by Kym Brunner
He moves his face directly into my line of vision, blocking out the kid with the cotton candy I was zoning out on. “Then is it the stealing thing?”
My lemonade swishes sideways in my gut. I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
Nick sighs. “Melanie blew it out of proportion. Made me sound like I do it all the time. But I only do it when Wardley docks my paycheck for stupid things he dreams up—things that aren’t even true. I steal things to make up for what he steals from my paycheck. By the way, he already told me he’s subtracting thirty minutes for talking to you yesterday. He’ll probably do the same to you.”
My eyes widen. First with incomprehension, then with anger. “Whaaat? He can do that? That’s worse than my mom!”
Nick nods, a small grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t know about your mom, but since he’s the boss, what can I do? I want to quit, but no one around here is hiring.”
I sigh, holding the cool cup up to my forehead. “Yeah, tell me about it.”
A little kid in a stroller lets out a screeching howl as he passes by, making us both look for an instant. Nick continues, “Seriously, it’s only been small stuff—a leash for my dog, Stosh, a squeeze toy, and—”
Knowing that Stosh is Polish for Stanley, I interrupt. “Wait. Are you Polish?”
“Yep. My last name is Walczak. Remember when Jason introduced us?”
“I must have been brain dead at the time. That totally sounds Polish!”
“Yup,” he says, a smirk on his face. “And when I checked your timecard so I could look you up on Facebook, I knew you were Polish too. But that was already after I knew I liked you.”
That’s so darned cute that I realize I’m back on board the Nick ship. But whether the two of us are headed for smooth sailing or the storm of the century remains to be seen. “Well, I liked you before I knew you were Polish, but I like you even better now. Not to mention my mom and Busia will flip.”
“Dobrze! So, are we good now?” When I nod, he offers me his hand, and, this time, I gladly take it.
After our little talk, the rest of our night is amazing! Smack turned out to be much more my style. The lead singer’s voice was scratchy and cool, and Nick knew every word to every song they sang. Best of all, my hands stopped being so sweaty, so we kept our arms wrapped around each other the whole time. After the concert, we all walked to the car, laughing and talking.
On the ride home, TJ and Melanie cuddled up close together, and so did Nick and I. The boy might not win any citizenship awards, but he’s a damn good kisser. On the flip side, I also find out he’s an explorer. His hands try to roam my personal landforms, but I play forest ranger and tell him he needs to stop.
“Okay, okay. It’s just that you’re so sexy. I promise I’ll be good.” He smiles at me with half-lidded eyes and dives in for another long kiss. I only have to remove his hand once more.
By the time I waltz into my house just after midnight, I’m not sure what the hell Dola thinks she’s doing, but I think I really like both guys. So very different, but they both have so many qualities I like. Best of all, they both like me. How’s a girl supposed to choose?
If Dola doesn’t step in soon and give me a sign about which guy Busia bargained for, I have no other option than to do some underhanded, double-cross dating of my own.
Chapter 11
ON SUNDAY, I END UP TALKING TO BOTH GUYS—Nick for fifteen minutes and Gio for an hour. They’re both so nice, I’ve decided it’s impossible to make a decision, although I know I need to—and fast. On Monday morning, I hurry downstairs with six minutes to spare, ready for my second day of training. As much as I hate my ratty-ass job, I’m excited to see Nick again after Saturday night.
When I arrive in the bakery, I get the shock of my life. Standing behind the counter, wearing one of our aprons and a set of disposable plastic gloves, is a blond chick taking an order in Polish. When she turns sideways to slide open the display window, I see she’s a few years older than me.
I sprint over to Busia, who is rinsing soapsuds off a cookie tray. “Who’s that girl?”
“Your mom hire her on Sad-day when you not home. Today is her first day.”
I’m totally confused. “But Mom said she was worried that we’d lose business because of the new place opening. Why would she do that?” I glance back into the bakery. Blondie uses tongs to pluck a few kolaczkis off the tray. Since when do we use gloves and tongs?
Busia turns off the faucet. “I tell Matka not to hire her, but she not listen.” She frowns and shakes the cookie sheet a few times to get the excess water droplets off.
