Falling Out of Place

by M. G. Higgins

  I nod solemnly. I’m on it, Mom. I am, like, totally excited to begin this new chapter of my life. Because I’m all grown up and responsible now. Basketball is for slackers. Everyone knows that.

  CHAPTER

  4

  The Grocery Mart warehouse entrance is at the corner farthest from the main store. A brick props the door open. I walk in. The scent of ripe bananas and wet cardboard hit me. The building is about the size of our school gym. Mom told me it’s also a distribution center for other LA stores. That’s why it’s so big.

  Beep-beep-beep.

  There’s a yellow pallet-lifting thingy backing up at the other end of the building. A forklift. After it reverses, it charges forward, vanishing behind an impossibly tall shelf. Haven’t these people heard of earthquakes?

  “Gabriella?”

  I turn. “Um, yeah. Yes. Gabby.”

  “Gabby. Great. I’m Jake Matthews. Warehouse manager.”

  He sticks his hand out. I shake it. The guy is white, middle aged, a little paunchy. His scraggly mustache reminds me of the weeds growing in the cracks of our driveway. He’s wearing a grimy LA Dodgers baseball cap.

  He lets go of my hand. Returning to the door, he flicks the brick out of the doorway with a practiced kick. It slams shut. Now there’s no sunlight. Just the glow of the overhead fluorescents. I notice the ceiling is made of metal. I wonder what it sounds like in the rain.

  “You’re on time. That’s good.” He motions me toward a room against the wall. “Your mom said you’re very responsible.”

  Right. I nod like this is something I hear all the time. I step inside the room, which must be an office. Glass windows look out onto the warehouse. It’s got file cabinets and a desk. And paper. Lots of paper.

  “Have a seat,” he says.

  I would, except they’re covered with paper. I just stand there.

  “Oh,” he says. He grabs the pile off one chair. Then he adds it to the pile on the chair next to it. “Sorry.”

  I sit and grip the armrests.

  “So,” he says, plopping into the swivel chair behind his desk. It squeaks. Makes me think of a screaming mouse. He reaches into the middle of a stack of paper and magically pulls out a single sheet. He glances at it. “I see on your application you’ve never had a paying job before.”

  Huh? What application? Since I don’t remember filling one out. Then I figure Mom or Dad must have done it. Like my printing isn’t neat enough or something. “Um, yeah.” Then I add, “But I’ve been babysitting my younger sisters forever.”

  He nods, still looking at the application. “I see that.” He glances at me and grins. “Kids can be a handful. I’ve got three.”

  I nod. It’s hot in here. Sweat drips under my long-sleeved shirt.

  “You have to be physically fit for warehouse work. But with your background in basketball, I’m guessing that won’t be a problem.”

  I nod again. Is my entire life story on that thing?

  He raises an eyebrow. “Can you lift forty pounds?”

  I shrug, not a clue. “Sure.”

  He sets down the application and looks at me. “In an ideal world, I’d only hire ex-linebackers for this job. It’s heavy, dirty work. But my biggest problem is lack of responsibility. I need people here on time, every shift, ready to work.” He points at the pile of papers on the chair next to mine. “Most of those are termination documents and unemployment claims.”

  He clears his throat. “Look, Gabby. I know your mom. She’s a good person. A hard worker. She says you’re a hard worker. I’m going to take her word for it.” He smiles. “Plus, she said she’ll kill you if you mess up.”

  I dig my fingernails into the armrests.

  “So, I suppose you want the job or you wouldn’t be sitting here.”

  I pause a second. “Yeah. Yes.”

  He reaches his hand across the desk. “Welcome to Grocery Mart.”

  What? That’s it? I shake his hand. “Okay. Thanks.”

  He settles back into his chair. The mouse screams again. “Paperwork, rules, and then tour.”

  The forms I fill out are long. The list of rules takes longer than my interview. He gives me handouts on how to lift. With your knees, not your back. Okay. No opentoed shoes. So sandals are out. How to make an injury report. How to send my paycheck directly to my bank account. Except, I don’t have a bank account.

