CYOB

The following post is my contribution to Nancy Pearl Wannabe’s Choose Your Own Blogventure. Start at the beginning and then follow along, choosing as you go. Have fun!

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For just a brief moment, as thoughts of Santa Claus and party dresses swirled and then cleared from her mind, Emma contemplated the tiny girl before her eyes. In her hurry to flip over on her bed and case out the situation properly, Emma did not, unfortunately, take her upside-down position and satin pajamas into account. She tumbled off of her bed in a rather ungainly fashion and collapsed on the bedroom floor with a heavy thud.

It was only due to a nimble, acrobatic leap that the miniature person avoided being crushed. “Well,” she remarked, “if I had known that you would have made such a ruckus, I would have woken up someone else.”

Emma groaned and sat up, rubbing a sore spot on her knee. It was just another bruise to explain to her mother, who was constantly bemoaning the fact that years of costly ballet lessons had failed to produce a graceful swan of a daughter.

“Wait a minute,” Emma mumbled, still disoriented. “What’s all this about? Who will notice that you’re gone? Why is time ticking?”

The girl sighed and leaned against the spine of a dog-eared, bookmarked copy of Atlas Shrugged. Her black leggings and tunic looked oddly medieval, but rubber-soled shoes and fingerless gloves made her seem more akin to a ninja than a jester. A length of rope hung around her chest, and she carried a small pack on her back. If it were not for the glimmering speck of a headlamp on her forehead, she would have been virtually invisible.

“I’m not supposed to tell you,” the girl said. “I’m not even supposed to be talking to you right now.”

Emma raised her eyebrow in annoyance. This little imp had the gall to interrupt her late-night indignation, but didn’t feel the need to explain herself? “Then why should I open the door for you?” she asked sharply.

The tiny ninja frowned. “Fine. The name is Selah. I am in the process of finishing up a fact-finding mission. My reconnaissance does not include your room, so I would like to leave as soon as possible, because my team will interpret any deviation from the mission specifications as sabotage.”

“And why are you in my room, again, See-lah?” The “again” was merely a formality.

“SAY-lah. I told you. Fact-finding mission. Classified.”

“Well, maybe my open door is classified, too,” Emma retorted.

The beam of Selah’s headlamp whipped around the room. “I’m here to listen, take notes, and report back. If you open the door now, just know that you will have supported a good cause.”

Emma bristled at the syrupy charity-speak. “Oh, yeah? And what if I don’t? What if I put you in a glass jar and sell you off to the highest bidder?”

“Well,” said Selah, “we will do all we can to prevent that from happening.”

Suddenly, the room was shot through with shafts of light from dozens of tiny headlamps.

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If you think that Emma should take on the pack of mini-ninjas and cause a commotion, click here.

If you think that Emma should open the door and cause a commotion, click here.