And the recipient for the Best Fake Smile award for the year was (insert drum roll here) . . . me. “’Bye.”
“God, now I’m going to have to decontaminate myself with bleach or something.” Hang scrubbed at her cheek with a Kleenex.
“What was that?” asked Sophia, moseying on up to our table. Carrie stood beside her, holding her hand. “Are there things going on with you and basketball boy?”
“Good question,” I said, despite my own need for privacy. “Seems like he’s into you.”
“No, no. Absolutely not,” said Hang. “I’m not the slightest bit interested in that too-tall idiot. And it’s a testament to our friendship that I’m still talking to either of you.”
When Sophia turned to me for answers, I gave a small shake of the head. Most definitely not going there anytime soon.
“You sure there’s nothing going on?” she persisted, taking a seat. “Are you really really sure?”
“I saw them talking outside of History earlier,” said Carrie. “Looked cozy.”
With great zest, Hang slapped her hand down on the table. “That’s it. You’re both dead to me and I’m not even going to mourn you.”
“Ooh,” Sophia chortled. “The bitch pack won’t like that. First Edie and John, now Hang and Anders. You should have seen their faces when the guys were just here. Ouch.”
The table full of girls in question sat on the opposite side of the cafeteria, laughing just a little too loud, flipping enough hair around to cause permanent neck damage. I didn’t care who the cool girls watched or what they thought, yet conditioning from my early years whispered that it mattered.
As if.
Hang cocked her head, eyes unimpressed. “Seriously, guys?”
“I’m not with John,” I said, finishing off my apple. “We’re just friends.”
“You two doth protest too much.” Carrie and Sophia shared a look.
“Don’t you two have something better to do than listen to dumbass gossip?” asked Hang. “Like, live your lives or go make out or something?”
“Actually.” Sophia leaned into the table, her chin in her hand. “I come bearing good news.”
The frown stayed on Hang’s face. “What?”
“My old manager is running a home decorating place at the mall and just so happens to be in need of a couple of people for Saturdays.” Sophia grinned. “I just might have told her about two mature, honest, and hardworking friends of mine who are looking for jobs.”
Hang clapped her hands. “You’re alive to me again! Oh my God, that’s great, Soph.”
“Really?” I asked, excitement building inside me.
Sophia nodded. “She wants you both to stop by one day this week after school.”
“That’s great.” I smiled. “Thank you.”
Hang and I beamed at each other. This was it: money, fame, and fortune would be ours. I could feel it.
John: U awake?
John: Edie?
“If you had to make a list of everything you’d need to survive the apocalypse, how high would napkin rings rate for you?” asked Hang.
I put on my thinking face. “Hmm. Food, water, napkin rings.”
“You’d put them ahead of the napkin itself?”
“What use is a napkin without its decorative ring?” I asked.
“True.”
Carefully, I attached the price sticker she’d handed me onto another shining example of the aforementioned item. “What about you?”
“Yeah,” said Hang. “Pretty much the same.”
We were gainfully employed. Or at least employed. Box and Jar had a wide and wonderful selection of everything you could possibly require to fulfill your domestic needs. It boggled the mind, half of the stuff. I mean, who the hell felt the need to invent three different varieties of dill pickle extractors? Pickles were great on a sandwich or burger. Absolutely awesome. But did getting the damn things out of the jar really warrant such a complex array of tools?
Apparently so.
“I hear there was another party at Sabrina’s last night.” Hang watched me out of the corner of her eye. “Apparently it was lit, going off, super-duper, and all of these things.”
“Anders called you?”
“Texted,” she corrected. “Wanted to know why we weren’t there.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That we had work today and needed to get some sleep.”
I nodded. “Which is the truth.”
“Yes, it is.”
“You know, Anders really does seem to like you. Are you sure you’re not into him just a little bit?”
“Let’s talk about John.”
I shut up.
“Girls!” Miriam swept past us on one of her regular checks. “How are you doing?”
Head to toe, the woman exuded class in her neat white linen shift dress and navy apron with the company name embroidered across her chest.
Meanwhile, I was all bulges in the tight straight dress, the largest size Miriam had been able to locate. Boobs, belly, butt, and thighs. And white was such a meh of a color on me. The navyk apron seemed only barely up to the job of holding me together. Any sudden wrong movement on my part and a seam might split. I lived in perpetual fear of it all falling apart. Here’s hoping the dimples in my knees would distract people from my slightly overwhelming show of curves.
“You’re already finished pricing those?” asked Miriam with a brilliant smile. “That’s great. You know, that job would have taken the last lot all day and they still would have messed it up.”
We both smiled back at her.
Earlier, she’d confided that the previous employees who held our positions had been busted smoking a joint in the storeroom. This worked out great for me and Hang. With them being so amazingly crappy, Miriam’s expectations were low. So long as we turned up every Saturday, were coherent and got stuff done, she’d be happy.
Best job ever.
“I’m so glad Sophia told me about you two.” Hands on hips, she surveyed our work. “And they’re all sorted correctly. How do you feel about cushions?”
Hang turned to me.
“Ecstatic,” I said.
“Great.” With all the grace of a game-show hostess, Miriam directed our attention toward a full wall of shelving in disarray. “Some customers went through them yesterday. Left everything a complete mess. Do a cushion display that wows me, girls.”
“You got it,” said Hang.
I surveyed the wreckage of ruffles and fringing, buttons and bows. A few had been stuffed back into shelves, but most were still on the floor. “I’m thinking a rainbow, gay pride sort of statement.”
Hang nodded. “I like it.”
We got to work.
“Things got awkward with John post-sex, huh?” she asked, picking out all of the navy and dark blue cushions.
My lips slammed shut. Again.
“It’s okay, Edie.” She gave me a wry smile. “I know you don’t like talking about him. Or anything at all.”
“I’m a shitty friend.”
“Nuh. You’ve just been through a lot. I get it.” A cushion was held high. “Would you call this cobalt, royal blue, or sapphire?”
“Cobalt, I guess? It’s not you, Hang,” I said, trying to figure out how to explain and getting frustrated with myself in the process. Me and my many issues. “My last friend really screwed me over.”