3. Debug
3
Debug
I ignored the curious drone pilot and marched through the field of bubbles to True Tech.
My manager grabbed a bag for her current customer and narrowed her eyes at me. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, we’ll talk when you’re finished.” I yanked the landline phone out of its holster and dialed the customer. My heart pounded with resolve. Even if my hands shook, it was because of adrenaline. Not fear. No more fear.
He picked up on the second ring, his voice clogged. “Hello?”
Pretend you’re an automated alert.
“Hello, Andre. Your computer is ready for pickup at True Tech," I said.
“I’ll be right there," he said.
I hung up without bothering with a goodbye. Time was of the essence. I put all his stuff together, then locked eyes with Ash.
She strolled over and propped her tablet on her hip. “So, what was that all about?”
“I’ll be happy to discuss the drone incident later, but first, I request you to stay close for when I hand off to this next customer. He was pushing for my personal information, and I think he’d behave better if I had backup. ”
“Gross.” She scowled. “Sorry you had to deal with that. Is that why you left?”
“Kind of.” One creep was just the tip of the iceberg. I tugged my cap. “He’s coming in now.”
The customer shuffled through the glass doors, hunched over in his black, double-breasted linen winter coat. His gaze flicked from me to my manager, and he paled. “Hello, I’m here to collect my laptop.”
Ash flipped her bangs aside and pulled up his ticket on her tablet. “Great. We’ll just get your information–”
“She knows it.” He jerked his chin at me.
I pushed his laptop across the ledge. “We deleted the harmful files. In the future, we recommend you only download from authorized websites and game mods.”
He snorted and leaned on the ledge, his breath still rank from alcohol as he eyed the two of us. “I guess I can’t have any fun. Just like my ex wanted.”
Ugh. If anything, he had too much ‘fun’ and not enough common sense. I crossed my arms. “At least it functions again.”
“Oh, it functions,” he said, shifting his legs.
I recoiled. He better have been talking about the laptop.
Ash tapped her tablet. “Sign here, then you can leave.”
He arched his brow. “I was dealing with her.”
“And now you’re dealing with me.” She didn’t fully smile, just squinted, her eyes lined on the bottom like an androgynous knight.
“Do you work on commission?” the customer asked me.
“No,” I said. He was working my last nerve, though. I popped my headphones over my ears without flipping them on, then sat in the chair to focus on ‘work.’
Ten seconds later, he left with his stuff, and Ash leaned on the desk. “Well, that was horrible,” she said .
“Yes.” The customer and the drone crash. I sighed and lifted my hat long enough to swipe some flyaway hairs from my forehead before sealing it over my crown again. “What’s the window made of? Tempered glass?”
She nodded. “Steel-reinforced.” Her lips rolled inward. “Expensive.”
Of course it was. I pushed up my glasses. “Well, I may be able to buff out the scratch. If not, the pane is ruined anyway. Of course, we could always go through insurance instead.”
She wrinkled her nose. “You think you can fix it?”
“I…might.” I had tools at home. “Tomorrow. Presuming my schedule hasn’t changed.”
She tapped the heels of her loafers against the cabinet. “I’ll think about it.”
I clutched the mouse, my insides grinding like ill-fitted gears when she strolled to the man conducting the bubble show.
Fuck. Did my fate depend on his opinion? The man solved problems with water guns and turkey plushies. But he was nice, so maybe he’d vouch for me. I scooted as close as I could to the open doors to eavesdrop without them noticing me.
“Hey, Sal,” she called.
“Hey. Want a little bubbly?” He pursed his lips and fired a bunch of bubbles at her.
Laughing, she swiped at them. Then, she got close. Talking low. He tilted his ear to her lips, his brow flattening in concentration.
He looked at the wall and shook his head.
No? He didn’t think I could do it? I balled my fists on the desk.
He pulled back and nodded, then he said something and gestured to the store. Why hadn’t I learned to read lips?
They both glanced at me. I stiffened, then flung myself back in my seat. Shit. I had to at least pretend I was fixing something. A worthwhile employee. Might as well look up how to actually work with tempered glass. Whoever cleaned the robotics battle arenas would know, but I had no desire to find those organizers for their contact information.
No. For this one, I was on my own. The internet would provide.
A few minutes later, Ash strode up to the tech desk. “Email me your plan. I want to run it by housekeeping and make sure it’s nontoxic before I give the go-ahead.”
“Sure. I can send it tomorrow…after my shift.” I peeked up at her without turning my head. I would still have a shift, right?
