Chapter 3
“You’re not Black Friday shopping?” Landon side-eyes me.
“Nah,” I say, leaning against the counter opposite the register.
We’ve had nothing to do for nearly an hour.
I thought it’d be busier today, being Thanksgiving and all.
I thought we’d have a line until we closed and have to shove people out the door.
I mean, I didn’t want to be stuck here after five, but this is ridiculous.
The upside is we’ve stayed on top of the cleaning, which means we might get to leave right after close.
Mom said she’s cooking a ham with her amazing pineapple sauce, my favorite.
I know it depends on how she’s feeling. That part was unspoken, but it’s always there.
Regardless, I’m bringing home a key lime pie and I’ll probably end up making some of the sides, but it’s just us.
“That’s what they want,” I continue. He didn’t ask for this, but if he’s going to sound incredulous about me not partaking in the annual anti-Thanksgiving capitalist slugfest that is Black Friday, I’m going to explain.
“They want you to come to their stores in droves. To fight your neighbors for an extra five dollars off a shitty version of a product they’re making a fortune off.
People are literally having Thanksgiving tonight.
Tonight! They’re being all ‘thankful’ and warm and fuzzy, but then tomorrow…
tomorrow the same people would cut your throat for a set of one-thousand-thread-count bedsheets. ”
He’s just staring at me, saying nothing, lips skewed like I’ve lost my mind, but I’m not the guy fighting an old grandma type at Walmart for the one-thousand-thread-count bedsheet set.
Yeah, I saw that happen a few years ago.
It was surreal. He didn’t cut her throat, but that’s not the point.
I’m just trying to be thankful right now, even though Hayden hasn’t come by yet.
“Sooo big no, then.” Landon nods and laughs.
I shrug. “Nope. What are you getting though?”
Maybe I don’t participate, but that doesn’t mean I can’t spectate. Who hasn’t watched the Black Friday videos from the 2000s on YouTube? People stampeding into stores and over each other. Men fighting women and guys half their size for a gaming system. Camping outside stores for a TV or baby doll.
“Tekken 8!” he yells.
Thank the old gods we have no customers right now.
“Tekken?” I ask. A video game. I should have known. The only games I play are The Sims and Tetris, otherwise my computer is useless. I don’t even own a gaming console.
“Yeah,” Landon says. “It’s a fighting game. Sort of like—”
“I know what it is.” I roll my eyes while the wheels grind in his head. Landon goes to Mitchell High, the same school as Hayden. I met him when I started working here, and we’ve gotten along well. “It’s like…like Mortal Kombat.”
“Uh…no.” His face contorts into what I think is dismay. “It’s not a gore-fest, and—”
“I get it, it’s a fighting game,” I say.
“Yeah, yeah, but they added a heat gauge, and they’re bringing back the Rage Drive!
” Landon starts listing things I’ve no clue about.
He keeps going. Something about how cool the stage destruction is going to be and something else about a new character.
“I mean, technically it’s an upgraded character.
It’s Jack-8. He’s getting a laser cannon and giant drill this time! ”
“Ah.” I nod.
“So what are you doing instead?” he asks.
“Nothing…” I shrug. “Sleeping in. I’m definitely sleeping in. Maybe play some Sims. Oh! And I might go up to Waterrock Knob. Check out the crashed Cessna up there again.”
“Trespass. You mean trespass?” Landon grins.
“No.” I roll my eyes. How can it be trespassing? It’s just the wreckage of a plane that crashed years ago. It’s not a house.
“Sure. Why did they never clear that up anyway?” Landon asks.
“I don’t know. That was what, like twenty years ago, right?” I think. It was before I was born at least.
“I think.” Landon shrugs. He stands up and heads to the back. “Speaking of twenty, it’s twenty till closing. I’m going to mop the dining room.”
“Good idea,” I say, and grab a cup. “I’m going to make myself a drink before I clean the machines. You want anything?”
He rounds the corner with the mop and bucket. “Sure. Give me a peanut butter frappe.”
“Coming right up,” I say in my best mock customer service voice, which is basically my voice, but an octave lower. He laughs and slaps the mop on the floor. I can hear the water splashing across the hardwood as he sloshes it around.