  Then Jake (that’s what he says I should call him) leaves to find someone to give me a tour. I slump into my chair and tap the armrests. My feelings are all over the place. I’m a little overwhelmed. Panicky. Like this is happening too fast. I’m sad I’m not at basketball practice. There’s a huge tournament Saturday I don’t want to miss. I’m still mad at my parents for forcing me into this job. And they filled out the application. What was up with that?

  But, to be honest, I’m also a little excited. I’ll be making my own money. Not an allowance Dad doles out when he feels like it. Money I’ve earned. That feels good. It put a smile on my face at school today when I thought about it. It’s the reason I acted polite and answered all of Jake’s questions. If I can’t play basketball, then making money is an okay Plan B. It will help me make my escape when I turn eighteen.

  “Gabby?”

  I twist in my chair and look up. Jake is standing in the doorway. Looming behind him is a guy with raven-black hair and tawny skin. His features are sharp and angular. It’s hard to tell what nationality he is. He could be half the population of LA. He’s frowning and staring absently into Jake’s office. It’s like he’d rather be anywhere than here. Two words come to mind: bored and cocky.

  “This is Evan,” Jake says.

  Behind Jake’s back, Evan sticks out his long tongue. He pretends to lick Jake’s ear. Hah! I bite my lip to keep from cracking up.

  Jake twists around and glares at Evan.

  Evan’s bored look is back in an instant. He stares at Jake, wide-eyed. “What?” Jake shakes his head and says to me, “Evan will show you around.”

  “Okay,” I mutter, trying to keep my smile in check. “Thanks.” I get up and follow Evan out of Jake’s office. Who is this guy?

  CHAPTER

  5

  Evan looks over his shoulder after we leave Jake’s office. “Dickwad,” he mutters.

  I wait for him to explain his opinion of my new boss. But he suddenly stops walking and I almost bump into him. We’re back near the staff entrance. He points down the closest row of shelves. It seems to stretch forever.

  “This is row F, your basic paper products. Towels, Kleenex, TP.” He glances at the pile of handouts I’m holding. “Jake gave you a map of the warehouse, right?”

  I rummage through them and shake my head.

  “No map, but he gave you a direct-deposit form. Like we don’t cash our pay-checks the second we get them.” He sighs. “Well, the layout isn’t rocket science. Six rows, A through F. The rotting stuff is kept in the cooler, near the store.” He points to the wall opposite where we’re standing. I see wide double doors with rubber around the edges.

  “Row A is pastries and bread,” he continues. “B is crackers and chips. And so on. Aisles two and three run between the middle rows. Aisles one and four go around the outside. You’ll figure it out fast enough.” He looks at me. “Any questions?” His eyes sparkle a little, like this is all a big joke.

  “Well, um, yeah. What do I do, exactly?”

  He snorts. “Jake didn’t explain that, either? Idiot.” Then he rattles off, “You open crates. Move stuff into the store. Stock shelves. Do inventory. Oh, and when you hear, ‘Cleanup on aisle whatever.’ That’s you. You’re cleanup.”

  “So, are you also a …?” I pause. “I guess I don’t know what my title is.”

  Slowly, like he’s talking to two-year-old, he says, “You’re a warehouse helper. I’m a material handler.”

  My cheeks warm. “I’m not usually this clueless. My mom set this up. She clerks in the store. Yolanda Herrera?”

  “Oh yeah, Yo
landa. Nice lady. I see the family resemblance.”

  “You do?”

  He squints and gives me a crooked smile. “No. Not really.”

  Suddenly, Evan is reaching into his pocket and pulling out his vibrating phone. He grins as he reads the screen. “Jo wants to know if the new guy is an ox, a moron, or an oxymoron.” He punches the keypad.

  Somewhere in the middle of the ware-house, I hear a loud beep-beep-beep-beep-beep. Then the yellow forklift is speeding down the aisle right for us. I back up, afraid the metal lifters will chop me off at the knees. The machine stops a few inches from Evan. He doesn’t flinch.

  “Liar,” the driver yells down at him.

  Evan shrugs. “Gabby, meet Jo. Jo, meet Gabby.”

