Paper or Plastic

by Vivi Barnes

  “Oh? Can’t be all bad.” Syd glanced over her shoulder and leaned in. “Where’s this hot manager you mentioned?”

  “Oh, oh, yes!” Court said, her voice rising. “Where is he?”

  I shushed her, looking around quickly and praying that Noah was in the back of the store.

  “What’s going on?” Bryce asked, his arm automatically wrapping around Court as we stopped at the deli counter.

  “Lex has a thing for this manager guy here. Where is he, Lex?”

  I stared at Bryce, who I’m sure was thinking chick stuff, though he was grinning and waggling his eyebrows at me, an expression that would certainly drop as soon as he caught sight of Noah. I really wished I hadn’t sent that text to Court and Syd. They’d never leave me alone about it if they knew who the hot guy was.

  “I don’t know where he is,” I said. “I think his shift’s over.”

  My friends’ faces fell. “Damn,” Court said. “We were hoping to check him out.”

  I shrugged. “He’s okay. I mean, compared to other SmartMart employees, you know. Nothing special. Not like super hot or anything. Just average.”

  “All right, leave her alone,” Bryce said to Court, tickling her side and making her giggle. “She obviously doesn’t want to talk about it.”

  Court switched gears and started hugging all over Bryce as he ordered their sandwiches, but Syd kept her eyes on me. I knew she didn’t believe me—I’d talked way too fast and too much—but I also knew she wouldn’t push me for details. It was what I loved about her. She seemed to know when to speak up and when not to ask questions—so unlike Court, who’d blurt out anything. I had no idea how long I could keep the fact that Noah worked here a secret. I also had no idea why I even wanted to. I wasn’t his biggest fan, either.

  “Hey, is that him? Your hot guy?” Court asked, pointing behind me and causing everyone else to look. I turned to see Noah talking with another employee. He was still far enough away that it was hard to make out his features, I hoped. He glanced over at me, his eyes just catching mine before I turned my attention back to my friends, my face burning.

  “No, not him.” I grabbed a salad out of the counter and shoved it toward Syd a little too hard. “Here, have a chef’s salad. Want one, too?” I asked Bryce, who was holding a foot-long sandwich in his hands and now staring at me like I had two heads. It worked to get his attention away from Noah, though, and by the unchanged expression on his face, he hadn’t recognized him. Good thing Noah cut his hair this summer.

  Bryce tilted his head. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, sure. Just gotta get back to work.” I smiled at him, tapping my fingers nervously against my pants leg. I was hungry and actually was on my lunch break, but it didn’t matter. I needed to get away from my friends as fast as I could. And damn you, Noah, for stressing me out like this.

  “You practicing tomorrow?” Bryce asked as Court and Syd went to sit at a small deli table. “Or do you have to work?”

  “Not sure.” I glanced over my shoulder and noticed Noah still watching me. “I’ll just, um, meet you at the field?” I didn’t even know what we were talking about anymore.

  “Okay. Call me if you need a ride.”

  “Uh-huh.” Is he still watching me? Should I look around or is that too obvious?

  “What’s wrong?” Bryce asked. “You’re acting weird.”

  I laughed the most fake laugh in the world. “I’m fine. Really.”

  He watched me for a moment as I tried to smile and look completely relaxed, though my heart was racing. I wanted so badly to turn and see if Noah was still staring at me, but I didn’t. Bryce knew me better than almost anyone. I didn’t want him fishing around anymore about why I was acting like a maniac.

  A shrill alarm suddenly rang. I jumped and stared around at the different employees, including Noah, racing toward the back of the store. I turned to Bryce—whatever it was, I was grateful for the interruption. “You guys should go—I think something’s set off the alarm and I need to go help figure it out.”

  “Yeah, no problem. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Bryce waved to Syd and Court, who got up and followed him.

  “Cole and Ryan get in today,” Syd said as she passed me. It was funny how she rarely said one name without the other, like the twins really did come as a set. She always said she didn’t care which one she ended up with, since they were so alike. “I’m going to stalk their house later if you get home early and want to join. Oh, and snap a picture of your hot guy, okay?” She grinned, and I smiled back with what I hoped looked like enthusiasm.