I pull another cup and my mind goes into autopilot. Milk, a little finely ground coffee, the blender, then pour into a cup. I start again for Landon’s drink, and as I’m drizzling peanut butter around the cup, the front door chime rings and the door creaks open.
We were this close to closing. I’ll let Landon handle it. I am making his drink after all.
“Oh, hey.” Landon greets whoever it is like he knows them. Must be a regular. “Just be careful, the floor is wet.”
Whoever it is grunt-laughs in response as Landon comes back around the counter. I ignore it and pour his peanut butter blend into a cup.
“Kenzie,” Landon says. His voice raises to this awkward tone. “What was it you said about that tall guy who always comes by late?”
“You mean Mr. Dreamy?” Hayden’s face blossoms like a movie reel in my head. “Have you seen his eyes?”
I sigh longingly and shake the compressed whipped cream container. Gods, his eyes. Never before have I seen such gorgeous grays. I know it’s cliché to say they sparkle, but seriously, they do.
“Yeah, him.” Landon clears his throat.
“What about—” I turn.
My fingers clench around the canister. It’s Hayden!
Oh my gods, it’s Hayden. And I was just saying…
shit. I flinch, and cream squirts from between my fingers like fireworks.
It rains down, splashing on the countertop and my chin.
Hayden’s eyes widen, and he starts to laugh.
Instead of letting go, my body tenses again from the sudden cold froth on my skin, and another stream of whipped cream flies through the air and coats my shirt. Shit!
“Uh…” I release my grip and let the can clack freely on the wooden floor while I scramble to fix this. It can burst into flames for all I care, burn this whole place down, after all that. “W-what can I, I mean, we get you?”
I shuffle next to Landon to wait for Hayden’s order like I’m not covered in globs of whipped cream, as if this type of thing is completely normal.
“You good, bro?” Hayden takes a step toward the counter now that the danger is gone.
“Yeah, all good here! Of course! All good.” I grab a napkin and start wiping the mess from my shirt and face. Why me?
“Okay…I know y’all are about to close, sorry for coming so late.” Hayden settles his elbows on the counter, eyes jumping past us to the menu, like he doesn’t already know what he’s going to get. It’s always the same.
“It’s—” Landon starts, but I’ve already opened my mouth.
“You’re good. Perfectly fine,” I ramble. “Promise.”
“All right. I think I’ll have an iced caramel latte with cinnamon on top, and…” He leans to our right and eyes the display case. So far it’s his normal. “How about a slice of that maple butter pumpkin bread. I’m guessing y’all won’t have that much longer. Might as well try it.”
Something new. Wow! That’s never happened since I’ve known him. I scoot into Landon, nudging him to the side, and start ringing up Hayden’s order. He gets the hint and retreats to the coffee station to make Hayden’s drink.
“Your total is ten sixteen.” I smile at him.
“One second.” He fishes his card from his wallet and hands it to me. “Uh… You’ve got a…a bit of whipped cream on your face still.”
The look in his gray eyes says he’s trying so hard not to laugh. I reach up and wipe at my cheek, but he shakes his head. I try again. Nope.
“Let me help,” he says, and reaches across the counter.
Quicker than I’ve ever moved, I swipe my hands across my face. There is no way I’m letting him touch my face. It’s not happening. I don’t think I could handle it. I might faint, or worse, cease to exist. He raises his hands in defeat and settles back with a faint laugh.
“Did I get it?” I ask sheepishly.
“Yeah, you did that time.” He shakes his head.
“You are so pathetic,” Landon whispers as I turn around and breathe for what feels like the first time in minutes.
“Shut up,” I whisper back.
“Your pumpkin bread!” I spout. Anything to change the subject as I awkwardly slide over to the baked goods case, barely avoiding slipping on the whipped cream on the floor.
“Y’all have plans for Thanksgiving?” Hayden asks from behind.
Why does he want to know? Does he want me to…no. No, he doesn’t want that. Stop it, Kenzie! He’s just making small talk, that’s it.
“Dinner with the family, ’bout it,” Landon says, and swings around with Hayden’s drink ready.
