First Kiss Page 3

  “You okay?”

  She returned to rocking. “My little sister is the worst! She always gets her way—even when she’s being a total brat.”

  I could relate to that. “Yeah, my little brother’s like that, too. Drives me crazy.”

  “My parents are making me switch rooms with her. She says she always gets the smaller room and it should be her turn to have the bigger room.”

  To be honest, if my room were the size of a shoebox, I wouldn’t even notice. But now was not the time to bring that up. “That seems unfair. Once it’s your room, it’s your room.”

  She looked up, her eyes all fiery like the day she proposed the cafeteria sit-in to demand vegetarian entrée options be added to the school lunch menu.

  “That’s what I said. You can’t make me move out of my room! It’s my room! But my mom got all preachy about fairness and stuff, and how I need to learn to think about others.”

  She looked ready to either cry or cuss. I prayed for a swearing fit. Foul language relaxes me, unlike crying. Crying makes me nervous, especially if it involves actual tears.

  “It’s not fair,” she continued, a tear slipping down her cheek. “I have my room set up just the way I want. Everything is going to get ruined!”

  I’m sure her words were important, but all I could focus on was the tear slowly working its way down her cheekbone to the edge of her chin. I prayed it was a lone rebel, and not the beginning of a flash flood. I could stare a zombie down without flinching, but I had no idea how to deal with the terror of a girl crying on her front steps.

  “Maybe you could give her away on Craigslist,” I tried. “I hear people will take anything you post for free.”

  That brought a giggle. “That’s it. I’ll give her away to a family looking for a little brat to boss them around. Should be easy to find, right?”

  She brushed the tear away. My body relaxed.

  “Hey, I’ll throw in my little brother, if it helps. Who can resist the offer of two free, whining little kids looking for a good home? It doesn’t even need to be a good home. Any home will do.”

  Her giggle was followed by a snort. “I’ll even throw in my parents to sweeten the deal.”

  “Wow, that’s quite an offer. Who could refuse two free annoying children and two free annoying parents? I might take you up on that myself.”

  She smiled and wiped her other eye.

  “So, what have you been up to?” she asked.

  What had I been up to? Other than spending the day staring at boxes of women’s clothing?

  “Not much, just sleeping in and hanging around the house.”

  That might not have been entirely accurate, but I wasn’t ready to share the news that I now worked in a women’s clothing store. That place made me feel about as manly as having saggy biceps and downy-soft arm hair. There was a reason I kept my arms covered in public.

  “Oh, that sounds pretty rough.”

  If only she knew.

  “Yeah, living a life of leisure is hard, but someone has to do it.”

  She uncurled and stood. “Thanks for listening. I feel a little better. Guess I better get packing for the big move down the hall before my parents start cranking at me again.”

  “Maybe there’s a cupboard under the stairs like in Harry Potter you can move into. That’d show ’em.”

  She flashed a smile. “Maybe.”

  “Never underestimate the power of guilt.”

  “Oh, I won’t.” She started back up the stairs, then stopped again. “Hey, are you doing anything next Sunday? My family is going to Lake Crescent for a picnic. Want to come?”

  The thought of spending the day with Becca’s family should have thrown up a warning flag. Not that I would have noticed. I’m not the kind of guy who pays attention to warning flags until it’s way too late. “Sure, sounds like fun.”

  “Cool. See you then!”

  Yeah, cool … right?

  Something seemed off when I got to Ben’s door. His house was strangely quiet. When Ryan and Tyler came over it was never quiet, there should’ve been laughter, or at least shouting. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. Something was up, probably sinister.

  My fears were confirmed when Ben’s mother answered the door.

  “I’m sorry Ben didn’t let you know,” she said. “His father needed him at the store. Maybe the two of you can hang out after he gets off work.”