“Yeah. Sounds good. You can take your actual break now, if you want.” She tapped the ledge twice, then patrolled the center console.
My shoulders sagged with relief. I lived to tech another day. I clasped my wrist over my head and stretched back until something popped into place.
I could do this.
I didn’t have to. But I could. I could function.
Me: Hey, want to meet me for lunch? I’ll head to the break room.
My brother sent a thumbs up emoji.
Good. Having him around meant I wouldn’t have to wear headphones to ward off nosey weirdos.
I retrieved my retro arcade game lunchbox, then popped my instant ramen in the microwave and scoped out an empty table by the exit. Easy to get out. Not as easy to see. This place was a little pathetic though. Vinyl booths. Old tile floors. A crappy, loud TV played daytime court shows. A lady ate fries without tearing her gaze off the screen.
Why didn’t they update anything here? True Tech had better lighting, and we didn’t even have access to windows. Well, not ones that led outside anyway. I researched the glass as I made my way to that table.
My brother’s tall shadow slunk into the chair before he did. “I feel like a peasant,” he said.
“Why?” I scoffed, stirring my chopsticks through the noodles .
“The break room is for people who don’t have an entire lounge, office, and kitchen at their disposal. Plus, here, I don’t have control over the screens.” He sighed, twisting his wild, gravity-defying bangs aside.
I gripped my chopsticks so hard they clicked together. Our home had everything. But he still wanted to leave.
He flicked his sharp gaze on me with the vacant curiosity of a main character from a roleplaying game or Tim Burton movie. “How’s your first day?”
“Fine.” I shrugged, darkening my phone screen.
He arched his eyebrow. “You wanted to explain…things?”
Not really.
“Eat something,” I said.
“My stomach contents aren’t so low that they’d affect my listening abilities.” He slid the chair closer, propped his arms on the table, and stared blankly at me under his thick, wiry lashes.
I raised my shoulders to push my headphones up by my ears, even though they didn’t stick. “Are you waiting to eat with Kat?”
“No. She comes by me for her break, but I eat whenever I’m hungry.” He pulled two foil-wrapped lumps out of the pocket in his uniform, then rolled one towards me. “Here. It’s fully loaded with your favorites.”
I peeked under the wrapping. Steam wafted from a cheesy potato sprinkled with bacon and broccoli. My lip twitched up. “This will be my vegetable intake for the day. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” He procured two plastic forks and napkins. “I doubt you want to use your chopsticks for this.”
“You would be correct.”
We ate in easy silence. My insides whirred, warm with hot noodle broth and gooey cheese.
My brother ate by my side, casually scanning the room for me. He sucked his pinky free of spilled cheese. The wet smack popped in the hollows of my ears. Part of me wanted to put my headphones on, but this tightness in my chest was nothing compared to the comfort of my little brother’s shadow. He was here for me, even if I did annoy him.
If. It wasn’t hypothetical after the spider incident.
Heat flared up the back of my throat. I dabbed my lips with the back of my hand, then a napkin. “I almost had a panic attack today. But I managed it.”
“You did?” He sat up, his hair piqued like a bent antenna.
I gestured to myself. “I am not currently panicking, so yes.”
“That’s certainly progress. How’d you do it?”
What had officially tipped me into problem-solving mode? Another disaster? A plush turkey? Possibilities floated in the back of my mind like bubbles reflecting Sal’s smile.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said.
“Well, if you have one again–”
“I’ll handle it.”
My brother’s nostrils flared, his shallow cheeks flexing with frustration.
I wasn’t guaranteed to have another panic attack.
He sighed and gestured to the break room. “Well, what about your coworkers? Is there anyone around here you could be friends with?”
“Yes.” I bristled. It wasn’t difficult; it was dangerous.
He scooted to the edge of his seat. “And who might receive that honor?”
No one, yet, I wanted to snap.
But logically, someone had vouched for me despite a disaster. They’d showed me compassion. They had some sense of humor, of connection, and I wouldn’t hate seeing them again. “A-ash,” I blurted out.
My brother tilted his head. “Your boss?”
“Yes.” I shoveled food into my mouth so I wouldn’t have to expand on it.
“She’s not supposed to be friends with subordinates. Kat learned that the hard way after her promotion. I didn’t need an excuse to keep my distance from my coworkers, but it was nice to have one.” He pulled his lower lip with the fork tines and narrowed his eyes. “Of course, picking her would give you an excuse for not making friends. Keep your distance.”
Oh, he was evil. Evil and correct.
Well, I’d prove to him that I could make a friend, not just build them.