  As soon as they were gone, I headed to the back. The alarm wasn’t sounding anymore, and most of the employees who’d run to check it out were already walking back to their original positions, including Noah.

  “What was that?” I asked him.

  “Some kids thought it’d be funny to open the back door. You know, the one that clearly says ‘Don’t open or alarm will sound.’” He shook his head, but his eyes stayed on mine. “Stupid kids will do anything for attention.”

  “Ah.” I moved away quickly as a customer stopped him to ask a question. My face burned as I thought about the shoplifting from last week. Did Noah know what I did to cause me to end up working here? I hoped Mr. Hanson hadn’t said anything to him, because if he did, I wondered if Noah meant that “stupid kids” remark to include me.

  And if he’d seen Bryce here earlier, I had a feeling he did mean exactly that.

  3

  The rest of the day was spent in a small training room completing the online POS training. Easy enough, and I didn’t have to deal with Shoppers From Hell. Finally, Bessie came in to tell me my shift was over. I clicked save on the training module and shut down the session. She complimented me on how great I did for my first day and told me tomorrow I’d be greeting customers. I glanced at the front door and, as if on cue, a customer sneezed in his hand and wiped it on the handle of his cart. Lovely. I made a mental note to bring a big bottle of hand sanitizer tomorrow.

  I clocked out at exactly five and grabbed my bag from my locker. Noah rounded the corner just as I slammed the door shut. He stopped short and gave me a tentative smile.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey,” I said back.

  Long pause. Then, “How’d the first day go?”

  “Okay, I guess.”

  “Good.”

  We stood there staring at each other for about five seconds, which translated to about twenty-five minutes in standing-around-while-trying-to-find-something-to-say time. I’ll admit, the boy still had killer eyes and a hot bod, but talk about major conversation fail. I wanted the guy back from earlier—the one who’d given me that confident, flirty smile and made me laugh. The guy I’d thought was just some randomly hot manager named Grayson. Now I had a hard time seeing past the fact that he was, to sum it up, a rat. Not that I agreed with spray-painting graffiti everywhere, but Noah didn’t have to go tell on Bryce. I didn’t care how long ago it was. And if he was going to hold it against me for being friends with Bryce, yeah, that was not going to work.

  “So, your friends…” he started as if he’d read my mind, his eyebrow lifted like I was supposed to know what he was going to say.

  “What about them?”

  “I saw them earlier.”

  I put my hands on my hips. “And?”

  He stared at me for a moment, then huffed and shook his head. “Nothing.”

  Yeah, that’s what I thought. I gave him a half wave. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Okay.”

  As I walked out to the parking lot, I breathed a sigh of relief to see the black BMW and not my mother’s Escalade.

  I opened the door to my dad’s warm smile and a wink. “Here you go, sweetheart,” he said, handing me a cold can of Diet Coke. Dad always knew how to make things better. “So, how was the first day on the job?”

  I groaned and slouched down in my seat, throwing an arm over my face and making him laugh. I loved that I didn’t
have to pretend with him. He had tried arguing with my mother on my behalf, knowing the whole time that it wouldn’t work and that I’d end up at SmartMart. We both knew who ran the show in our family, and we knew better than to expect to win a fight with her.

  Dad stopped for ice cream on the way home. “Okay, so tell me, what’s the worst thing about the job?” he asked as we dove into bowls of Chocolate Avalanche.

  My day flashed before me. Where could I begin? But all I said was, “Rude customers.”

  “And the best?”

  “Best?” I shook my head.

  He frowned. “Come on, Lexie. There’s got to be something good.”

  I glanced at the worker behind the counter who was handing an ice-cream cone to a wide-eyed little girl in pigtails. Her mother was smiling at the guy and thanking him. The couple behind them was also smiling. Maybe people were nicer in a shop that sold ice cream instead of toilet paper.

  “There’s a lady named Bessie who is training me. She’s really nice.”

