａｌ               ｒａｎｇｅ. Ｂｕｔ               ｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ａｌｓｏ               Ｂｌａｃｋ               Ｉｒｉｓｈ,               ａｎｄ               ｓｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ｙｏｕｎｇ               Ｔｕｅｓｄａｙ               Ｗｅｌｄ. Ｔｏｇｅｔｈｅｒ,               ｔｈｅｙ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｔｕｆｆ               ｗｅｔ               ｄｒｅａｍｓ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｍａｄｅ               ｏｎ.                Ｓｏｏｎ               ａｆｔｅｒ,               Ｉ               ｃａｕｇｈｔ               Ｔｅｒｉ               ｗｈｉｓｔｌｉｎｇ               ａｔ               Ｋｅｖｉｎ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｎｅａｒ               ｔｈｅ               ｐｏｏｌ. Ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ｅａｒｌｙ               Ｊｕｎｅ,               ａｎｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｗａｔｅｒ               ｗａｓｎ'ｔ               ｗａｒｍ               ｅｎｏｕｇｈ               ｆｏｒ               ｓｗｉｍｍｉｎｇ,               ｓｏ               Ｔｅｒｉ               ｗａｓ               ｍｅｒｅｌｙ               ｓｕｎｎｉｎｇ               ｉｎ               ｓｏｍｅｔｈｉｎｇ               ｓｈｙ               ｏｆ               ａ               ｂｉｋｉｎｉ. Ｋｅｖ               ｑｕｉｃｋｌｙ               ｊｏｉｎｅｄ               ｈｅｒ,               ｔｈｅｒｅ               ｗａｓ               ａ               ｓｐｌａｓｈ,               ａｎｄ               ｔｈｅｎ               ｈｅ               ｓｔｏｏｄ               ｓｈｉｖｅｒｉｎｇ               --               ｓｔｉｌｌ               ｆｕｌｌｙ               ｄｒｅｓｓｅｄ               --               ｎｅａｒ               ｔｈｅ               ｐｏｏｌ               ｌａｄｄｅｒ.                "Ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ｔｈｉｎｋ               ｙｏｕ'ｄ               ｄｏ               ｉｔ,"               Ｔｅｒｉ               ｓａｉｄ,               ｌａｕｇｈｉｎｇ.                Ｋｅｖｉｎ               ｇｒｉｎｎｅｄ               -               ａｓ               ｏｎｌｙ               ａ               ｇｕｙ               ｗｈｏ'ｓ               ｄｏｎｅ               ｓｏｍｅｔｈｉｎｇ               ｇｏｏｆｙ               ｆｏｒ               ｓｅｘ               ｃａｎ.                Ｎｅｘｔ               --               ｍａｙｂｅ               ｃｈａｌｌｅｎｇｅｄ               ｂｙ               Ｋｅｖｉｎ               --               Ｄａｌｅ,               ｔｈｅ               ｍｅｃｈａｎｉｃ,               ｗｅｎｔ               ａｆｔｅｒ               Ｌｉｓａ,               ｔｈｅ               ｕｎｗｅｄ               ｍｏｍ.                "Ｔｈｅｒｅ               ｉｓ               ａ               ｆａｔｈｅｒ,"               Ｄａｌｅ               ｔｏｌｄ               ｍｅ. Ｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ｃｈａｎｇｉｎｇ               ｔｈｅ               ｏｉｌ               ｉｎ               ｈｉｓ               ｔｒｕｃｋ. "Ｗｅｌｌ,               ｏｆ               ｃｏｕｒｓｅ,               ｔｈｅｒｅ'ｓ               ａ               ｆａｔｈｅｒ,               ｄｉｐｗｉｔ,"               ｈｅ               ｃｏｒｒｅｃｔｅｄ,               ｃｏｍｉｃａｌｌｙ               ｈｉｔｔｉｎｇ               ｈｉｍｓｅｌｆ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｈｅａｄ. "Ｗｈａｔ               Ｉ               ｍｅａｎ               ｉｓ               ｔｈｅｙ               ａｌｍｏｓｔ               ｇｏｔ               ｍａｒｒｉｅｄ."                "Ｇｕｙ               ｃｈｉｃｋｅｎ               ｏｕｔ?"               Ｉ               ａｓｋｅｄ.                "Ｎａｈ,               Ｌｉｓａ               ｗａｓｎ'ｔ               ｓｕｒｅ               ｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ｒｅａｌｌｙ               ｔｈｅ               ｄａｄ. Ａｎｄ               ｓｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ａｆｒａｉｄ               --               ｉｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｋｉｄ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ｌｏｏｋ               ｅｎｏｕｇｈ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｔｈｅ               ｄｕｄｅ               -               ｔｈａｔ               ｈｅ'ｄ               ｂｅａｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｃｒａｐ               ｏｕｔ               ｏｆ               ｈｅｒ."                "Ｎｉｃｅ               ｇｕｙ."                "Ｙｅａｈ,               ｗｅｌｌ... ｙｏｕ               ｋｎｏｗ               Ｎｅｗ               Ｙｏｒｋｅｒｓ."                Ｔｈｉｒｄ               ｕｐ               ｗａｓ               ｏｕｒ               ｆｅａｒｌｅｓｓ               ｍａｎａｇｅｒ               --               ｔｈｅ               ｌｅａｄ               ｇｕｉｔａｒｉｓｔ               ｂｕｔ               ｓｏｍｅｈｏｗ               ｔｏｏ               ｊｕｖｅｎｉｌｅ               ｔｏ               ｇｒｏｗ               ａ               ｂｅａｒｄ. Ｈｅ               ｐｅｇｇｅｄ               Ｋｉｍ,               ｔｈｅ               ｓｅｃｏｎｄ               Ｎｅｗ               Ｙｏｒｋ               ｇｉｒｌ.                "Ｓｈｅ               ｗｏｎ'ｔ               ａｌｗａｙｓ               ｂｅ               ａ               ｓｅｃｒｅｔａｒｙ,"               ｈｅ               ａｒｇｕｅｄ               ｄｅｆｅｎｓｉｖｅｌｙ. "Ｊｕｓｔ               ｌｉｋｅ               Ｉ               ｗｏｎ'ｔ               ａｌｗａｙｓ               ｍａｎａｇｅ               ａ               ｄｕｍｐ."                Ｗｅ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｐｏｏｌ               ａｒｅａ,               ａｓｓｅｍｂｌｉｎｇ               ａ               ｎｅｗ               ｇａｓ               ｇｒｉｌｌ.                "Ｃａｎ               ｙｏｕ               ｂｅｌｉｅｖｅ               ｔｈｅｙ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ｈａｖｅ               ｏｎｅ?"               ｈｅ               ｃｏｍｐｌａｉｎｅｄ. "Ｏｒ               ｌｏｕｎｇｅ               ｃｈａｉｒｓ... Ｒａｆｔｓ. Ｆｉｒｓｔ               ｔｈｉｎｇ               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ               --               ｅｖｅｎ               ｂｅｆｏｒｅ               ａｃｃｅｐｔｉｎｇ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｊｏｂ               --               ｉｓ               ｙｏｕ               ｇｏｔｔａ               ｂｕｙ               ｕｓ               ｓｏｍｅｔｈｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               ｓｉｔ               ｏｎ."                Ｈｅ               ｓｕｄｄｅｎｌｙ               ｙｅｌｐｅｄ,               ｓｌｉｃｉｎｇ               ｈｉｓ               ｆｉｎｇｅｒ.                "Ｙｏｕ               ＯＫ?"               Ｉ               ａｓｋｅｄ.                "Ｏｈ,               ｙｅａｈ... Ｄｏ               ｉｔ               ａｌｌ               ｔｈｅ               ｔｉｍｅ."                Ｓｕｃｋｉｎｇ               ｈｉｓ               ｂｌｏｏｄ,               ｈｅ               ｆｏｒｃｅｄ               ａｎｏｔｈｅｒ               ｂｏｌｔ.                "Ｏｆ               ｃｏｕｒｓｅ,               Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ｊｏｋｉｎｇ,"               ｈｅ               ｂａｃｋｅｄ               ｄｏｗｎ. "Ｉ               ｗｏｕｌｄ'ｖｅ               ｇｒａｂｂｅｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｊｏｂ               ｅｖｅｎ               ｗｉｔｈｏｕｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｃｈａｉｒｓ. Ｗｅ               ｎｅｅｄｅｄ               ａ               ｐｌａｃｅ,               ｂａｄ."                Ｉ               ｗｏｎｄｅｒｅｄ               ｉｆ               ｔｈｅｙ'ｄ               ｂｅｅｎ               ｋｉｃｋｅｄ               ｏｕｔ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅｉｒ               ｌａｓｔ               ｏｎｅ.                "Ｎｏｗ               Ｋｉｍ'ｓ               ｐｒｅｔｔｙ               ｃａｇｅｙ,"               ｈｅ               ｗｅｎｔ               ｏｎ. "Ａｌｗａｙｓ               ｎｅｅｄｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               ｃｈｅｃｋ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｈｅｒ               ｒｏｏｍｉｅｓ               ｂｅｆｏｒｅ               ｓｈｅ               ｃｏｍｍｉｔｓ. Ｂｕｔ               ｍａｎ,               ｓｈｅ               ｇｏｅｓ               ｄｏｗｎ               ｓｍｏｏｔｈ."                Ｌｏｎｎｉｅ,               ｔｈｅ               ａｃｃｏｕｎｔａｎｔ,               ｗａｓ               ｆｏｕｒｔｈ,               ｆｉｆｔｈ,               ｓｉｘｔｈ,               ａｎｄ               ｓｅｖｅｎｔｈ,               ｄａｔｉｎｇ               ｑｕｉｃｋｌｙ               ｉｎ               ｓｕｃｃｅｓｓｉｏｎ:               Ａｎｎｅｔｔｅ,               Ｓｈａｎｎｏｎ,               Ｊａｃｋｉｅ,               ａｎｄ               Ｖｅｒｏｎｉｃａ.                "Ｉ'ｖｅ               ｇｏｔ               ｎｏｔｈｉｎｇ               ａｇａｉｎｓｔ               ａｎｙ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅｍ,"               ｈｅ               ａｓｓｕｒｅｄ               ｍｅ. "Ｔｈｅｙ'ｒｅ               ａｌｌ               ｇｒｅａｔ,               ａｎｄ               Ｉ'ｖｅ               ｔｏｌｄ               ｔｈｅｍ               ｓｏ. Ｂｕｔ               ｙｏｕ               ｇｏｔｔａ               ｋｅｅｐ               ｍｏｖｉｎｇ."                "Ｗｈｙ?"               Ｉ               ａｓｋｅｄ. Ｗｅ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｏｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｂａｌｃｏｎｙ,               Ｌｏｎｎｉｅ               ｔａｋｉｎｇ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｕｎ,               Ｙｕｃｋ               ｃｏｉｌｅｄ               ａｒｏｕｎｄ               ｈｉｓ               ｎｅｃｋ. Ａｓ               ｗｅ               ｔａｌｋｅｄ,               ｔｈｅ               ｂｏａ               ｃｏｎｓｔｒｉｃｔｏｒ               ｃｕｒｌｅｄ               ｃｕｒｉｏｕｓｌｙ               ｔｏｗａｒｄ               ｍｅ.                "Ｌｏｖｅ'ｓ               ｔｏｕｇｈ,"               Ｌｏｎｎｉｅ               ｌａｍｅｎｔｅｄ. "Ｙｏｕ               ｋｎｏｗ               ｔｈａｔ               ｇｕｙ,               ｕｐ               ｉｎ               Ｂｅｒｋｅｌｅｙ? Ｔｈｅ               ｏｎｅ               ｗｈｏ               ｇｏｅｓ               ｎａｋｅｄ               ｔｏ               ａｌｌ               ｈｉｓ               ｃｌａｓｓｅｓ? Ｍｏｓｔ               ｐｅｏｐｌｅ               ｔｈｉｎｋ               ｈｅ'ｓ               ｃｒａｚｙ. Ｉ               ｓｗｅａｒ               ｈｅ'ｓ               ｊｕｓｔ               ｔｒｙｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               ｇｅｔ               ａ               ｄａｔｅ."                "Ｙｏｕ               ｄｏｎ'ｔ               ｓｅｅｍ               ｔｏ               ｈａｖｅ               ｔｈａｔ               ｐｒｏｂｌｅｍ."                "Ｂｕｔ               Ｉ               ｄｏ! Ｈｏｎｅｓｔ! Ｉ               ｃａｎ'ｔ               ｆｉｎｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｇｉｒｌ               Ｉ               ｗａｎｔ               ｔｏ               ｍａｒｒｙ. Ａｎｄ               ｅａｃｈ               ｔｉｍｅ               Ｉ               ｔｒｙ,               ｔｈｅ               ｄａｍｎ               ｇｉｒｌｓ               ｋｅｅｐ               ｆａｌｌｉｎｇ               ｉｎ               ｌｏｖｅ."                Ｉ               ｌａｕｇｈｅｄ.                "Ｗｅｌｌ,               ｗｈｅｒｅ               ｄｏ               ｙｏｕ               ｍｅｅｔ               ｇｉｒｌｓ               ｇｏｏｄ               ｅｎｏｕｇｈ               ｔｏ               ｔａｋｅ               ｈｏｍｅ?"                Ｔｈａｔ               ｓｔｏｐｐｅｄ               ｍｅ. "Ｇｕｅｓｓ               Ｉ'ｖｅ               ｎｅｖｅｒ               ｂｅｅｎ               ｔｈａｔ               ｓｅｒｉｏｕｓ,"               Ｉ               ｈａｄ               ｔｏ               ｃｏｎｆｅｓｓ. "Ｍａｙｂｅ               ｂｅｃａｕｓｅ... ｗｅｌｌ,               ｗｈｅｎ               Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ｓｔｉｌｌ               ｔｅａｃｈｉｎｇ... ａｎｙ               ｔｉｍｅ               ｅｖｅｎ               ｍｙ               ｓｈｏｅｌａｃｅ               ｂｒｏｋｅ,               ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ａ               ｆｉｎａｎｃｉａｌ               ｃｒｉｓｉｓ."                Ｈｅ               ｗａｖｅｄ               ｔｈａｔ               ａｗａｙ. "Ｉ'ｌｌ               ａｌｗａｙｓ               ｈａｖｅ               ｍｏｎｅｙ... Ｂｕｔ               ｔｈｅｙ               ｇｏｔｔａ               ｗａｎｔ               ｍｏｒｅ               ｔｈａｎ               ｔｈａｔ."                Ａｔ               ｔｈａｔ               ｐｏｉｎｔ,               ｔｈｉｎｇｓ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｓｔｉｌｌ               ｒｅｌａｔｉｖｅｌｙ               ｃｌｅａｎ:               Ｏｎｅ               ｇｕｙ. Ｏｎｅ               ｇｉｒｌ               --               ａｔ               ｌｅａｓｔ,               ｏｎｅ               ａｔ               ａ               ｔｉｍｅ. Ｔｈｅｎ               Ｏｌｄｅｒ               Ｂｒｏｔｈｅｒ               ｌｉｖｅｄ               ｕｐ               ｔｏ               ｈｉｓ               "Ｌｅｓｓ               Ｒｅｓｐｏｎｓｉｂｌｅ"               ｒｅｐｕｔａｔｉｏｎ               ｂｙ               ｓｌｅｅｐｉｎｇ               ｗｉｔｈ               Ｔｅｒｉ               -               ｗｈｉｌｅ               ｓｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ｓｔｉｌｌ               ｓｅｅｉｎｇ               Ｋｅｖ.                "Ｉｔ'ｓ               ｃｏｏｌ,"               Ｏｌｄｅｒ               Ｂｒｏｔｈｅｒ               ｉｎｓｉｓｔｅｄ. "Ｋｅｖ               ｄｏｅｓｎ'ｔ               ｃａｒｅ... Ｗｅｌｌ,               Ｉ               ｍｅａｎ,               ｈｅ               ｄｏｅｓ... Ｂｕｔ               ｈｅ               ｄｏｅｓｎ'ｔ... Ａｎｄ,               ｅｉｔｈｅｒ               ｗａｙ,               ｈｅ               ｄｏｅｓｎ'ｔ               ｋｎｏｗ               ｗｈａｔ               ｔｏ               ｄｏ               ａｂｏｕｔ               ｉｔ."                Ｉ               ｔｒｉｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｓｏｒｔ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｏｕｔ. "Ｌｅｔ               ｍｅ               ｇｅｔ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｒｉｇｈｔ               -               ｙｏｕ'ｒｅ               ｓｌｅｅｐｉｎｇ               ｗｉｔｈ               Ｔｅｒｉ               ａｓ               ａ               ｆａｖｏｒ               ｔｏ               Ｋｅｖ?"                "Ｓｌｅｅｐｉｎｇ? Ｗｅ               ａｉｎ'ｔ               ｅｖｅｎ               ｌｙｉｎｇ               ｄｏｗｎ."                Ｔｈａｔ               ｒｅａｌｌｙ               ｃｒａｃｋｅｄ               ｈｉｍ               ｕｐ.                "Ｂｕｔ               Ｋｅｖｉｎ               ｗａｎｔｓ               ｔｏ               ｂｒｅａｋ               ｏｆｆ               ｗｉｔｈ               Ｔｅｒｉ?"               Ｉ               ｅｖｅｎｔｕａｌｌｙ               ｐｕｓｈｅｄ               ｏｎ                "Ｉ               ｔｏｌｄ               ｙｏｕ               -               Ｋｅｖ               ｎｅｖｅｒ               ｋｎｏｗｓ               ｗｈａｔ               ｈｅ               ｗａｎｔｓ. Ｔｈａｔ'ｓ               ｗｈａｔ               ｇｉｒｌｓ               ｆｉｎｄ               ｃｏｏｌ."                Ｉ               ｓｏｒｔ               ｏｆ               ｋｎｅｗ               ｔｈａｔ               ａｌｒｅａｄｙ. Ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ａｎ               ａｒｔ               Ｉ'ｄ               ｎｅｖｅｒ               ｍａｓｔｅｒｅｄ.                "Ｈｏｗ'ｓ               Ｔｅｒｉ               ｆｅｅｌ?"               Ｉ               ａｓｋｅｄ                "Ｗｈａｔ'ｓ               ｉｔ               ｍａｔｔｅｒ?"               Ｏｌｄｅｒ               Ｂｒｏｔｈｅｒ               ｓｔｅａｍｅｄ,               ｓｅｅｍｉｎｇ               ｅｘａｓｐｅｒａｔｅｄ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｍｅ. "Ｔｗｏ               ｗｅｅｋｓ,               ａｎｄ               ｅｖｅｒｙｔｈｉｎｇ'ｌｌ               ｃｈａｎｇｅ."                Ｉｔ               ｓｅｅｍｅｄ               ｃｙｎｉｃａｌ,               ｂｕｔ               ｈｅ               ｃａｌｌｅｄ               ｉｔ               ｅｘａｃｔｌｙ               ｒｉｇｈｔ. Ａｓ               ｓｏｏｎ               ａｓ               ｔｈｅ               ｐｏｏｌ               ｈｅａｔｅｄ,               ｔｈｅ               ｐａｓｓｉｏｎ               ｐｌａｙ               ｍｏｖｅｄ               ｏｕｔｄｏｏｒｓ. Ｌｏｕｎｇｅ               ｃｈａｉｒｓ               ｂｅｃａｍｅ               ａｐａｒｔｍｅｎｔｓ. Ｆｏｏｄ               ｗａｓ               ｅｖｅｒｙｗｈｅｒｅ. Ｔｈｅ               ｇａｓ               ｇｒｉｌｌ               ｂｕｒｎｅｄ               ｏｖｅｒｔｉｍｅ.                Ｆｏｒ               ｅｘｔｒａ               ｆｕｎ,               ｔｈｅ               ｇｕｙｓ               ｓｅｅｍｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｌｏｖｅ               ｓｃａｌｉｎｇ               ｔｈｅ               ｐｏｏｌ               ｗａｌｌ. Ｔｈｅｙ'ｄ               ｔｏｅ               ｉｎｔｏ               ｉｔｓ               ｃｒｕｍｂｌｉｎｇ               ｃｉｎｄｅｒ               ｂｌｏｃｋ,               ｓｗｉｎｇ               ｔｈｅｍｓｅｌｖｅｓ               ｏｎｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｃａｒｐｏｒｔ               ｒｏｏｆ,               ｔｈｅｎ               ｃａｎｎｏｎｂａｌｌ               ｉｎｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｗａｔｅｒ. Ｗｈｅｎ               ｔｈａｔ               ｐｒｏｖｅｄ               ｔｏｏ               ｅａｓｙ,               ｔｈｅｙ               ｓｔｏｒｍｅｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｐｏｏｌ               ｇａｚｅｂｏ               -               ｈｉｇｈｅｒ               ａｎｄ               ｆｕｒｔｈｅｒ               ａｗａｙ. Ｇｕｙｓ               ｃｌｉｍｂｅｄ               ａｎｄ               ｌｅａｐｔ,               ｇｉｒｌｓ               ｓｃｒｅａｍｅｄ               ａｎｄ               ｔｗｉｓｔｅｄ               ｔｏ               ａｖｏｉｄ               ｇｅｔｔｉｎｇ               ｓｌｏｓｈｅｄ,               ｔｈｅ               ｂａｂｙ               ｃｒｉｅｄ,               ａｎｄ               ｂｕｒｇｅｒｓ               ａｎｄ               ｂｅｅｒｓ               ａｎｄ               ｗｈｏ               ｋｎｅｗ               ｗｈａｔ               ｅｌｓｅ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｐａｓｓｅｄ.                