“You’re so right, Oracle. Thank you. I’m going to take your advice.” She pauses. “One last question—how old are you, anyway?”
“The Oracle is timeless.”
“You’re funny. I like that. Have a good night.”
“You, too. And good luck.”
“PRICE CHECK, CASH TWO!”
There are four cash registers in the whole store and mine is the only one that’s open. Ryan left a while ago, and the other cashier, Jay, is probably smoking a spliff in the back room.
“Price check!” I repeat, feeling the customer glaring at me.
The stock boys loading up the shelves in aisle one pretend they don’t understand English.
“Juan!” He finally looks up. “Check this, okay?” I hold up the bag of chips. “Find out if they’re on sale.”
“Sì.” He runs toward the chip aisle.
He’s back a couple of minutes later with another bag. “This. Not that.”
The customer chose Baked Lays instead of regular Lays. A common mistake.
“Do you still want them?” I ask.
She makes a face. “For three forty-nine? Are you crazy?”
“Sometimes I think I’m heading there,” I mumble.
“Did you talk back to me?”
“Huh? Me? No.”
“Good!”
I scan the rest of her groceries, pack them and total it up. After I count back her change, she counts it again carefully, like she’s sure I shortchanged her. Then she picks up her bags and leaves.
Little does she know that I arranged for her canned goods to squash her bread. Ha! It’s a hollow revenge, really. But it’s all I’ve got.
Work is high up on my list of the worst places in the world to be, next to a holiday in Iraq or a hiking trip in the mountains of Afghanistan. Since my Web site is getting more hits these days, I hope my days of working here are numbered.
Mom thinks this job is teaching me a work ethic. It definitely is, but not the one she had in mind.
Everybody at Eddie’s Grocery is corrupt, from the price-gouging store manager to the cashiers and stock boys who give themselves five-finger discounts. My coworkers actually think I’m weird because I don’t steal. I tell them it’s nothing against them, I just have an unfortunate Christian morality complex.
Every single person at this store hates their job except Petie, a twenty-year-old with Down syndrome who helps out in the bakery. I think the manager actually gets money from some Community Living program to let Petie work here. It’s unbelievable, really. We should be paying Petie for being the only person to walk in with a smile on his face.
One time I dropped a comment in the Customers’ Views box. Instead of playing horrid elevator music, I suggested that we play motivational CDs, or lectures by Deepak Chopra or the Dalai Lama. My suggestion was not only ignored, but the music was switched to elevator versions of Clay Aiken’s songs the next week. Coincidence?
The only people I pity more than the staff are the customers. It’s impossible to find anything here, and if you can find it, you can’t reach it. The stock boys are mostly too short to reach up and help. In fact, the only tall person in the store is Afrim, a six-foot-four beanpole from Kosovo who works in the deli. He’s very protective of his meats (especially the Eastern European varieties), so unless you’re the manager, you’ll never get Afrim out from behind the counter.
Eddie’s is the worst for old people. Lots of them are frail and use their shopping carts as walkers. I consider myself the self-appointed helper of the aged. I make a point of knowing where the All-Bran is, the Ovaltine, the prunes and the denture cream.
One customer in particular got me onto the helping-old-people bandwagon. Her name is Lucy Ball—yes, it’s true. She turned eighty-nine in August. She’s less than five feet tall and doesn’t mind that I call her Short Stuff. She’s got a husband at home who had a stroke last year, so poor Lucy’s in charge of keeping the house running. It isn’t easy when you’re hunched over like she is. I always help her by double-bagging everything, triple-bagging the meats, waiting patiently while she counts her pennies and just generally being nice to her. She told me I’m her favorite cashier, which doesn’t say a lot considering the other cashiers here (well, except for Ryan), but it still makes me feel good. I know she means it because she’ll go in my lineup even if it’s the longest.
Yep, Lucy is a breath of fresh air in the hellish inferno of my workplace.