  Ben’s father owns Sequim Valley Hardware, a fine store carrying a wide variety of tools, household items, and gardening equipment. When I was little, I loved visiting the store because his dad kept one full aisle of toys. And not just any toys, Hot Wheels cars, toy shovels, toy tool sets, and best of all: toy commando gear. When you’re eight years old, nothing grabs your attention like a commando utility belt complete with plastic radio, plastic ammo pockets, and real plastic grenades that make exploding sounds when they hit the ground. We were banned from touching the grenades after Ben and I ambushed a customer in the gardening aisle. We’re still not allowed near the ornamental bird feeders.

  The idea of Ben laboring in his father’s sweatshop brought a certain devilish glee. Picturing his stubby little hands restocking shelves almost made my morning bearable. Rather than heading home, I sauntered back downtown. After all, the only thing better than gloating behind your best friend’s back is gloating to his face.

  “Looking for Ben?” his father asked, slipping a plastic grenade from my hand.

  Funny. Somehow I had ended up in the toy aisle.

  “I heard he was helping out today.”

  Ben’s father led the way to the storeroom. “Oh, not just today. Ben’s going to be working here part-time from now on.”

  My smirk widened.

  Near the back of the storeroom, I found Ben sweeping the floor. Or at least holding a broom used for sweeping.

  “I think you missed a spot,” I commented, pointing to the pile of dust I had just kicked up.

  “Shut up.”

  “At least you’re getting paid.”

  He gave me a look that could have melted metal.

  “Aren’t you?” I asked.

  With a flick, his broom sent the pile of dust scattering in all directions.

  “My parents saw my final grades this morning. They seem to think I’m not putting enough effort into school and need to learn the meaning of work.”

  Having witnessed Ben’s work ethic at school, I could see their point.

  “My dad says he’ll start paying me when my grades get up to a B average.”

  “Wow, that could take years.”

  “Shut up. They’re concerned if I don’t get my grades up now I’ll do the same thing in high school and not go to college.”

  “That’s unfair—middle school grades don’t count for high school.”

  He began sweeping the dust he had just scattered. “That’s what I said. I’m just saving myself for when it really counts.”

  “They didn’t believe you?”

  “No. They think the habits you build when you’re young carry over as you get older.”

  “What kind of crazy logic is that?”

  “Exactly.”

  “So, what are you going to do?”

  “What can I do? I’m going to sweep this floor every day until I die.” He gave me a grin. “It’s not all bad. At least I’m not selling undies to old ladies.”

  “Shut up.” Clearly it was time to go.

  At dinner that night, my mother asked a loaded question. “How was work today?”

  Did she really want an answer? “Terrible, I work in a women’s clothing store.”

  “Did Elsa show you the ropes?” my father asked.

  “I guess.” Only one customer had even come in while I was there. “I don’t know. Mostly, I opened boxes in the back room.”

  My father nodded approval. “That’s honest work you’re doing. Pay attention and do as you’re asked and you might just learn more than you expect.”

  That would
n’t take much since I wasn’t expecting to learn anything.

  “Your grandmother is doing well,” my mother said. “They’re going to keep her at the hospital for a couple more days and then she’ll be moved to a nursing facility for a couple weeks until she’s strong enough to go home.” She leaned in. “What you are doing in helping Elsa is important. I hope you understand that.”

  The sincerity of her words wormed their way inside. She was right. I was doing something important. Something to be proud about.

  The phone rang, and my mother went to answer it.

  “Stu,” she called. “It’s for you.”

  “Hi, Stu,” Elsa bubbled from the other end of the line. “I almost forget to tell you we’re celebrating the color pink this week. Don’t forget to wear pink tomorrow.”

  So much for my pride.

  I arrived at the store the next morning sporting the pink polo shirt my mother scrounged from the hospital thrift store for me on my way to work. Yeah, it was a size too large, and entirely pink, including horizontal pink stripes, three pink buttons, and a pink alligator on the breast that looked like a prank intended to embarrass alligators everywhere.

  “You look perfect!” Elsa exclaimed.

  Yeah, a perfect idiot. “Thanks. Just trying to do my part.”