Ｃｏｍｉｎｇ               ｈｏｍｅ               ｌａｔｅ,               Ｉ'ｄ               ｓｅｅ               ｂｏｄｉｅｓ               ｓｑｕｉｒｍｉｎｇ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｔｕｒｑｕｏｉｓｅ               ｐｏｏｌ               ｌｉｇｈｔ. Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ｎｅｖｅｒ               ｓｕｒｅ               ｗｈｏｓｅ,               ｏｒ               ｉｎ               ｗｈａｔ               ｃｏｍｂｉｎａｔｉｏｎ,               ｂｕｔ               ｉｔ               ｈａｒｄｌｙ               ｍａｔｔｅｒｅｄ. Ｙｅａｈ,               ｔｈｅｒｅ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｆｉｇｈｔｓ:               Ｓｃｒｅａｍｉｎｇ. Ａｃｃｕｓａｔｉｏｎｓ. Ｗｈｏｌｅ               ａｐａｒｔｍｅｎｔｓ               ｓｅｔ               ａｇａｉｎｓｔ               ｅａｃｈ               ｏｔｈｅｒ. Ａｎｄ               ｔｈｉｎｇｓ               ｆｌｅｗ:               Ｏｕｔ               ｗｉｎｄｏｗｓ. Ｃｒａｓｈｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｃｅｍｅｎｔ. Ｂｕｔ               ｍｕｓｉｃ               ａｌｗａｙｓ               ｓｏｏｔｈｅｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｈｅａｖｉｎｇ               ｂｒｅａｓｔｓ,               ａｎｄ,               ａｆｔｅｒ               ｍｉｄｎｉｇｈｔ               ｇｉｇｓ,               ｔｈｅ               ｂａｎｄ               ｊａｍｍｅｄ               ａｒｏｕｎｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｐｏｏｌ. Ａｎｄ               ｔｈｅｙ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｇｏｏｄ. Ｉ'ｄ               ｏｆｔｅｎ               ｃｏｍｅ               ｄｏｗｎ               ｔｏ               ｌｉｓｔｅｎ.                Ｏｔｈｅｒ               ｐｅｏｐｌｅ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｂｕｉｌｄｉｎｇ               ｈｉｄ. "Ｔｈａｎｋ               ｇｏｏｄｎｅｓｓ               ｆｏｒ               ａｉｒ               ｃｏｎｄｉｔｉｏｎｉｎｇ,"               Ｓａｌｌｙ,               ｏｕｒ               ｏｌｄｅｓｔ               ｒｅｓｉｄｅｎｔ,               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｉｔ'ｓ               ｎｏｔ               ｒｅａｌｌｙ               ｈｏｔ               ｅｎｏｕｇｈ               ｙｅｔ. Ｂｕｔ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｍｙ               ｍａｃｈｉｎｅ               ｏｎ,               Ｉ               ｃａｎ'ｔ               ｈｅａｒ               ａ               ｔｈｉｎｇ. Ｉｔ               ｌｅｔｓ               ｔｈｅ               ｃｈｉｌｄｒｅｎ               ｐｌａｙ."                Ｏｔｈｅｒ               ｔｅｎａｎｔｓ,               ｈａｒｄ-ｗｏｒｋｉｎｇ               ａｎｄ               ｍｉｄｄｌｅ-ａｇｅｄ,               ｗｅｒｅ               ｌｅｓｓ               ｆｏｒｇｉｖｉｎｇ:               "Ｔｈｅｙ               ｓｈｏｕｌｄ               ａｌｌ               ｂｅ               ｅｖｉｃｔｅｄ."                "Ｆｏｕｒ               ａｐａｒｔｍｅｎｔｓ?"               Ｉ               ｒｅａｓｏｎｅｄ. "Ｔｈｅ               ｏｗｎｅｒｓ               ｗｏｕｌｄｎ'ｔ               ｄｏ               ｔｈａｔ."                "Ｔｈｅｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｇｕｙｓ               ｓｈｏｕｌｄ               ｂｅ               ｗｈｉｐｐｅｄ."                Ｖｉｃ,               ｏｕｒ               ｈａｒｍｌｅｓｓ               ｐｅｒｖｅｒｔ,               ｗａｓ               ｅａｇｅｒ               ｔｏ               ａｐｐｌｙ               ｔｈａｔ               ｄｉｓｃｉｐｌｉｎｅ               --               ｉｆ               ｏｎｌｙ               ｔｏ               ｇｅｔ               ａ               ｃｌｅａｎｅｒ               ｓｈｏｔ               ａｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｇｉｒｌｓ. Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ｓｕｒｅ               ｔｈｅｙ               ｋｅｐｔ               ｈｉｍ               ｉｎ               ｐｅｒｍａｎｅｎｔ               ｏｒｇａｓｍ;               Ｉ'ｄ               ｏｆｔｅｎ               ｓｅｅ               ｈｉｓ               ｍｉｎｉ-ｂｌｉｎｄｓ               ｑｕｉｖｅｒ. Ａｎｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｇｉｒｌｓ               ｋｎｅｗ               ｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ｔｈｅｒｅ. Ｔｈｅｙ'ｄ               ｓｏｍｅｔｉｍｅｓ               ｗａｖｅ,               ｏｒ               "ａｃｃｉｄｅｎｔａｌｌｙ"               ｆｌａｓｈ               ｈｉｍ.                Ｔｈｅ               ｐｅｏｐｌｅ               ｗｈｏ               ｌｉｖｅｄ               ｏｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｂｕｉｌｄｉｎｇ'ｓ               "ｑｕｉｅｔ               ｓｉｄｅ,"               ａｗａｙ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｔｈｅ               ｐｏｏｌ,               ｃａｍｅ               ｏｆｆ               ｂｅｓｔ               . Ｔｈｏｕｇｈ,               ｉｒｏｎｉｃａｌｌｙ,               ｔｗｏ-ｏｆ-ｔｈｅ-ｔｈｒｅｅ               ｅｍｐｔｙ               ａｐａｒｔｍｅｎｔｓ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｔｈｅｒｅ. Ａ               ｓｉｇｎ               ｏｕｔ               ｆｒｏｎｔ               ｓｔｅａｄｉｌｙ               ａｄｖｅｒｔｉｓｅｄ               "Ｖａｃａｎｃｉｅｓ"               ｂｕｔ,               ｔｙｐｉｃａｌｌｙ,               ｗｈｅｎ               ｏｎｅ               ｙｏｕｎｇ               ｗｏｍａｎ               ｃａｍｅ               ｔｏ               ａｐｐｌｙ,               ｓｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ｇｒｅｅｔｅｄ               ｂｙ               Ｏｌｄｅｒ               Ｂｒｏｔｈｅｒ               ｉｎ               ｄｒｅｎｃｈｅｄ               Ｓｐｅｅｄｏｓ. Ｓｈｅ               ｈａｌｔｅｄ,               ｉｎｖｏｌｕｎｔａｒｉｌｙ.                "Ｃｏｍｅ               ｔｒｙ               ｔｈｅ               ｐｏｏｌ!"               Ｏｌｄｅｒ               Ｂｒｏｔｈｅｒ               ｎｅａｒｌｙ               ｓａｎｇ. "Ｔｈｅ               ｗａｔｅｒ'ｓ               ｆ-ｉ-ｉ-ｉ-ｎ-ｅ!"                Ｔｈｅ               ｇｉｒｌ               ｓｔａｒｅｄ. "Ｉ... Ｉ... Ｉ..."                Ａｔ               ｔｈａｔ               ｍｏｍｅｎｔ,               Ｌｏｎｎｉｅ               ａｐｐｅａｒｅｄ               ｏｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｂａｌｃｏｎｙ,               ｉｎ               Ｓｐａｎｄｅｘ               ｂｏｘｅｒｓ,               ｔｏｔｉｎｇ               Ｙｕｃｋ. Ｔｈｅ               ｗｏｍｅｎ               ｓｃｒｅａｍｅｄ.                "Ｄａｍｎ!"               Ｏｌｄｅｒ               Ｂｒｏｔｈｅｒ               ｍｏｕｒｎｅｄ               ａｓ               ｓｈｅ               ｆｌｅｄ               -               ａｓ               ｉｆ               ｈｅ'ｄ               ｅｖｅｎ               ｂｅｅｎ               ｃｌｏｓｅ. Ｔｈｅｎ               ｈｅ               ｈｉｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｐｏｏｌ,               ｖａｕｌｔｅｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｇａｚｅｂｏ,               ａｎｄ               -               ｂｌｅａｔｉｎｇ               ｌｉｋｅ               Ｔａｒｚａｎ               -               ｃａｎｎｏｎｂａｌｌｅｄ               ｈｏｍｅ.                