  Jo, a girl, jumps to the cement floor. She’s wearing five earrings in each ear. I count them. They’re all hoops with the smallest at the top and the biggest at the bottom. Her straight, dark brown hair is tucked behind her ears. “You don’t look a thing like Chris Hemsworth,” she informs me.

  Evan grins sheepishly.

  “Whatever,” Jo says. “Welcome to the it-beats-flipping-burgers-at-McDonald’s warehouse.”

  “Thanks,” I say. I point at the forklift. “Do I get to drive that thing?”

  “Big Bird?” She pats it. “Sure. The next time it snows on City Hall.” Then she says, “You need special training.”

  Jo climbs back onto Big Bird. It beeps a few times and she takes off.

  I finish the official tour with Evan. I find out that he and Jo are good friends. They hang out together after work. If I start my shift on time and don’t leave early, Jake and I will get along just fine. I shouldn’t wear “pretty” shirts like the one I’ve got on today. And Evan is looking forward to working with me. And he’s got one of the most lopsided smiles I’ve ever seen. It can’t tell if it’s sneaky or … cute.

  I think about the interview as I walk home from the bus stop. It wasn’t that bad. Evan and Jo seem okay. Better than working with old people I have nothing in common with. Even so, by the time I get to the sidewalk outside our house, I’m feeling grumpy. It’s one of those strange LA winter days that’s close to ninety. I’m sweating like crazy. My feet hurt. The high of landing my first job is starting to wear off. I’m going to be at that warehouse five afternoons a week. All day Saturday. No basketball. It’s feeling like a prison sentence already.

  When I turn down our walkway, I see Tony. He’s sitting on the top step in front of my house. He gives me a two-fingered wave. It may be the heat, but I’m not all that happy to see him.

  I lower myself to the cement step. Leave several inches of air space between us. Thankfully, we’re covered in late-afternoon shade. I grab the front of my shirt. Billow it in and out, blowing on my skin.

  “Can I do that?” Tony asks.

  It’s so lame, I don’t respond. Not even a smile.

  He stretches his legs out. Leans back on his hands and sighs. “So, Yolanda and Raul took your phone?”

  I nod, still blowing on my chest. He’s always called my parents by their first names. Our families are friends. I start to get dizzy from the blowing and stop. I lean back on my hands. Our little fingers touch.

  “You could have come over and told me,” he says. “I left you like a hundred messages. I thought you were really mad at me or something.”

  “I’m not mad. I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

  “Like what?”

  I shrug my shoulders.

  He shakes his head.

  “What?” I ask.

  “You used to talk to me about stuff.”

  I think about it. He’s right. Since I was eight and we moved here from our old apartment. I’ve always shared my problems with Tony. I’m not sure when things changed. They just did. Now … I don’t know. It’s confusing. The fact that we go to different schools—him to public, me to parochial—doesn’t help. “Sorry,” I tell him. “I should have told you about the phone.”

  He kisses my cheek and gets to his feet. “What about Saturday? A movie?”

  “Can’t, I’m grounded. Anyway, I’ve got a job now.”

  “Oh, right.” His voice is tight. “Raul told me about your interview. So you got it?”

  I guess he’s upset he heard about my job from Dad and not from me. “Yeah.”

  “Cool. Way to go.” He hops down the steps. “We’ll hang out here Saturday.”

  “I don’t know. I’ll have to ask.”

  He flashes a hopeful smile and the same two-finger wave. Then he jumps over the hedge and disappears.

  I take a deep breath. Get to my feet. I face the house, preparing to deal with my dad. He’s going to grill me about why I didn’t tell Tony about losing my phone and being grounded. Then Dad is going to remind me how smart and polite Tony is. That he’s not a gangbanger. That he’s going places. That he’s the best boyfriend I could ever hope for.

  And yet, here I am, flipping my middle finger at my future. “What’s wrong with you?” Dad will ask, his face all red. “I don’t know!” I’ll answer, throwing my hands in the air. Whether he believes me or not, it will be the truth.

  CHAPTER

  6

  It’s Friday morning. The first day of my new job. (Who starts a new job on a Friday?) It’s also two days after my rampage in the gym. I laid low at school yesterday, keeping to myself. That wasn’t hard, since my teammates avoided me too. It’s always like this when I lose my temper at a game. Mutual embarrassment. It lasts a day, then it’s over, like it never happened.

