SHE

My head swiveled to find the speaker, Margaret, her first proper sentence to me, and the first time my eyes left Abed.

“What are you talking about?”

She doesn’t look up from her work as she fitted a skirt around my body, her lips thin and pressed together in concentration.

“You didn’t know? I suspected it was you running the fan site.” She says again,

“Margaret.” Abed says, I didn’t miss the sharp warning in his tone, and neither does she, because her brows furrows and her lips tighten, as if to say, she was not going to say more.

“What fan site? What is going on?” I ask everyone, my eyes darting from Margaret, to Fran, and then to Grace, whom I thought, we had a connection of some sort, but not even she would raise her eyes to my mine.

Groaning, I give up asking, and fish out my phone instead, as I am putting in the password, Abed’s voice halts me,

“Some of your fans, banded together, they created a fan site that sends out a rebate tweet per second, fighting for you online, and a