Ｉ               ｓｗａｍ,               ｔｏｏ,               ｉｎ               ｍｙ               ｆｒｅｅ               ｍｏｍｅｎｔｓ. Ｏｒ               ｗｈｅｎ               ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ｓｏ               ｈｏｔ               ｗｈｅｎ               Ｉ               ｆｉｎａｌｌｙ               ｃｒａｗｌｅｄ               ｈｏｍｅ               ｔｈａｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｐｏｏｌ               ｗａｓ               ｆａｓｔｅｒ               ｔｈａｎ               ａ               ｓｈｏｗｅｒ. Ｔｈｅ               ｇａｎｇ               ｗａｓ               ａｌｗａｙｓ               ｆｒｉｅｎｄｌｙ,               ａｎｄ               Ｉ               ｅｖｅｎ               ｔｈｏｕｇｈｔ               ａｂｏｕｔ               ａｓｋｉｎｇ               ｏｎｅ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｇｉｒｌｓ               ｏｕｔ. Ｂｕｔ               ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ｔｏｏ               ｍｕｃｈ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｄａｔｉｎｇ               ｓｔｕｄｅｎｔｓ.                Ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｐｏｏｌ,               Ｉ               ｍａｉｎｌｙ               ｄｏｖｅ. Ｇｌｉｄｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               ｏｎｅ               ｅｎｄ,               ｒｅｖｅｒｓｉｎｇ,               ｔｈｅｎ               ｄｉｖｉｎｇ               ａｇａｉｎ               ａｎｄ               ｇｌｉｄｉｎｇ               ｂａｃｋ. Ｓｔｒａｎｇｅ               ｏｂｊｅｃｔｓ               ｆｌｏａｔｅｄ               ｂｙ... ｂａｂｙ               ｔｏｙｓ... ｏｔｈｅｒ               ｕｎｆａｔｈｏｍａｂｌｅｓ. Ｏｒ               ｔｈｅｙ               ｓｗａｙｅｄ               ｇｅｎｔｌｙ               ｏｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｐｏｏｌ               ｂｏｔｔｏｍ. Ａｔ               ｗｏｒｋ,               Ｉ               ｓｌｏｗｌｙ               ｃｉｒｃｌｅｄ               ａ               ｗｏｍａｎ               ｃｌｏｓｅ               ｔｏ               ｍｙ               ａｇｅ               ｔｈｏｕｇｈ               ｆａｒ               ｂｅｔｔｅｒ               ｅｓｔａｂｌｉｓｈｅｄ. Ｓｈｅ               ｐｒａｉｓｅｄ               ｍｅ               ｒｅｌｅｎｔｌｅｓｓｌｙ,               ｂｕｔ               ｗｅ               ｂｏｔｈ               ｋｎｅｗ               ｓｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ｏｕｔ               ｏｆ               ｒｅａｃｈ. Ｔｈｒｏｕｇｈ               ｆｒｉｅｎｄｓ,               Ｉ               ｍｅｔ               ｍｏｒｅ               ａｃｃｅｓｓｉｂｌｅ               ｗｏｍｅｎ,               ａｓｐｉｒｉｎｇ               ａｃｔｒｅｓｓｅｓ,               ｓｏ               ｉｎｓｅｃｕｒｅ. Ｏｎｅ               ｌｅｆｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｆｏｌｌｏｗｉｎｇ               ｍｅｓｓａｇｅ               ｏｎ               ａ               Ｓｕｎｄａｙ               ｗｈｅｎ               Ｉ'ｄ               ｂｅｅｎ               ｓｕｄｄｅｎｌｙ               ｃａｌｌｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｗｏｒｋ:               "Ｉ               ｓｐｅｎｔ               ｔｈｅ               ａｆｔｅｒｎｏｏｎ               ｗｏｒｒｉｅｄ               ｙｏｕ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｄｅａｄ,               ａｎｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｅｖｅｎｉｎｇ               ｈｏｐｉｎｇ               ｙｏｕ               ｗｅｒｅ."                Ａｌｌ               ａｒｏｕｎｄ               ｍｅ,               ｈｏｒｍｏｎｅｓ               ｆｒｅｅｂａｓｅｄ,               ａｎｄ               Ｉ               ｓｐｅｎｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｍｏｓｔ               ｃｌｏｉｓｔｅｒｅｄ               ｓｕｍｍｅｒ               ｏｆ               ｍｙ               ｌｉｆｅ.

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