I nod effusively. “She never listens to either of us!”
Busia rinses off the final cookie sheet and places it in the drying rack. “It’s her money. I only work here. What do I know?” She gives me a sad smile.
That’s when I notice a clear piece of tape under her eye, holding her bottom eyelid down, away from her eye. “What’s wrong with your eye?”
She frowns, waving off my concern. “Nothing. It leaking.”
A leaky eye doesn’t sound too serious, but the tape sure looks funny. “Maybe you should go see your doctor.”
She dries her hands on a Christmas dishcloth. “Nie. Tape work fine.”
If it makes her feel better, who am I to tell her differently? “Okay, then. I gotta go to work. Bye, Boosh.” I kiss her soft, wrinkly cheek, and she nods. I head into the front end of the bakery, where Mom and the new girl are off talking by the coffee machine.
There’s only one customer in the whole place—an old woman eating her breakfast at the window table. Which is weird because Monday and Friday mornings have always been our second-best days, following Saturday mornings when everyone wants a leisurely breakfast. I glance outside to double-check if the weather is to blame, but I see a perfect summer day.
Glancing down the block, International Gourmet has a ton of people moving in and out of the place like ants on a mission. I shrug, refusing to worry about it. The newness will wear off soon. Our regulars will be back.
Mom squeals, “There’s my Sophie-Dophie!” which makes me jump. She sets down her coffee cup and comes rushing toward me, like I haven’t seen her in months. “I have a surprise for you, honey. This is the new girl I hired. Her name is Eliza.” My mother’s expression and voice are giddy, like when she’s been at the Polka Dot Dance Club and had a few too many cosmos.
“E-lee-za,” our gorgeous new employee says, emphasizing a long E sound in the middle, rather than a long I, the way my mom pronounced it. Eliza smiles at me with cosmetically perfect teeth and thin, overly-plucked rainbow eyebrows. “Dzien dobry. Jak sie masz, pani?”
I turn and look behind me but realize she’s speaking to me. Her perky good morning greeting makes me slightly nauseous and very suspicious. I can’t believe Mom fell for this faker. No one is that excited to be at work, not even Mom, and she owns the place.
“Morning. And I’m fine, thanks.” I give her a weak smile and check out her outfit. Underneath one of Busia’s dorky white bib aprons, Eliza’s wearing jeans, a pink, ribbed-knit top, and little pink plaid flats. Not only is this chick stealing my college fund, but she’s also got cute clothes to boot. I’ve known her all of ten seconds, and I already hate her.
Mom looks at me. “I hired Eliza because she said that—”
“E-lee-za,” she reminds her. “Like the Leaning Tower of Pisa?” She has no discernible Polish accent clinging to her English like my mother, but her words are heavy with barely disguised irritation.
Mom gives her a strained smile. “Sorry. I will try to remember. Anyway, she has a college degree! She’s going to help us get rich.” Mom pours coffee in her Kiss Me—I’m Polish! cup with the giant red lips that I gave her in fourth grade—long before I realized she didn’t need any encouragement in that area.
Eliza flashes an arrogant smile, like she’s used to people fawning all over her. “Actually, I don’t have my degree yet. But I am a junior at U
of I, majoring in marketing.”
“Wow.” I give her my “I’m so not impressed” smile, trying not to let my anger show. “Could I talk to you in the back room a second, Mom?”
“Just say what you want right here.” Mom takes a sip of her coffee. “Eleeta is practically like family now.” Apparently my mom can’t put a long E and a Z together in one word.
Her response makes me grip the seams of my Pet World work-required black pants. “Fine.” I take a deep breath and plunge into my argument, not entirely caring if E-fricking-leeza hears me. “I think we should be conserving our money right now instead of hiring new employees. At least until the attraction to the new place slows down. Look around, Mom. We’ve got no customers. How are we going to pay her?” I point toward the eating area and shake my head in bewilderment.
