One Smart Cookie

by Kym Brunner

  She shakes her head. “Not true. Employees need to do whatever needs doing.”

  “Including humiliating me?” I stride past her, heading straight for the employee bathroom in the break room. I slam the door behind me.

  Standing at the sink, I look in the mirror and see black watery eyeliner trails under my eyes. I unroll a bit of toilet paper and wipe off the smudges, my hand trembling slightly. I take several deep breaths, wishing I didn’t cry when I got mad. I wash my hands and then hold them under the hot air dryer for two complete rounds of drying to calm myself. Finally, I decide I’m ready to walk out of here without embarrassing myself further.

  When I open the door, Darcy’s standing there with my timecard in her hand. “Figures you didn’t punch out first. That tirade was long enough to count as a break.” She hands me my timecard, but when I grab it, she doesn’t let go. “You’re right about me wanting to be the queen of the rat pile. I’m grateful that I have a job, and I do whatever I can to prove it to my bosses. They were going to ax this department, but because I worked my tail off, my department now has the third-highest sales in the store after canines and felines.”

  Snorting, I pull the card out of her hand. “Goodie for you.” I slip by her and walk to the time clock. She follows.

  “Damn straight it’s good. I didn’t know jack about rodents, but I looked in catalogs and on the Internet and ordered really cool, unusual rodents. I vowed that all the staff in my department would be knowledgeable and friendly so that more customers would buy more merchandise. And you know what? I did it.”

  “You want a freaking medal or something?” I push the card into the slot, receive the satisfying bam!, and then slip the timecard back into the metal holder on the wall.

  That’s when Nick walks in. “Hey! What are you guys doing back here?”

  “Not now, Nick.” Darcy glances at him briefly before turning her attention back on me. “Just so you know, Sophie, I am glad you’re quitting. You have the absolutely worst work ethic I’ve ever seen. You’ve saved me the trouble of firing you.”

  Talk about embarrassing! I can’t believe she’s saying this crap in front of Nick. “Ha! And just so you know, Darcy, if you weren’t such a bitch, I would have worked harder.”

  Nick heads toward us. “You’re firing her?”

  Darcy narrows her eyes. “Stay out of it, Nick. Punch in and get to work.”

  Nick opens his mouth to reply, but instead, shakes his head. He stands in front of the timecards, either scanning the cards for his own or delaying. I wish he’d hurry and leave. Whatever favorable impression I made on him has now been kicked and stomped on.

  As I retrieve my purse from my teeny corroded locker, Darcy says, “And you think I’m a bitch? Ha! I’ve got a news flash for you, sweetheart. You actually have to work when you’re an employee, not just walk around and complain. If you don’t change your attitude, you’re going to lose every job you’re lucky enough to get. And if your family is anything like mine, you’ll end up working full-time right out of high school because your parents can’t afford college. So, have a nice life, princess.” With that, she heads back onto the sales floor.

  “I will!” I yell, but she’s already gone. When I try to think of something clever to say to Nick to ease my embarrassment, I’m so mad I’m afraid I might cry. Again. But even more mortifying is the thought that everything she said about me was true.

  Nick punches in and heads directly toward me. “Why did Darcy fire you?”

  His worried expression makes me want to console him instead of the other way around. “She didn’t fire me; I quit. Couldn’t handle Rat World.”

  “Figures. Wardley finally hires a gorgeous girl, and she quits on the first day.”

  I’m sure he didn’t mean to sound like any cute girl could come in and replace me. “Yeah. So much for getting a summer job.”

  He moves closer, sliding his warm hands up my forearms. “And I was looking forward to going on break with you today and everything.”

  That makes up for his last comment. I manufacture a smile, despite my mood. “I can meet you on break. I just won’t be a fellow employee.”

  “Fellows aren’t my kind of employees anyway.” He grins. “I’ll call you when I’m on break. Probably around two, okay?”

  “Sure. Sounds good.”

  He takes a quick look behind him before leaning in close. “Two o’clock is a long time to wait for a kiss, though.” He backs me up against the wall and gives me a full, open-mouth kiss, casually swiping his thumbs across my breasts at the same time.

  Whoa. I finish the kiss and push his hands down, not expecting that maneuver right here in the back room where anyone could walk in. “Guess I should go now.” I smile, hoping I don’t seem too prudish. With things heating up so quickly between us, I make a mental note to compare notes with Teegan since she still has her V card too. How soon is too soon? Do I even want to? These are all questions I can’t answer now.

  As I head for the door, I turn one last time and say, “Good luck today! Hope you don’t get bitten by the Rat Queen.”

  “Don’t worry about me.” He rubs hands together. “I’m a snake. I eat rats for breakfast.”

  Somehow his declaration doesn’t put me at ease.

  Chapter 12

  AS SOON AS I’M OUT ON THE PAVEMENT, I realize I cannot go home three hours before I’m expected. At least not without a valid reason. And there’s no way I’m admitting I quit because I wouldn’t be able to stomach a helping of my mother’s smug buffet along with Eliza’s condescending laughter. I need a plan that’ll save my reputation.