Half the customers here are escaped convicts or certified weirdos. Like the crazy cat lady who only buys three things: soda crackers, milk and cat food. And when I say cat food, I mean, like, seventy cans. She does this every week. I wonder how many cats (or cat ladies) it takes to eat all that.
And Mom wonders why I complain about this job.
Yeah, working at the Hellhole shows me how important it is to get an education. If I don’t, I might have to work at a place like this my whole life. That’s the best work-ethic lesson Mom could hope for.
“IT’S GOT SOME POTENTIAL,” Jared says of my latest sketch. He’s been trying to help me lately, or so it seems. I think he finds my attempts at drawing entertaining. Like right now, he’s biting his lip to keep from laughing. “The head’s too big for the body, though.”
I shouldn’t be putting up with him, but I’m keeping him around in the event he can actually help me. Also, he smells good.
“Why couldn’t I just use that photo of the Afghan girl? This one is so…blah.”
“I thought you wanted to start off playing ‘Chopsticks’ instead of Mozart.”
“Okay, fine. How do I get the head the right size?”
“Why don’t you just measure it?”
I do, and within a few minutes I produce a fairly accurate head. Now I have to sketch the tall supermodel body. Jared’s right that the picture is simple, though I have an aversion to drawing unnaturally skinny women.
“So, how’d you end up at this school?” I ask. He’s one of the few new kids this year.
His eyes narrow a fraction. At least I think they do. His face doesn’t give much away. “This school had a space.”
“Where were you before?”
“Sunset Park.”
“I hear Sunset Park can be pretty rough.”
“It’s different.”
I decide to pursue a different line of questioning. “You’re a senior, right? I saw you were in grade twelve English.”
“Are you stalking me, Kayla?”
I feel myself blush. “I’m just observant.”
“Yeah, I’m a senior.”
Well, that explains why he’s old enough to shave. Suddenly I wonder if he has hair on his chest, or if he’s like Case Study No. 2 who had, like, three hairs.
Realizing that I’m staring at his chest, I look up.
“Are you a fan?” he asks.
“Huh?”
“You’re funny, you know that? I’m asking if you like them.”
Oh, he means the band Three Days Grace. He’s wearing a black T-shirt with the band’s name and the words Animal I Have Become.
“I’m not a fan. Not really.”
“What do you listen to? Miley Cyrus?”
Coming from him, I know that’s an insult. “Yeah, definitely,” I say with a straight face. “But the Jonas Brothers are even better.”
Jared makes a gagging noise, and I laugh.
“Truth is, I mostly listen to Top 40 stuff, but not them. What about you?”
“Anything with a good tune and lyrics that mean something. You know, bands that actually write and play their own music. Not groups that recycle the same tunes over and over.”
“Do you play anything?”
“Guitar. I’m in a band called The Invisible. A couple of guys at this school are in it, too—Tom Leeson and Said Abdullah.”
“Tom sang at the coffeehouse last year. He was good.”
“What about you, you play anything?”
“I played violin in junior high, but I guess th
at doesn’t count. I’m not very musical.”
“Maybe you haven’t discovered it yet.”
“Sure.”
I can’t help thinking—he’s in a band. Bands mean popularity, groupies. So why don’t I see him surrounded by people in the hallways and having lunch with the A-list crowd?
I’m starting to think that Jared isn’t so much a snob as a loner, someone who stays deliberately outside the mainstream.
Maybe he can use the help of the Oracle…
AFTER THE SEVENTH-PERIOD bell, I make my move. When I’m sure the hallway is clear, I slip a business card into Jared’s locker.
Need Dating Advice?
Contact the Oracle of Dating at 555-DATE.
Or visit the Oracle online at oracleofdating.com.
When my next class ends, I hurry to my locker in time to see Jared open his. The card flutters to the ground. He picks it up, makes a face and shows it to Andrew Becker.
Oh, no! He’s asking Andrew if he got one, too!
Andrew shakes his head.
Jared tosses the business card on the floor.