  “Good. And?”

  “And what?”

  “And what else?”

  I tilted my head to consider that. I knew him—he wouldn’t relent until I answered. “Well…I’ll get a paycheck.”

  “And?”

  I sighed. “Dad, please.”

  He leaned back in his chair, giving me a fatherly look that gave me warm fuzzies rather than annoyance. “Lexie, is that all this job is to you? A paycheck?”

  “Isn’t that all it’s supposed to be? I mean, it’s a job.”

  “That is part of it, yes. But come on, have you gotten to know any of your other coworkers?”

  “I was there for one whole day. Not exactly programming everyone’s numbers in my phone just yet.”

  That made him laugh. “Okay, well, don’t hate the place because it’s SmartMart. There’s plenty of time for you to get a more trendy job.” He made air quotes with his fingers when he said that. “Some of the best jobs I ever had seemed menial at the time.”

  “Okay, okay, I get it.” I had to change the subject before he launched into his story about when he was a janitor in college and saved a man from choking in the school’s cafeteria. It was one of his favorite “lesson” stories to tell whenever Rory or I did something that warranted a lecture.

  “All right, so here’s another good thing,” I said. “Mr. Hanson is nice. He’s the manager.” I thought of my other manager. I wasn’t sure what to make of Noah. He seemed nice, but that “stupid kids” remark still bugged me. Maybe he didn’t know what I’d done and it was just intended for the kids who set off the alarm. I decided to assume he didn’t.

  “Good.” Dad glanced at his watch. “Oh, shoot, it’s later than I thought.” He stood up and gestured for me to follow. “Your mother is going to hang us out to dry if we don’t get home.”

  My mother. The first words out of her mouth when we walked in the door were aimed at me. “Well? You didn’t quit or get fired, did you?”

  Nice.

  “No, Mom. It’s a great job. Really great.”

  My voice was unenthusiastic, but still she nodded, satisfied. She wrinkled her nose at my shirt. “Red is definitely not your color.” She leaned forward to give me a hug. “I’m so proud of you for hanging in there,” she whispered. My mother was one of the few people I knew who could smoothly follow an insult with a compliment. It was like getting punched in the face and then kissed. “Now go change. Dinner’s in fifteen minutes.”

  Upstairs, I changed out of the musty-smelling black pants and fire engine SmartMart shirt. The thought of putting them on again made me feel kind of queasy. I gathered up clothes from my hamper and dirty towels from the bathroom and ran downstairs to put them in the washing machine, even though Mrs. Gentry would be here tomorrow. My mother paid her to come to our house twice a week to clean and do laundry, but I didn’t like anyone except myself washing my clothes.

  Rory was in the laundry room, laying a fluffy pink dress on the drying rack. My clean bra and silk shirt were on the tile floor. “How many times do I have to tell you to leave my clothes alone?” I asked her.

  She didn’t even look at me. “Put your stuff away, then. You can’t hog the rack.”

  I snapped my bra at her leg like a whip, causing her to run out of the room screaming, “Momma! Momma! Lexie hurt me!” She brushed a couple books off the bookshelf as she tore through the hallway. Of course, stopping to pick them up would never occur to her. I picked up the books and started to place them back on the shelf, hesitating when I noticed my high school yearbooks from the past couple years. I carried them to my room, shutting the door and flopping on the bed.

  I flipped casually through my freshman yearbook. I had tried everything that year—racquetball, softball, dance. Dance squad was not my thing, but it did earn me some great friends, especially Court, who had just started dating Bryce. My favorite picture of us was displayed in one corner—arms slung over each other’s shoulders, laughing like we just heard the funniest joke.

  That was the year my hair went through various evolutions of wavy-poof. The dance group picture presented my blond hair frizzed out a bit under the top hat—probably from the humidity. My softball picture featured my ponytail that I always wore when playing. Turning to my individual freshman photo, I shook my head at the perfectly curled long blond hair that wrapped over one of my shoulders. My mother had styled it that day. I think that was the last day I let her touch my hair. It made me look like freaking Rapunzel.