  “We’re going to have fun this week,” she continued. “You can help me decorate for our theme, Pretty in Pink. Everyone feels pretty in pink, you know.”

  Not everyone. I, for one, felt foolish in pink. But Elsa didn’t seem the least bit interested in hearing that. She immediately handed me a roll of pink crepe paper and pointed to a ladder in the front window.

  “I thought we could decorate the store like a high school prom with pink streamers and sprinkle pink confetti on all the tables.”

  Any interest I’d ever had about going to high school prom got tossed. By noon, the store fairly sparkled with pretty pinkness. Elsa stared around in wonder.

  “It’s so beautiful! Like right out of a storybook.”

  What sort of storybooks did she read? To me, it looked like the sugar-spun insides of a carnival cotton candy machine.

  “Now we just need customers!” she enthused.

  As if on cue, the door opened, and two women entered. When I say women, I mean two girls. And when I say two girls, I mean Becca and Kirsten.

  The zombie warlord pounded on my chest reminding me I was dressed like a pink-polo-shirted dork.

  “Lookin’ good,” Kirsten observed with a grin too wide to be believable.

  “What are you guys doing here?” I asked.

  “News travels quick,” Becca said, grinning.

  I should’ve known my guy friends couldn’t keep a secret.

  “Hello,” Elsa said, holding out her hand in greeting. “I’m Elsa. Looks like you already know Stu.”

  Becca shook her hand. “Yes, we go to school together.”

  She and Kirsten exchanged conspiratorial looks.

  “We were hoping Stu would show us around.”

  Elsa beamed with pride. “Yes, that’s a great idea!” She turned to me. “Why don’t you give the girls a tour. It will be a chance for you to get more familiar with the store’s layout and merchandise.”

  Lucky me. All I needed was a pink parasol in one hand to make my morning complete. “Sure.”

  I led the girls on a quick lap of the store. “Over here are dresses and stuff. And over here are more dresses, and belts, and stuff. And over here are blouses, and shoes, and more dresses, and stuff.” That seemed to pretty much wrap up the tour for me.

  “What about over there?” Kirsten asked, pointing to the far corner I had conveniently avoided. She smiled innocently.

  That girl was worse than Ben. I made a mental note never to let my guard down again in her presence.

  “That’s where the sundries are kept.” I wasn’t sure what the word sundries meant, but I hoped it covered what lurked in that corner.

  “Sundries? What sort of sundries?” Kirsten’s smile came straight from the devil.

  “You know, like, swimsuits, and stuff.”

  “Oh,” Becca added innocently. “What sort of stuff?”

  If their plan was to embarrass me, it was working perfectly. Time to put an end to the foolishness. “You know, women’s … brassieres, and stuff.”

  Kirsten and Becca doubled over. “Brassieres?”

  “You know what I mean … women’s undies, and stuff.” I was sweating enough for the alligator on my shirt to submerge beneath the tropical stream flowing from my armpits.

  Becca straightened up. “Yes, I think we know.”

  The alligator slipped downstream. Of course, they knew. “Funny. You guys are the best.”

  Becca bumped my shoulder. “Thanks for the tour. Your grandma has a really nice store.”

  “Yeah,” Kirsten said. “Now we know where to come when we’re in need of sundries.”

  From the way they giggled their way out the front door, I concluded the tour had been a great success, if only I were working in a comedy club. Unfortunately, I was working in a women’s clothing store and the only thing funny here was me, and that was entirely by accident.

  Elsa spent the next few days showing me how to work the cash register, complete a sale, empty the dressing rooms, refold clothes, tidy the display tables, and other things I never wanted to know. Thursday, as I was about to leave, she had me take her through the whole checkout process just like she was a real paying customer.

  “Perfect, you’ve got it,” she said as I gave her change from the cash register. “You’re all set for tomorrow.”

  “What about tomorrow?”