Damn it!
So much for that idea. How am I supposed to help Jared now?
I grab my history book and close my locker.
It’s a lesson everyone in the caring professions has to learn at some point. You can’t force people to accept your help. They have to want it.
four
THE THIRD WEEK OF SEPTEMBER is when classes choose their Student Council reps. Believe it or not, I’m class rep for 11B.
How did I manage that? Amy nominated me and I didn’t say no. And then one of the popular girls—Brooke Crossley’s number one follower, Kirsten Cook—gets nominated. After that, no one else wants to run. So we leave the classroom while everybody votes. No secret ballot, just a show of hands in front of the teacher. Kirsten doesn’t talk to me in the hallway but uses her cell phone to book a bikini wax. I wonder who she’s dating and what she’s doing to need a bikini wax.
We go back in. Mr. Findley says that I won. I say, “Really?”
And then Kirsten puts a hand on her hip and goes, “Are you sure?”
And I say, “Yeah, are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
After class, Amy explains what happened. It was unbelievable! Sean Fortier said to Alfred Weams that the nerd crew better vote for Kirsten. And Alfred was like, “Are you kidding me? Kirsten doesn’t even say hi to us. Kayla is way cool.” Apparently it came down to the nerds versus the popular crowd, a power struggle as old as time. And the nerds’ will prevailed because they outnumbered the popular crowd.
Which leads me to today’s meeting. I’m sitting beside Ellen Huang, who has a romance novel perched behind her lunch bag so Prez Kevin Markinson doesn’t see.
I’m not listening, either. I’m trying to read the book over her shoulder. It must be good, because Ellen hasn’t looked up in the past ten minutes.
“Tears welled up in her blue eyes. She could have wept with the need to touch his face, to smooth the angry scowl from his brow. Oh, to feel his lips against hers one more time. But it was impossible…”
“That’s some book,” I whisper.
Ellen grins. “I’ve got the whole series at home if you want to borrow it.”
“Series? Are they all four hundred pages?”
“Yeah, but you won’t want them to end, trust me.”
“Is there a lot of sex in them?”
“Hell, yeah. How do you think the author fills up four hundred pages? I’ll bring you the first book tomorrow. You’re going to get hooked.”
It’s about time I see what all the fuss is about. I’ve never read any romance novels, especially not this sexy historical stuff. There has to be something to them if they’re so popular.
“Girls.” Ms. Verdel, staff adviser to the Student Council, is giving us a look that says, shut up. I don’t understand why someone who hates young people is a teacher, much less Student Council adviser.
I tune in to Kevin Markinson. “…hoping a few of you will volunteer to fundraise for the Cancer Society. Last year we had bake sales at lunch and at parent-teacher conferences. We also had a penny harvest and the class that raised the most money won a pizza party. We need volunteers to organize these things.”
The room falls silent. No hands go up.
“C’mon, guys. This is for cancer research!” Kevin looks over at Brooke. “Please.”
“I don’t have time. I’m cheerleading, like, every day.”
“Chris?”
“I did it last year. Why don’t you ask Joe?”
“Sorry,” Joe says before Kevin can even ask him. “I’m on the football team.”
“What about her?” someone says. “She’s new. She hasn’t done anything yet.”
I know without looking up that her is me.
There is no way I can wiggle my way out of this one. I can’t exactly tell them the real reason I don’t have any spare time.
“I’ll organize something,” I say.
“Great.” Kevin looks relieved. “Maybe the bake sale?”
“I’ve got another idea.”
“Like what?”
“Speed dating.”
Everyone turns to look in my direction. I feel my face heat, as it always does when people stare at me. “It’s…it’s really popular these days. I’m sure we can get lots of people to pay ten bucks to be in it.”
Ms. Verdel is frowning. “Let’s see what the parents think of this.”
Kevin shrugs. “I’m sure they’ll sign permission forms. I think it’s a great idea.” He looks around. “Don’t you think?”
