Writersoul only had time for a glance at Rivky’s shocked face when she saw stars. With a not so silent clunk (she’d been eating too much pizza lately) she was out cold.
When she came too, she looked around and realized that she’d been kidnapped by Reuven’s clone in conjunction with the Mafia.
She groaned. “Oh no, not you guys… and please don’t tell me we’re in the Congo.”
“No, writersoul,” came a new voice, all too familiar, all too fear-inducing. “You’re not in the Congo. You’re with me now.”
“NO! Not you! You don’t understand… you can’t make me do this… I don’t have time, it isn’t fair…”
“It’s not about fair,” said writersoul’s principal. “You are a student here, and I don’t care about your secret missions or the shidduch crisis. You’ve been neglecting your school work, and you need to finish it if you want to graduate in June.”
Writersoul is now holed up in a top-secret location, finishing a science report. When contacted by her case officer, notified about all of the cool missions she was missing in captivity, she groaned and took an Advil and a lot of chocolate.
She is now on carpal tunnel watch.
In the meanwhile, Rivky has just been photoshopping random photos of people from Google Images into the perfect shomer pose.