Before Mom can respond, Eliza says something in Polish to her. Eliza touches my shoulder and smiles at me in the same patronizing way the school nurse does when I try to get out of a math test, pleading cramps. “It’s really sweet how concerned you are about your mother’s finances, Sophie. But in the economic world, you need to spend money to make money. I have some tried-and-true profit-making strategies that can—”
“Mom!” I interrupt. “That’s exactly what I told you, and you said it was stupid!” I shoot a condescending smile back at Eliza. “Which, by the way, I learned in my sophomore year of high school.”
“Yes, but Eleeta has a plan. In writing.” Mom picks up washcloth and turns the hot water faucet. “We are working on her ideas today.”
“You already wrote out a plan? Since Saturday?” I glance up at the pope, who warns me that I’m already one minute late for work.
Eliza lifts a manila folder off the counter. “It’s all right here. Don’t worry about a thing, Sophie-Dophie.”
My blood boils with rage. How dare she use my childhood nickname? “I won’t, El-i-za,” I respond, emphasizing a long I, trying to make it clear that names are sacred. “Do what you want, Mom. As long as she earns us enough money for my college fund, I’m fine with it.”
Mom’s eyes widen. “Eleeta and I talked about that already! She says you need to get a loan instead of asking me for money, isn’t that right?” She glances at Eliza for confirmation.
“Exactly.” Eliza smiles broadly at my mom, but when she turns to me, the smile drops off her face. “I worked all through high school so I’d have spending money for school. Then I took a student loan for five grand so I wouldn’t be such a burden on my parents. No one should expect their parents to pay for the entire cost of college anymore. What you need to do, Sophie, is—”
The last thing I need is advice from this snooty little suck-up. “Sorry, but I gotta go. I’m late for work.” I mentally throw a knife into Eliza’s chest and dash for the door.
“What time are you getting off work?” Mom looks up from wiping the counter.
I open the door. “Two o’clock. I’m still being trained.”
“Good luck!” Mom yells. “Sell lots of rats.”
Eliza laughs. “Rats?” She says something in Polish to my mom, and they both laugh.
And with that, I remove the knife from her chest and stab it between her eyes before I exit, slamming the door behind me. I don’t know if I’m angrier that my mom is squandering money that we don’t have on some worker we don’t need, or that the worker she hired is a condescending poser who is already buddy-buddy with my mom after one hour.
When I walk into the Pet World break room, Mr. Wardley is there, tacking a notice onto the bulletin board. He glances at his watch. “You’re late.”
I pin on my nametag and bite my lip for effect. “I know. I’m sooo sorry. I had a female issue that suddenly came up.” I shrug and leave my sentence hanging with no further explanation. Besides, it’s not completely a lie. Eliza is a female, and I had an issue with her.
He winces, like he’s disgusted at the thought of a “female issue.” “Oh, I see. Well, try to take care of that kind of stuff earlier if you can.” He clears his throat. “Just in case you don’t see Darcy right away, your department is having a sale on white rats today. We need to sell those last five before they get any bigger. No one wants the big ones, not even the boa owners.”
Picturing a snake eating a rat makes me glad I ate breakfast over an hour ago. On the flip side, each fewer rodent is one less I have to clean up after. “I’ll do what I can.”
I head onto the sales floor and spy Darcy over at The Ratnificent Mile. She’s wiping down the outside of the Plexiglas with the pet-friendly cleaning solution they keep in spray bottles all over the place. She glances up at the giant clock on the far wall where the phrase, “It’s Always a Good Time to Save Money at Pet World,” is painted underneath in bright red letters.
“You’re late. I’m writing you up.”
Wow. She sure gets right to the point. I trot out my tried-and-true excuse. “Sorry, but I had a female issue to take care of. Couldn’t be helped.”
She rolls her eyes. “Bullshit. It doesn’t take ten minutes to put in a tampon.”
So much for that. I shrug. “Whatever.”
“Now listen up. Here’s what I need you to do.” Darcy lifts a black cloth draped over the stash of stuff hidden under the rat house. She sets the spray bottle onto the shelf and hands me a handheld vacuum. “I was the window washer, now you’ll be the street sweeper. Clean up the town.”
“With this?” I hold up the vacuum, horrified at the thought of putting my hand inside this rat-forsaken conglomeration.
