My friends took off for the food stand and I started doodling on the score pad. That's when my sister, Elizabeth, showed up.
"What's up, punk," she said, pulling the tablet out of my hand.
"When did you learn shorthand?"
"Well, this is shorthand. I should know. I taught myself from one of Mom’s old text books just for fun.”
"Well, if it's shorthand, what does it say, smarty?"
"You'll find Anna in West Side Nursing Home. Hurry. Time is running out.”
"That scribble says all that?"
I grabbed the tablet to look at it. Still looked like scribble to me.
"Who's Anna?" she asked.
"I don't know."
“Then why’d you write it?”
“I didn’t. Well, at least I didn’t know that I did.”
"You’re really weird. And I suppose you’re going to tell me that you also didn’t know you wrote West Side Nursing Home. Where’s that, anyway? Never heard of it."
"Then why'd you write it?"
"I told you I didn't write it. I mean I didn't know that I did. I was just doodling."
"How can you write in shorthand and not even know it? Give me a break, dweeb."