Tempestuous (3 page)

I took my sweet-ass time on the lemon-halving, so that the food-court’s high-strung supervisor, Randall Bauer, wouldn’t put me to work manning the dreaded fryer. Just then, as if conjured from the deep, the whale of a man sauntered over on his two chubby legs. He yanked at his clip-on tie, which came off in one gesture. Under his other arm, he clutched a down parka, ski cap, and bulky hand-knit scarf, ridiculously over-prepared for the simple trek to his car.

“Ariel, Miranda—I’m heading home now before the roads get too iffy. I trust you two girls can hold down the fort this evening?”

“Sure thing, Randy,” I replied, knowing he hated the shortened version of his name. He raised his eyebrows and glanced at me.

“You,” he pointed. “I don’t want to get another complaint from management saying you’re serving food without your hat. It violates the health code.”

“Won’t happen again,” I swore with a diffident smile. He harrumphed once, cleared his throat, then pivoted to go on his way when I called him back.

“Speaking of health….” Randall sighed and glanced at his watch. “I was thinking maybe it would be a good idea to consider offering some healthy alternatives to the food court menu. It’s like we’re in the fast-food Dark Ages. I mean, even McDonald’s has salads and yogurt these days.”

“Miranda,” he said. “Trust me, we’re giving the people what they want. And what they want is pizza, hot dogs, and something a little exotic—like stir-fry.”

“Stir-fry is hardly exotic. What about organic, local, fair-trade? Don’t those words mean
anything
to you?”

“Ever consider moving to California?” He changed the subject, reminding me that I needed to get some more dogs out of the walk-in freezer. If Randall thought the argument was over, he had another thing coming. My powers of persuasion would ultimately wear him down.

After retrieving more hot dogs from the back and placing them in the fridge under the counter to thaw, I stared out at the deserted dining area of the food court and realized the futility of my errand. “There’s no way we’re going to need these,” I pointed out to Ariel.

“It is pretty dead today,” she agreed.

“It’s the weather. Everyone’s staying home. And with Randall gone….”

“What are you saying?” Even someone as artless as Ariel could tell I was up to something.

“Well, when the cat’s away, the mice are obligated to play. Or at least slack off a little.”

Thirty minutes later, Ariel and I sat cross-legged on the counter in our jumpers and sneakers—health code be damned!—using frozen hot dogs to play our own jimmy-rigged version of Jenga. As I concentrated on liberating a loose hot dog from the bottom of the stack without letting the precarious tower come crashing down, Ariel gave me the third degree about high school life.

“So, do you get to decorate your locker however you like?”

“Uh. Yeah, I guess.”

“God, you’re soooo lucky!” she sighed.

“Seriously, Ariel, it’s not that great.
You’re
the one living the charmed life.”

“What, because I’m homeschooled? If being trapped all day with your
MOM
is considered cool these days then, yeah, I guess.”

“But you get to just hang out at your house all day.”

“You make it sound like a vacation! It’s more like prison! With my mom as the warden!”

“I’d give anything to spend some time with my mother.”

Ariel seemed cowed, but not necessarily convinced. “The worst thing about not getting to go to a real high school is that I’m so
out
of it,” she continued. “How can I ever be cool or have any friends if I don’t even know what the cool kids are like? It’s like being on a deserted island or something. No prom, no pep rallies … I’m so out of the loop.”

“For the record, it’s not even cool to use the word ‘cool,’” I explained. “Besides, the loop’s not all that. In fact, it’s a real minefield.” As I said the words, something out of the corner of my eye caused me to startle, which sent the entire tower of frosty frankfurters crashing down onto the counter.

“Playing with your food again, are we?” Oh no. Not
him.

“Caleb!” Ariel jumped off the counter and used the back of her forearm to sweep all the frozen hot dogs into the garbage can.

“Uh, hey there,” he muttered back. “How’s the video game working out?”

“I reached the third level of Lavender City two nights ago!” Ariel reported proudly. “I’m still trying to find the glitter key to unlock Pegasus from his moonbeam cage.” She may as well have been speaking Geek Chinese, but apparently Caleb could decipher it.