  My finger trailed along the pages to find others—Syd with her smooth, straight brown hair—the same style she wore every year. Court’s dark curls and bright grin. Holly, our school’s resident Mean Girl, pictured in her usual last spot as if she owned it and not just because her name was Zelner. Her smile was almost sweet. You’d never guess she was so bitchy by this angelic picture.

  Flipping to the pages for the baseball team, I noted the large photo inset of Bryce, featured as “Rising Star.” He was standing straight and tall, the bill of his hat pressed down to his eyebrows, ball in glove, eyes slightly off-camera as if he was focused on a batter with a full count. It was how I always thought of him, the serious consideration he gave every batter when pitching, as if every game were part of the World Series. He’d helped me tremendously when I got into softball, especially since we were both pitchers. Of all people, I credited Bryce with the fact that I had the fastest pitch of any girl in my division and that I made it into the State All-Stars this spring.

  We’d always been good friends, but years of playing softball and volunteering at Let’s Have a Ball camp quickly turned him into one of my best friends. In fact, we both had similar blond hair and light blue eyes, so people always thought we were related.

  I wondered if he was over being angry at Noah. It happened a long time ago, so maybe I was worried for nothing. But if he was still mad, I couldn’t risk losing the guy who really was like a brother to me. One thing I knew—there was no way I could be friends with Noah and Bryce, and of the two, I’d choose Bryce any day. Noah was just my manager at a job I hated, that was all.

  Okay, clearly I was stalling. I flipped to the sophomore pages and ran my finger down the G names until it landed on Grayson, Noah.

  Noah’s image was smiling, his teeth showing in the “say cheese” grin we all had before they blinded us with the flash. I peered closer. His dark hair fell past his ears, almost to his shoulders. His face was thinner than it was now, and it appeared to be smooth and clear, unlike Bryce, who had the telltale zits of puberty all over his freshman face.

  I tossed it aside and flipped through my sophomore yearbook, skipping my grade and heading straight to the junior class. Noah’s hair was much longer than in the picture before. This was how I remembered him—hair almost blending with his black shirt, long layers hanging over one eye, almost goth-like. His current hairstyle was so different—so much shorter. Older, too. I wasn’t sure which one was better. Maybe an in-between cut.

  Noah wasn�
�t smiling in this picture. His face was serious, almost brooding, like he just found out he got an F or broke up with his girlfriend or something. I tried to remember if I’d ever seen him with a girl. I couldn’t remember anyone saying she had dated Noah Grayson.

  My phone buzzed. I checked to see a message from my grandma.

  Hows ur day?

  I typed, Ok I guess.

  U 4get sumping?

  Sumping? I snickered. Grandma was always trying to use what she called “text lingo” and frequently got it wrong.

  I typed, Don’t think so.

  REALLY? The word was followed by a bunch of open-mouth emoticons.

  I laughed out loud and went to the door, yanking it open. Grandma was on the other side, her cell phone in hand. I gave her a hug, breathing in the familiar light scent of cedar that clung to her clothes from the chest she kept them folded in.

  “That’s better,” she said. She moved past me to sit on my bed, clasping her hands on her lap. “So tell me about your first day, and don’t skip over this uber-hot manager you mentioned in your message.”

  I sank down on the bed and told her—starting with dear Bessie and ending with the visit from my friends. I explained what happened two years ago with Bryce and Noah. “So what am I supposed to do if Bryce or even Court and Syd realize Noah’s working there?”

  “Why do you care? It sounds like their problem, not yours.”

  “Because I might’ve, um, sent that same text to Syd and Court and now they’re expecting to meet him.” I could feel my face heating up, and my grandma, always the most perceptive one in the family, could tell. She tilted her head at me.

  “So this uber-hot manager is Noah, and now you’re afraid Bryce will be upset that you considered his enemy date-worthy.” She smiled gently. “Honey, like I told you, that’s his problem. Just because he had a falling-out with Noah years ago doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to talk to the boy. Bryce is your friend, and he should understand.”