  This morning I’m dying to talk to Randi. She doesn’t know about my new job. I want to tell her about Evan and Jo and my dickwad boss. I want to know how practice went yesterday. I want to find out who Coach is replacing me with. Hopefully Tiana. She’s my backup and deserves the position. If so, I want to give her some advice for tomorrow’s tournament.

  From down the hallway, I see Randi at her locker. I squeeze through the crowd. But when I’m close enough to call her name, she’s gone. Her head bobs toward her English class. She’s walking with someone. Alicia, I think. Okay. No biggie. I’ll catch her at lunch.

  We’re not the biggest school in LA by far. Even so, Randi and I don’t share any classes this semester. The morning drags. At lunch, the cafeteria line is long. By the time I grab a slice of pizza and an orange, it’s late. I’m sure Randi is already at our table. She always brings a sandwich from home.

  But two guys are sitting there. No Randi. I stand near the checkout counter and look quickly around. I hear familiar laughter and search for it. She’s sitting near the back. Across from Alicia. A bunch of other team members are there too. Which makes sense, since it’s the table where the team sits.

  I grip my tray. A while back, Randi and I decided to find our own table. It’s not that I don’t like those girls, it’s just … I take a deep breath and head down the aisle. The bench is crowded. Randi is sitting on the end.

  “Hey.” I slide my tray halfway onto the table. It bumps her apple.

  She looks at me, hesitates, and scoots over.

  I sit next to her. “What’s up?”

  She shrugs, staring at her sandwich. Everyone’s quiet, focused on their food. Whatever they were laughing at earlier, I guess it isn’t funny anymore.

  “I got a job,” I tell Randi.

  She chews and swallows. “Cool.” Her voice is flat.

  Okay. She’s upset. Why? It’s been over a day since the game. I wrack my brain. Well, whatever has her panties in a knot, it’s up to me to fix it, as always. I smile. “How did practice go yesterday?”

  “Pretty good,” Randi mutters.

  “It went great,” Alicia chirps. “Coach has Tiana playing third position. She’s awesome. You should have seen all the three-pointers she laid up.”

  Tiana, who’s sitting next to Alicia, squirms. “I wasn’t that good. Not as good as Gabby.”

  “Just about,” says Celeste. Then she mumbles, “At least you didn’t hit anybody.”

  The
table goes quiet again. My stomach tightens.

  Finally, Tiana glances at me. “I’m sorry about . . . Well, it’s not how I wanted to become a starter.”

  I don’t know what to say. That it’s not how I wanted her to become a starter, either? That I wish my parents didn’t give a crap about my grades? I take a bite of pizza, just for something to do. It tastes like cardboard. I toss the slice back on my plate.

  Alicia says to Randi, “We’re gonna rock that tournament tomorrow. Your rebounding was hot yesterday.”

  Randi says, “Yeah, things kind of clicked at practice.”

  Then they’re all talking about the practice I didn’t go to. And about the big tournament I won’t be playing in. Part of me is relieved they aren’t paying attention to me any more. But then I notice something. Randi is all chatty. A lot more than she usually is with me. And she’s laughing. Smiling. She says Franklin will be at the tournament. She can’t wait to see him.

  That’s when I remember. On Wednesday before the game, I told Randi to dump the love of her life. And I remember something else. After the fight, she told me I’m pissed off all the time. That I scare her. I scare her.

  At this very moment she’s leaning away from me. Her elbow juts toward me like a defensive block. I connect her body language to what she told me at the game. My stomach turns.

  I can’t fix us anymore. I can’t fix us because we’re no longer friends. That’s what she’s telling me without telling me.

  Heat spreads from my chest up into my face. Out to my fingers. My jaw clenches. My muscles twitch. I shove my tray across the table. It slams into Alicia’s water bottle, which launches into her lap. She shrieks. The orange flies off my tray. Bounces across the table. Rolls onto the floor. Not only is the table silent, so is half the lunchroom.

  I get to my feet. Slam the door open with my fists. Storm out.