When I show back up for work Thursday, nothing’s changed. Not that I expect it to. I’ve changed, but Steadfast never does.
Heather’s leaning against the registers like a sentry, waiting for me with her usual scowl. She points back to the Twizzlers aisle. “I organized them—again—so don’t mess them up. You have the gum ball machine today. I just got my nails manicured.”
I grab a bag of gum balls from the shelf in the break room and drag it out to the front, onto the counter. “I did it last time,” I complain.
“And?” She looks down at her phone, scrolling through her social media feed. “If it doesn’t get done, then fine.”
I stare at her for a long moment, feeling more pity for her than anything else, then drag them over to the gum ball machine and ask her for a quarter. She fishes one out of the register and tosses it to me. I plunk the quarter in and half turn the nozzle so the gum ball hole opens, and I shove the first gum ball inside.
“Hey, Ingrid,” she begins as I look back to her.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks—” Her phone rings, and she answers it, hopping up to sit on the counter. She pulls one leg over the other, picking the lint off her red-and-white-striped apron. “Hello? Oh, Lila, yeah I heard it Saturday. Whatever—so, apparently Mike, because he’s like a total insomniac, found this really cool radio show last night.”
My hand freezes in the gum ball machine.
“Yeah, she heard from a Tumblr group and like it’s all the rage—whatever. So, like, I was thinking we should go up to that super weirdo who runs the radio station up the street and ask him to throw a listening party. Everyone’ll love it. Like, we have nothing else to do—” Heather notices me staring and makes a face halfway between a scowl and a glare, then turns around. “Sorry, so what do you say? Yeah? I mean, it’s totally relatable and the girl who does it is so clueless that she loves Dark and Brooding—right?” She giggles. “It’s like a romantic comedy. They should make a movie out of it.”
“It’s called Sleepless in Seattle,” I mutter, sticking another quarter in the slot, twisting the crank, and shoving another gum ball in; then another.
My mortal enemy is talking about me, about my radio show, about how cool I am. I wonder how she would feel if she knew it was me. Would I still be cool? I used to think there was a difference, between Niteowl and Ingrid—a girl trapped in a town and a girl trapped on the airwaves. When did I draw that line? And when had I crossed it?
Heather finally hangs up and turns back to me. She doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and then says, “Hey, do you listen to Niteowl?”
I hesitate, rolling a gumboil in my hands. “Not really . . .”
“You should. She’s pretty cool—”
The bell above the door dings and we both turn to Mike Labouise. My shoulders slump.
“Hey, girl,” he greets, sauntering in.
“Hi,” she replies curtly. “Here to buy something?”
“Nah, just come to look around,” he replies, and his foot brushes against the bag of gum balls. I’m not sure if it’s an accident or on purpose (let’s be honest, it’s the latter), but they go skittering across the floor. A few roll under the shelves. Those will come out of my paycheck. “Whoops, sorry about that.”
“Mike,” Heather says. It sounds flat. A warning?
“Oh, come on; she could use the exercise.”
I stare at the gum balls on the floor.
Am I really spending my life in a candy store shoving gum balls up a machine? In the glass of the machine’s bowl I can see my reflection, my eyes bloodshot from going to bed at two and waking up at eight to make it to this terrible job that pays minimum wage, with a girl I can barely stand, living in a house I always thought was home, but home doesn’t even remember my name sometimes. Grams told me she doesn’t want to be a burden. She was never the burden. It’s my own dreams deferred that are my burdens, and I’m so sick of drowning in them.
“Hey, aren’t you gonna say something?” Mike eggs.
“Sure,” I say, getting to my feet. I dust off my white pants. I turn to face him. “What do you want me to say?”
His mouth flops open.
“Oh no, Boo’s here to pick on me again—poor me! I’m so scared!” I mock, throwing my arms in the air. He glances at Heather, confused. “Making my life a living hell must really get you off.”
Heather chews on her lip to keep herself from laughing as Mike pales. “The fuck you say?”
“Oh, come on, Boo,” I taunt. “Can’t you take a joke?”
“That’s not funny—”
“Oh, now it’s not funny, but you bullying me is? Let me tell you something, it’s not. It was never funny. And you,” I turn to Heather, “you just let it happen, don’t you? You don’t do anything about it, you never did. I know you don’t like it, but you don’t stop it. Doesn’t that bother you?”
Heather’s eyes widen. Her lips form into a perfect, glossy O.
“Or are you just scared of what other people might think? Scared you won’t be cool anymore? Bless, you have this great boyfriend and you won’t even show him to your parents! He loves you!”
Heather sinks back, her face a stone mask. There are tears glistening in her eyes. I didn’t think Heather could cry, and I’m sorry I’m the cause of it. Mike tries to grab me by my shop apron but I sidestep out of his grip. “At least she’s not fat like you!”
“Because being fat means I’m evil! Or that I’m not worthy! Or what—that I’m less than you?” I laugh. Turning around, I scoop a handful of gum balls from around my feet and throw them at him. “And for your information, I prefer VOLUPTUOUS!”
At that exact moment the front door swings open, and Bossman enters whistling Shakira’s “Hips Don’t Lie”. The gum balls ricocheted off the back of the door and drop like bullet shells onto the ground. Bossman closes the door, as if flying gum balls hadn’t almost killed him, and slowly pivots on his heels to me. Mr. Harvey—Bossman—is a short ginger-haired middle-aged man who always wears suspenders and pleated trousers, even though he’s only thirty-five. He gives me a wide-eyed look behind magnifying glasses that make his eyes bulge like a comical anime character’s, and I quickly hide my other hand full of gum balls behind my back.
“She’s gone nuts!” Mike shrieks. “I was only trying to help and she’s gone insane!”
“Ingrid . . .” Bossman says my name slowly, like talking to a two-year-old. “What are you doing?”
“He was threatening me,” I say. “He came in here and started messing with me.”
“Heather?” he asks her. “Is that right?”
Heather chews on her lips, darting her green eyes between Mike and me, and back to Mike. I know where her loyalties lie. And I know my job here is done.
“It’s okay, Heather,” I take off my apron and hand it to the Bossman. “I quit.”
He blinks at me as if he doesn’t understand the words. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I said I quit,” I repeat and make my exit, gum balls rolling after me as I leave. But then I pause in the doorway to add, “Be sure to tune into 93.5 this Saturday at midnight. You’ll be in for a treat.”
Then I fling open the door and leave Sweetey’s Sweet Shoppe for the last time in my entire life. It feels good. Buoyant. Like I’m paving a road I’ve seen in the distance, but never dared to travel.