Chapter 2: The Stench Spreads

Just as I was about to go to lunch, I caught a faint fishy stench, kind of like someone microwaved old tuna. Following the smell, I realized it was coming from Lauren’s desk.

It hit me the second I stood up—sharp, sour, and unmistakably foul. I wrinkled my nose and glanced around. A couple of coworkers nearby shot me the same look, but nobody said anything. Someone quietly sprayed Febreze in the corner, and I heard a whispered, "Who microwaved fish again?" The smell was definitely strongest near Lauren’s workspace.

At that moment, she wasn’t there. I figured maybe she’d eaten something with a strong odor today, like leftover fish tacos or some spicy curry.

Her lunch bag was sitting on her desk, but nothing looked out of the ordinary. Maybe she’d brought in something weird, or maybe the fridge had gone bad again—though the last time that happened, the whole floor was up in arms.

Just then, Lauren walked in from outside, scrubbing her elbow vigorously with a towel. Her arm was red—she must have scrubbed it several times. She looked frazzled, her hair pulled back tighter than usual, and she kept glancing at her arm as if she expected it to start bleeding. Her towel smelled faintly of lemon-scented soap, but it couldn’t cover the fishy odor.

"What did you eat? Why does it smell so strong?" I blurted out as she sat down, my curiosity and mild disgust getting the better of me.

Lauren shot me a glare, her cheeks flushing. “I swear, I didn’t eat anything weird. I feel fine, but now I smell awful. It’s mortifying.” She kept rubbing her arm, like she could scrub the smell right off her skin. Her eyes darted around, clearly worried someone else would comment.

I tried to make her feel better. “Hey, it’s hot out. Everyone gets a little funky. Just take a long shower when you get home, you’ll be fine.” I offered her half my sandwich, trying to lighten the mood, but she just shook her head.

But Lauren couldn’t wait. She skipped lunch and took leave to go home. She grabbed her purse and practically ran out the door, mumbling something about needing to freshen up. I watched her go, shaking my head. Only Lauren would take PTO for a shower.

Taking leave just to shower—probably only Lauren would do that. I remembered last winter when she spilled coffee on her white blouse and disappeared for two hours to buy a new one. Cleanliness was her superpower—and her kryptonite.

I told the others she’d gone home sick, and they just rolled their eyes. "Classic Lauren," someone muttered. It was over-the-top, but in a weirdly endearing way. Someone even joked, "Hope she doesn’t use all her PTO on soap."