“I don’t know that game well,” he said, glancing at me as if to prove his manliness, “but I think the key for that level is hidden in one of the secret thoroughfares.”

“The Misty Tulip Passage?” Ariel sounded fascinated.

“Could be. That sounds familiar.” I vaguely understood what Ariel meant when she said Caleb wasn’t her type. There was something dark, even surly about him. Watching him try to discuss
Unicorn Fantasy III
was like watching a vampire politely attempt to eat people food, especially since he was still wearing that stupid cape. My coworker made the obligatory introductions.

“Caleb, this is Miranda; Miranda, Caleb.”

“Charmed, I’m sure.” (Though I wasn’t. Not in the slightest.)

“So you guys haven’t met before?” Ariel asked.

“I’m not sure I’ve had the pleasure,” he answered. I decided to spare us both the mortification of mentioning our little
tête-à-tête
in the parking lot earlier, but the smirk on his face as he stared at me suggested he hadn’t forgotten.

“You want to order something? Can I entice you with a frankfurter impaled on a wooden stake?”

“After watching you play Lincoln Logs with the merchandise, uh, no thank you.”

“It’s a good thing you showed up when you did,” laughed Ariel. “Miranda was on her way to winning the fourth Jenga match in a row. She’s got really nimble fingers.” Uggh. I would have to counsel Ariel later about making stupid comments.

“Some power,” Caleb marveled.

“I mainly use it for good, but consider yourself forewarned,” I deadpanned.

“Oh my God!!!” Ariel shrieked from behind me, as if she’d just witnessed a murder.

“What?!?”

“We’re running low on mustard.”

“WTF, Ariel, the fact hardly merits such a spasmodic freak-out.”

“But I don’t want to run out if we get busy later. I’ll go get more from the stockroom.” She disappeared into the back of the store like a flash of lightning, leaving me alone with Mr. Wonderful.

“She’s a bit … frenetic, huh?” he finally ventured.

“You noticed?”

“Almost gave me whiplash the first time I met her. The girl’s got energy to spare. She’s cute, though.” Cute? Hold the phone! Maybe Ariel was
his
type! Only one way to find out. Let the matchmaking prowess begin.

“So, what are you doing when the mall closes tonight?” I asked in my trademarked, charm-the-pants-off-’em voice. Caleb’s eyes narrowed and he cocked his head slightly in response to my question.

“Tonight? Um … I sort of have plans already.” He said this apologetically, as if he were letting me down gently. Oh. Wait a minute. Did he think
I
was asking
him
out? For the second time today he caused me to flush with embarrassment.

“It’s just that some of us are getting together at nine tonight to celebrate Ariel’s birthday,” I hurried to explain. “She’s turning seventeen. Thought you might want to swing by for a piece of cake.”

“Ohhhh.” His face might have turned red, too, but it was hard to tell with the way his hair cascaded over half of it. “Well, as it turns out, I sort of have to be somewhere after work and it’s kind of important. But hey, thanks for asking.”

Great. So this
cretin
, in addition to being vain enough to think I had the hots for him, was too busy, no—make that self-involved—to stop by for five minutes for Ariel’s sake? How rude.

“Well, don’t mention anything to her about it when she comes back. It’s a surprise.” Saying this, I came across sounding more dejected than I meant to. I could hear the tinkle of Ariel’s bell earrings getting closer, and was glad I wouldn’t have to make small talk for much longer. Ariel dropped the gallon-sized container of Heinz mustard on the counter and was about to refill the pump dispenser when the phone rang shrilly in the back room.

“I’ll get iiit!” my coworker announced in a sing-song voice, and before I could even protest, she was gone again in a flash.

“So, guess I’ll see you around….” I said bluntly to Caleb, willing him to leave my presence.

“Sure. But actually … I just remembered a trick for Ariel about that video game she bought. So I’ll just wait till she comes back.” Greeeaaat. Captain Caveman and I stared blankly at one another for a few moments until I could think of something else to say.

“You sell video games?”

