Free Eye Candy by R.L. Stine

for a
third
revision, so I just stayed up all night and rewrote it myself.”
    â€œWell, it’s excellent now,” Saralynn said.
    I had a tremendous urge to jump up and scream at her: “Don’t you realize Rita says that about
every
manuscript she works on? How can it be that every single manuscript is a mess that Rita has to completely rewrite herself? She stays up all night
every time
and saves the author’s work single-handedly?”
    It’s total bullshit, but Saralynn eats it up.
    Saralynn turned to me, her smile fading. “Lindy, I need to speak to you about
Pioneer Girl II
. I read it last night. It still isn’t there. You’ve got a great beginning and a pretty good ending—but there’s no middle. Nothing happens for pages and pages. The covered wagon is stuck in a ditch and the whole story just stops.”
    â€œI know,” I said lamely. “I want to talk to Charlene about it, but she doesn’t answer her phone.”
    Charlene Nola Watson is the series author. She hates to revise. I’m sure she screens her calls and doesn’t pick up when she hears it’s me.
    â€œWell, email her then,” Saralynn suggested, like I’m a two-year-old who wouldn’t think of email without being told. “Both of these manuscripts are supposed to go over to Random House on Friday, and only one is ready.”
    Rita’s, of course.
    Saralynn turned and swept back to her office down the hall.
    Rita had a huge grin on her face. She made no attempt to hide her delight. I wanted to grab that little nub of a nose and pull it out to its original length.
    â€œLindy, if you’d like me to take a look at the manuscript . . . ,” she sang.
    Luckily, my phone rang before I could tell her what I’d like her to do with the manuscript. “FurryBear Press. This is Lindy.”
    â€œLindy, hi. It’s me.”
    At first I didn’t recognize the voice. Was it one of the guys from the Internet?
    â€œJust wanted to see if you’ve gotten any more threatening calls.”
    Oh. Tommy Foster.
    â€œTommy, I . . . didn’t know you had my number at work.”
    â€œWell, I added a lot of Ben’s contacts to my file. You know. In case I needed to contact some of his people. I’m just following up on last night, Lindy. If you’re busy . . .”
    â€œNo. It’s okay. Thanks, Tommy. I’m fine. I mean, no other calls.”
    â€œGood. I thought it might be a one-time thing. You see any of the guys you met on that Web site?”
    â€œWell . . . I’m going out with a guy Saturday. But I didn’t meet him online. And, to be honest, there’s another guy . . . well . . . I kind of like him.”
    Tommy didn’t reply. I heard someone say something to him. A police radio blared in the background. “I’d better go. You’ve got my number, right, Lindy?”
    â€œThanks, Tommy.” He clicked off before I could say goodbye.
    In the next cubicle, Rita was talking to one of her guys. “What are you going to wear? No, not that. No, don’t wear that. Listen to me. They won’t let us in if you wear that.”
    Where does she find all these men?
    I set the phone back in its base. Nice of Tommy Foster to call. I probably shouldn’t have bothered him in the first place.
    I took a deep breath and let it out. It had to be someone playing a stupid joke—right?

13
    Do you like to dance?”
    â€œYeah. I go to clubs sometimes,” I said. “You know. Downtown.”
    She let go of her coffee cup and reached across the table to touch my hand. “We could go dancing tonight.”
    â€œNo, not tonight.”
    Her smile faded but her eyes were still lit up. She brushed back her long hair. It was dark brown with blond streaks in it. She put her hand over mine. “It’s still early. How come you don’t want to go dancing tonight?”
    â€œI strained my back,” I