People are nodding.
“You’d better put this before the principal,” Ms. Verdel says.
“I will, no prob,” Kevin replies. “Cool, we’ve got speed dating, then. This girl here—what’s your name again? Kayla? Okay, Kayla’s going to organize it. Now, we need someone to do the bake sale…”
I phase out.
So my speed dating night is going to be bigger than I originally thought. Why not? My powers of organization will be put to the test.
“GUYS, I’M GOING TO NEED your help,” I tell my friends the next day in the caf. “It’s for the Cancer Society.”
“I baked cookies last year,” Sharese says. “I don’t mind doing it again.”
“I’m not talking about the bake sale, but I’ll still take you up on your offer to bake cookies. I’m going to organize a speed dating night.”
“I thought you were doing that for your sociology assignment,” Viv says.
“I am. This way it’ll be for charity, too. I figure we’ll try to have two games with ten guys and ten girls in each. We could charge ten bucks a person. If we fill all the spots we can rake in four hundred bucks.”
“Where are you going to have it?” Ryan asks.
“I was thinking we’d do it here at school, maybe in the library. We’d need to have a teacher there to chaperone—shouldn’t be hard to find one. We could have a session from seven to eight, and one from eight to nine.”
“If we do it in the library, they’d better let us decorate,” Ryan says. “That place doesn’t exactly say romance.”
“Does that mean you’re volunteering to do it?”
“Of course I am.”
“Yay! And we’ll need lots of refreshments. I was thinking we could sell drinks and snacks. Sharese?”
“I’ll make my s’more cookies. They’re gooey and delish. And I’ll make cupcakes and Oreo Rice Krispie squares, too.” Sharese is definitely the domestic one among us. Ryan runs a close second, but his line is fashion and decor.
“I’ll bring some Indian food,” Viv adds.
“Perfect.” I write all of this down. “The biggest job of all is recruiting. We need twenty guys and twenty girls to fill up the two games. We have to get their money in advance in case people back out at the last minute. Are you guys gonna play?”
Sharese and Viv nod.
Ryan shrugs. �
��Maybe I’ll sell the snacks and drinks.”
“Great, I could use your help. As for advertising, we can make posters and put them around the school. And I’ll write something for the morning announcements.”
“When are we doing this?” Sharese asks.
“I was thinking we could do it two weeks from Friday. Another thing—everyone will need to have a permission form signed by a parent.”
They groan.
“I know, I know. We just need to cover our asses in case somebody gets upset and tries to sue the school.”
“It’s so stupid,” Sharese says. “I’m old enough to drive but not to sit across from a guy for five minutes without mommy’s permission!”
“Pretty much. Actually, Ms. Verdel warned us not to recruit anyone younger than sixteen.”
“So we leave out half the school?” Ryan asks. “That’s B.S.”
“We just have to live with it. Amy’s agreed to help out, too. She says she’ll get Chad to bring some jocks on board. The girls will love that. We might even have to organize a few more games. Plus, I’m going to get Brooke and her friends there.”
“You think Brooke will go for something this cheesy?” Sharese asks.
Ryan gives an exaggerated nod. “She totally will. That girl loves to be loved. There’s nothing better for her ego than this.”
“She is on the rebound from Declan,” Viv points out. “This could be the perfect way for her to get out there again. Why don’t you go ask her, Kayla? You won’t find a better chance than this.”
“Good point.” I walk up to the table of cheerleaders and jocks, carefully measuring my steps so I don’t go splat on the soda-slick floor in front of them. I tap Brooke on the shoulder. She turns around with a smile. See? She’s really not as bitchy as everyone says.
“Can I talk to you for a second? Student Council stuff.”
“Okay.” She gets up, dusts the sandwich crumbs off her hands and steps back from the table.
“I know you’re super busy with cheerleading, but I need your help in getting the speed dating off the ground. All you need to do is say you’ll come and bring a few of your friends.”
The Oracle of Dating Page 4