“Yeah. All sorts of games, actually, board games, puzzles … you know the drill.”

“No, actually, I don’t. So what’s with the cape? Is that some sort of Dungeons & Dragons nod or are you just a tragic slave to fashion?”

“Standard-issue uniform. We sell magic paraphernalia, too.”

“Oh, right. Magic.” I said this with as much boredom in my voice as I could muster. Another awkward silence ensued, but this time I decided not to try and fill it. I pretended to check the condiments and shuffled various items around until Caleb finally spoke up.

“Soooo, you go to Eastern Prep, right?”

“Yep.” I braced for some snide comment about my recent fall from grace, and was surprised when it never materialized.

“I’ll graduate from Marshall this year,” he said. Public school. Explains why we’d never crossed paths before, and why he seemed to know most of the other food court employees. More silence. “So, how long have you been working here?”

“Feels like ten years, but it’s only been twenty-eight days, one hour and,” I stopped to check the clock on the wall behind me, “forty-seven minutes.”

“I know what you mean.”

“Wouldn’t most gamer types kill to stand around swapping stories about level advancement, virtual weaponry, and crap like that?”

“I’m not a gamer. And I wouldn’t be caught dead anywhere near this capitalist bullshit if I didn’t need the money.”

I heard a noise behind me as Ariel came from the back room, clearing her throat loudly. “So, you two are chattin’ it up. That’s great!” she said. I rolled my eyes at her, but she didn’t seem to notice. “Guess what?” She looked at us expectantly.

“The chase: cut to it, Ariel.” I knew from experience that she could drag out a guessing game forever if given any encouragement whatsoever.

“Oh alright. My mom just called and she said the storm is getting
way
worse.”

“So?”

“Sooo, maybe we’ll get snowed in!”

“Yeah, gee,
that
would be
fantastic
,” I said, not hiding the sarcasm. “Trapped in the mall all night. We probably wouldn’t even get paid for it.”

“Wait, you don’t think it could really happen?” Ariel looked from Caleb’s face to mine, suddenly concerned. “Mom has my birthday dinner all planned….”

“Don’t worry,” Caleb said. “The weather reporters always exaggerate this stuff—makes for a better story.”

“Yeah,” I said. “The next thing you know they’ll be calling it the ‘White Death’ and CNN will have a special logo and soundtrack for it.”

Caleb gave me an appreciative nod.

“Exactly. Well, I’d better get back before they send a search party. See you later. By the way, Ariel, I remember reading in the sales manual for
UFIII
that the red flowers in the Tulip Passage are poisonous. So heads up on that.”

“Gee, thanks!” Ariel beamed. Sales manual. Righhht.

When he was out of earshot, I turned back to my coworker only to find her staring at me with a knowing expression.

“What?” I asked her.

“Soooo….” she said, “What do you think?”

“He’s alright. He may or may not be hiding a unibrow with those long bangs, but at least he seems to have a sense of humor. How long have you been crushing on him?”

“
Me
?” she said wonderingly. “What are you talking about?”

“Whatever, Miss Coy, if you don’t want to talk about it, we don’t have to. I’m not going to twist your arm.” I leaned with my back against the counter and looked at her smugly. “Anyway, what should we do now? We could play fashion designer and each create an outfit using only supplies from the stockroom.”

“Actually,” Ariel’s face turned somber as she glanced over my left shoulder. “I think we might have some customers.”

I slowly turned to face out toward the food court and my heart stopped cold, midbeat. The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse would have been a preferred alternative to the group that stood before me.

I grabbed both sides of the cash register and braced myself for a verbal pummeling.

“Wow, Miranda, the ‘minimum-wage look’ really suits you,” Rachel sneered, eyeing me from head to toe. Whitney and Britney, snickering into her shoulders like two loyal toadies, flanked her. Physically (and mentally) they resembled a triptych of Barbie dolls, each with a varying shade of unnaturally blonde locks. To their right, Brian Bishop, my ex—the equivalent of a brunette Ken—was texting into his phone, and I prayed he was too busy to give me the usual hate-filled glare. Typically, I was doomed to have no such luck.