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“You know if you stare at that picture any harder it’s going to burst into flames.”

“Hasn’t happened yet,” Alma said, throwing a pillow at Michelle who was across the room sitting in a chair.

“I’m just saying is all. Anyway, I’ve gotta go.”

“Alright. Movies tomorrow still?”

“DUH! Part Uno of Deathly Hallows!”

The two friends walked outside and Michelle left.

Alma decided that she didn’t want to be stuck inside her boring apartment so she went inside, grabbed her keys and purse. She climbed into her car and drove.

*~*~*~*
He sighed. Again. “Are you still thinking about her?” Taylor asked.

“No, (pretty much non-stop for the last seven and a half months, but Taylor didn’t need to know that) it’s just that I have a feeling that I should remember the name Porterville for some reason. I can’t remember why though.”

“Dude, it’s been almost eight months. Deal with it. We should be reaching the set soon,” Taylor responded; sometimes he wasn’t the brightest friend in the box and was completely oblivious to what was happening with Wentworth.

“Whatever Taylor,” Wentworth drifted off as she stared out the window.
*~*~*~*~*
“Stupid cars. Don’t know why they have to film a stupid movie here anyway. Stupid Hollywood,” Alma muttered to herself as she backed up, turned down a side road and stomped on the gas.

*~*~*~*~*
“What the hell Taylor? Why’d you do that?” Wentworth grumbled as he rubbed his forehead.

“I didn’t do anything. Some nut just ran into us,” he retorted.

“Great,” Wentworth unbuckled and opened his car door; this was just what he needed right now.

*~*~*~*~*
“Crap! Crap! Crap!” Alma said aloud. She’d never been in an accident before, so why now? She shouldn’t have stomped on the gas. “Stupid.”

When she saw the car door open, she climbed out of her own car, ready to face whoever it was. What she didn’t expect was to hear, “Me Silly!” and laughing.

“What?” she asked, stunned by who she saw in front of her.

“I mean Alma,” he smiled. “What are you doing here?”

“Other than the fact that I live here, stupid cars got in my way so I took a side street. You?”

“Filming a movie.”

“Ohhh. I’m sorry that I hit you with my car,” she said, still shocked; Wentworth Miller-filming a movie-in her hometown-what are the odds?

“Are you okay? He asked.

“Way to go Went,” Taylor said, joining them. “Ask the person who hit YOU if they’re okay.”

“Shut up Taylor.”

“Just get the information. Brendan’s gonna freak if you’re late again. And when he sees his car.”

Turning to his friend, Wentworth said, “First, Brendan’s always freaking out, even when there’s nothing to freak out about. And two, I’m always late for something so a few more minutes won’t make a difference.

Handing him a small card, Taylor shrugged and said, “It’s you’re funeral,” and got back in the car.

Looking down at the card in his hand Wentworth realized it was an insurance card. “I’m guessing this goes to you,” he said, holding it out for her to take.

Alma walked to the passenger side of her car and reached in through the window and grabbed one of her insurance cards out of the glove box. Handing it to him she said, “My information is on the back.”

He flipped it over and read slowly, committing the numbers, home, cell and work, to memory. Checking his watch, Wentworth said, “Taylor’s right, Brendan will be pissed if I’m any later. I’m gonna have to go.”

“What about his car?” Alma asked.

“He’ll get over it. He did last time.”

“It was nice seeing you. And again, I’m sorry for running into to you—literally,” she laughed.
“You too,” he smiled and hugged her. “Don’t worry about it. And don’t be a stranger. Come visit the set sometime.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. I’ll call and let you know when to come down.”

“Ok,” she said. He gave her another brief hug and returned to his car.

As she watched him drive away, Alma took back all the rude comments she’d made to herself about Hollywood and the filming of movies in Porterville.