  Elsa stopped short. “Didn’t I already tell you? I need to take my mom to the doctor tomorrow. You’re going to be running the store on your own for a few hours.”

  Say what? “What do you mean, on my own?”

  “Don’t worry, Fridays are quiet. And you know everything you need to know. It’s going to be fine.”

  “But I’ve never been alone in the store before.”

  “True,” she said. “That’s why tomorrow is going to be such a great day! And if you run into any trouble I’ll have my cell phone on me, so just call.”

  She squinted at the fear plastered on my face.

  “Stu, I can’t skip her appointment. She’s beginning to think I’m avoiding her on purpose.” She held a hand close to her mouth to cover her words. “Which I am, but don’t tell her.”

  With that, she shooed me out the door.

  “Get a good night’s rest. You’ll want to be at your best for tomorrow!”

  My best? My best what?

  Friday morning came in all its dark and stormy fury, which was strange since there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. I arrived at the store just in time for Elsa to hand me the keys and wave goodbye on her way out.

  “Don’t worry, it’s going to be fine,” she called over her shoulder.

  Her words rang true until my first customer of the day entered. Diane was hard to miss wearing the sky-blue pantsuit from her last visit.

  “Stu!” she said, taking my hand. “It’s so good to see you again. How is your grandmother doing?”

  “She’s doing well, ma’am. She’s at a care facility in Port Angeles for a couple weeks.”

  “Yes, so I’ve heard. I’m planning to stop by for a visit tomorrow.” She dabbed at one eye just like the last time. “She has the soul of an angel, your grandma. And the heart of a lion. I don’t know what this town would do without her.”

  “Yeah, I can’t wait for her to get back to her old self. And take over the store again.” That last part might’ve been a bit selfish. But in my defense, I was the one wearing a pink polo shirt trying to make small talk with a woman five times my age.

  Diane turned in a circle scanning the racks and tables. “Where’s Elsa?”

  “She’s taking her mother to the doctor,” I explained.

  “That girl’s mother is something else,” she said, leafing th
rough the dresses on one of the racks. “All she seems to care about is that Elsa find a man and settle down.” She gave me a wink. “There’s nothing wrong with men, mind you, but a woman doesn’t need one to be all right. That girl knows how to take care of herself.” She pulled out a dress with a feather pattern. “I’ve always loved paisley.”

  She carried the dress to the back of the store and into the first dressing room. I idly straightened the hangers on the rack to keep myself occupied and to avoid thinking about what was going on in that room.

  “Stu!” Diane called. “Sorry to bother but the zipper’s stuck.”

  I scanned the store for the poor sap named Stu. My eyes landed on my own name tag. Oh, chipotle.

  “Stu, dear!” Diane called again from her dressing room of death.

  I found her standing with the door open and her back turned to me. The zipper on the paisley dress hung limply midway up her back. As best I could tell, the zipper had either tired from the climb or been frightened by the bulging mass of freckles looming up ahead. I could hardly blame the zipper for hunkering down. Diane reached behind with one hand and groped at the zipper, demonstrating how it wouldn’t budge.

  “Sorry, I need a little help with the last bit.”

  If anyone at any time had explained working at my grandmother’s store would involve zipping women’s zippers, I would have politely gone screaming for the hills. But that little secret was left for me to discover on my own. The zombie warlord turned away with a shudder as I gripped the metal tab and pulled upward.

  The zipper climbed a couple inches, then ground to a halt. I desperately tried rocking it back and forth, but it refused to budge. On closer inspection, I discovered the edge of the dress had gotten sucked into the metal tines until the zipper and dress had become hopelessly entangled.

  “Uh, I think the zipper’s really stuck.”

  Diane reached back and stroked the zipper with one finger.

  “Yep, looks like it’s stuck good,” she said. “You’ll have to pull the material out of the zipper’s teeth to free it.”

  And that’s when I discovered a newfound hate for zipper designers. Pulling the material out required both hands. Against my will, my fingers rubbed against her back as I worked to free the zipper.