“You’ve never used one of those before, eh, princess? It’s called a vac-uum,” she enunciates slowly. “You turn it on, aim it at the droppings, and whammo! They get sucked right up.”
“I know what a vacuum is, Darcy.” I wish I could suck her up in the vacuum. Although with Busia being the original Dirt Devil, I’ve only vacuumed like three times in my whole life.
I point at the intake slot. “Won’t the rats’ tails get pulled up in here?”
“They can, so be careful. Use one hand to shoo them while the other hand vacuums. Most rats run away, but some are curious about your odor so they come close anyway.”
“What are you trying to say?” Even though I sometimes skip a day between bathing, I hardly think a stupid rat could tell. I try to nonchalantly sniff my armpit by rubbing my chin on my shoulder.
“I meant, our human odor, princess.” She points toward the enclosure. “Stand on the stepstool. Take the roofs off the buildings and vacuum inside there too.” She glances off to the side. “Got to go. I have a customer.”
The thought of rats climbing on my hand while I’m suctioning millions of their tiny black poops freaks me out. “Wait! Can’t I restock the shelves instead? I saw some boxes with our department name in the staff room.”
Darcy smiles. “Sure you can. When you’re done vacuuming.” She walks off, leaving me with the job that may take me even closer to insanity, the place where my mother waits with open arms and a lifetime ticket to the Casimir Pulaski museum.
When I turn on the vacuum, several rats run away. Relieved that the rats are as afraid of the noise as I am of them, I lean over the top of the three-foot enclosure, mini-vac in hand. Two rats scurry over to investigate, and I scream, dropping the vac inside. Fortunately it has an automatic on-off switch that releases when I remove my thumb. More rats come, running all over the vacuum. One pees as he climbs over it.
I stare in revulsion, my heart beating faster by the second. There is no way I can do this. I glance around, looking for Darcy. I see her with a customer, so I wait until she’s finished with the lady and her kid. The second she’s done, I hurry over to her. “I’m sorry, Darcy, but that rat crap job is just too gross for me. Give me something else. Anything else. Seriously.”
The one eye of Darcy’s that I can see visibly narrows. “If you want to work here, princess, you will do it. Get over yourself. Every job has sucky parts, and cleaning out the Rat Mile is this one’s. Do it or punch out.�
�� I start to object when she says, “For good.”
I think about quitting just to spite her, but I really need the money. How else am I going to ditch my ratty old clothes for something cute to impress both Nick and Giovanni? Ratty, ha. Along with rat hole, rat pack, and rat race—all negative terms—which just proves my point that rats suck. “Fine.”
Climbing back up on the stepstool, I watch as rats of all colors and sizes run and play, rubbing up against each other. My throat starts to itch, and I find it hard to breathe. A pink-eyed rat stops in front of me and stands up on his hind legs, pee squirting out at the Plexiglas. A shiver of disgust rolls through me. I tell myself, They’re small, friendly, and don’t bite. After a solid minute of internal encouragement, I take a deep breath and reach for the vacuum handle. Not even three seconds pass when a fat white sale rat races across my fingertips.
I scream and drop the vacuum again. Tears of frustration lurk on the edges of my eyes. I wipe the wisps of tears from my eyes and start counting ceiling tiles until the urge to cry passes. I can do this. I’m going to pretend that they are tiny little puppies. Looking down, I watch the rats scurry to and fro and think, they’re nothing like puppies! They’re not friendly or cute! That’s when I realize I am done with this stupid fricking job. I get off the stepstool and speed-walk toward the back room. Taking the bus would be better than enduring this miserable place.
Darcy steps into my path, a bag of sunflower seeds in her hands. “Where you going?”
“Home. I quit,” I tell her as I move around her, not slowing my pace.
“Figures,” Darcy snaps. “I knew a prima donna like you wouldn’t last the week.”
I freeze in my steps, not exactly sure what a prima donna is, but I know it can’t be good. I turn and face her. “You know what? I told you that I’m squeamish around rats and that I’d do anything else but clean that gross rat town. But you made me do it anyway, hoping I’d quit.” I hear my voice quiver. I swallow, hoping to get rid of the whininess.