Chapter 235: Complaints

Now, I've never been accused of minding my own business, so this moment was no different. I found myself in the somewhat compromising and yet enviable position of crouching beneath the window over the door where the shout had come from. One glance upward and I easily read the black lettering on the crystalized glass. Lester Patterson, Club President. And, even as my mind processed the name, the voice came through loud and clear.

"I'm done with this conversation, Nortz," Lester said, his shadow nearing the door. I gasped, reaching faster for the fallen tablecloths, straining my ears to listen as the knob rattled. Wouldn't do to have them find me eavesdropping when it really was an accidental listen in to their private conversation. But when the door didn't open, the sound of Chris Nortz's voice swelling with anger, I stopped, breathless, all of my goods recovered but unable to move until I knew what he was going to say.

Busybody? Check.