“Same.” I snap the word out.
I dare eye contact with Hayden again while Landon takes the bag with the pumpkin bread from me and hands over it and the drink. It’s better than me making a fool of myself even more. It’s too much though, so I look away.
“I hope you both have a great Thanksgiving.” Hayden starts walking backward toward the door. “I got to get home. The fam—”
He slips. There’s a squeak of rubber on wet wood.
Then a yelp as he tries to swing himself around.
I race around the corner to help, but he’s too far.
His hand flies out, grabbing at the nearest chair, but it’s no match for gravity and comes tumbling after him as the back of Hayden’s head smashes against the edge of a table.
Smack! I wince at the unsettling sound of bone crashing against an unforgiving surface. My body freezes in place.
“Hayden!” I yell as he tumbles away from the table and downward.
By the time I’m moving, he’s on the floor. I gulp at the sight of blood dripping over his forehead. Oh my gods! Hayden!
“Is he?” Landon backs up, speaking the question I refuse to even allow into my head.
“No, no, no!” I yell back as I drop to my knees without stopping and crawl to Hayden’s side.
His eyes are open, but they’re not…present. They look adrift somewhere else, somewhere distant and foreign. He moves, eliciting a pained groan, but before he can get a word out, his body starts to quake and his limbs lock up.
“What the hell?” I stammer. I think…is he? “Is he having a…”
“I’m going to jail. I’m going to fucking jail!” Landon starts yelling and pacing from one end of the bar to the other. “I just know it! I’m going to jail!”
Hayden’s eyes roll back and his head shakes violently. It smacks the floor once before I get my hand under him. What do I do? What the hell do I do?
“Shut up, Landon, and get over here,” I yell. He’s not going to jail, at least I don’t think he is, but if we don’t do something, I don’t know what’s going to happen to Hayden! And if he dies in my arms, then jail is the last thing Landon has to worry about because I’ll end him.
“What do we do?” Landon kneels next to me.
I reach out like I’m going to grab Hayden’s body to steady him, but I don’t know if I should. Isn’t that what you do when this happens? I don’t know. I’m a teen! I’m a student! Hell, I’ll admit it, I’m a kid. This type of thing isn’t supposed to happen around me.
We have to do something though.
“Get some towels,” I command.
Landon runs off.
This is so bad. “I’m so sorry, Hayden! I’m so sorry!”
I don’t know what I’m sorry for exactly, but I’m still sorry.
I guess it’s that this is happening. My mind races as his body continues to thrash.
Did we do something wrong? Was the Wet Floor sign out?
Is Landon right? Are we going to jail? Suddenly Landon’s back and hands me the towel.
I throw it under Hayden’s head and let it take the blows.
Then all at once it stops. His body goes still and his eyes flutter open and closed again. He lets out a breath. Is he okay? He’s still breathing, but he’s also bleeding.
“Hayden,” I lean closer and whisper, begging him to open his eyes. I need to know he’s okay. “Hayden!”
Finally, his eyelids flick open. They’re dazed, still distant, but searching. He shakes his head and takes in a deep breath. Then those gray beauties lock on me.
“Hey,” he says, like he’s surprised to see me, but his tone is soft and warm.
“Hey,” I say back, but the way he’s looking at me, like I’m all he sees, chokes me from saying more.
Then, as quickly as he’d come to, his eyes slink shut and his body goes limp.
“Did he just die?!” Landon yells. “Please tell me he didn’t just die. I didn’t kill him, did I? Right?”
For a moment, the same thoughts shoot through my head.
Is he dead? Please don’t be dead! No! He can’t be dead.
I’m supposed to date him first! I put my hand to his neck like they do in the movies, hoping to feel something.
I’ve never actually checked anyone’s pulse, but I have the idea, I think.
I should be able to feel it somewhere in his neck.
At first there’s nothing, and my anxiety begins to spike, but I move my finger up maybe an inch, and finally there’s something.
A quick sudden thump under my finger, pumping beneath his skin.
“He’s alive!” I scream.
“Thank God.” Landon gulps.
“But we need to get him to the hospital.”