Geena loves mike

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A St. Patrick’s day treasure hunt

I went to my dresser to try to find a clean, green shirt, but came up empty-handed.  I had no idea how long Geena’s treasure hunt would take, so I gave up.  I didn’t want to keep her waiting, and I was intrigued by her mysterious message.  I dragged a comb through my hair, brushed my teeth, and set off toward the address on the post-it.

The apartment building was just off campus, in a nice neighborhood lined with small boutiques.  I knocked on the door of unit #6, expecting whoever was inside to have the next clue.  But when the door opened, the person inside was empty-handed.

It was Geena’s friend Rachel.  She was wearing a verdant pant suit that made her already-imposing figure look even more dominant.  She reached out without hesitation, her nails long and painted emerald, and pinched my arm.  Hard.

“Ow!” I exclaimed, jerking back.

“You’re supposed to be wearing green,” she said disapprovingly.

I rubbed my arm; the pinch had left a little red mark.  “Well, I didn’t have a clean shirt.”

Rachel smiled smugly down at me.  “Makes sense.  You seem like a dirty boy, Mike.”

“…Geena sent me here to get a clue for a treasure hunt,” I said, trying to ignore her comment.

“She said you’d come soon.  …speaking of coming soon, why don’t you come in for a bit?  I don’t want to be rude.  Let me offer you a drink.”