  Walking out of Pet World, I’m already dialing Teegan as I practically sprint in the opposite direction of the bakery. Thank God she answers. It takes me fifteen minutes to tell her about my shitty ex-job, our shitty new bakery worker, and to inform her about my non-existent, shitty college fund, since I had forgotten to tell her about that earlier. Teegan listens intently, intermittently asking questions the whole time.

  When I finish, she whistles. “That totally blows, Soph. Why should you clean rat crap all day? That could give you a disease or something. You know what I’d do if I were you?”

  “What?” I listen closely because Teegan always gives good advice.

  “Tell your mom that you made a mistake. Say that if she fires the new chick, you’ll bust your butt working for her if she’ll pay you whatever she’s paying the new chick.”

  Like the screeching of an angry toddler, her words hurt my ears. “No way! My mother watches me like a hawk, complains non-stop, and works me like a mule.” Even though I would have to admit—and only under extreme torturous conditions—that compared to Khatera and Darcy, my mother is merely annoying instead of completely satanic. Of course, I can’t tell my mother that or her head would swell to the size of a Fat Tuesday paczki.

  Teegan sighs. “Okay, bad idea. What about working for that new place down the block?”

  I laugh. “For the competition? My mom and my grandma would cut me up and bake me into cookies if they found out.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe they’d realize that lots of people want to hire you and that you weren’t such a horrible worker after all. Or maybe you could—” She laughs. “Never mind.”

  “What? Maybe I could what?” It annoys me when people don’t finish their sentences.

  “It’s just a thought, but maybe you could sort of blackmail your mom. Like, tell her you decided to work for the new place, but you’d be willing to apply elsewhere if she promised to start up a savings account for college.”

  The rusty wheels of my brain churn, making me smile. “That just might work.”

  After we hang up, I walk around the building to the alley entrance and sneak into our apartment. If Mom sees me, I’ll plead illness and run upstairs. Luckily, the only one in the back room is Busia. She looks up, confused. “Why you home?”

  “Bad headache.” I frown and hold my head to emphasize how painful it is.

&nb
sp; I feel guilty when I see the deep lines of concern cross Busia’s forehead. She taps her chest. “Come to my room. Busia fix you.”

  Fix me? Knowing Busia, that could mean putting garlic bulbs in my nostrils and listening to her sing “Ave Maria” in Polish. “No, it’s okay, Busia. I’ll just take some aspirin.”

  “Nie! Aspirin no good!” She bustles toward me and gently pushes me toward the stairs. Not surprisingly, I make it to our upstairs kitchen just seconds before she does. She arrives only slightly out of breath and hurries past me. “Come.”

  I head into her bedroom, and she shuts the door behind us. Her room is hotel-neat—dust-free Holy Family figurines on her dresser, pristine homemade bedspread embroidered with state flowers, and her old blue bath rug arranged perfectly parallel to her bed. On her nightstand is a wooden lamp with a picture of the Sacred Heart of Jesus taped to it, her maroon leather Bible with gold-edged pages, and a plastic bottle with a black cross on the front filled with clear liquid. Holy water is my guess.

  The bed creaks as she sits. She taps the spot next to her. “Wchodzić tutaj. Come here.”

  I sit next to her, and she touches my forehead. “No fever,” she says. “Must be Dola making you sick. She can make you have good life or bad. Dola can be a mouse, cat, or bird. Has lot of power.” Busia makes fists to show me how powerful Dola is. “But she also get very mad when you not do what she say.” She frowns, tapping my leg. “I thinking Dola sent Likho, a bad evil spirit, to make trouble for you until you fix problem.” She looks at me, the scotch tape holding down her bottom lid reflecting the lamp’s light. “You thinking so too?”

  I shrug. “My luck isn’t too bad. I did meet two really nice guys.” I bite the edge of my lip, thinking that “nice” probably isn’t the right word to describe Nick. More like slick. “Although, I’m not doing so great in the job department. I hate working at the pet store. It’s so gross.” I get an idea of how I might get Teegan’s plan started. “It’s so bad, I might quit.”

  Busia nods in agreement. “That how Dola show she mad. Make you work with rat? Not good. Two boys? Not good. Now head hurt?” She shakes her head. “All bad signs. Maybe we do something else to make Likho go away. You do want good job, tak?”

  “Yes, Busia, I do want a good job, but I don’t want to make the boys go away. I like them both. They’re not bad luck at all. Besides, I thought you said we needed Mom to do the ritual with me if we wanted to get rid of the curse.”

  She lights the candle, nodding. “Yes, I wishing Matka be here. But she no like Dola, so maybe Dola no like her. But you and me—we try anyway.” She taps my knee. “I will pray that bad luck go away for you and Matka. But we’ll see…maybe it only go away for you?”

  I nod, thinking it makes sense. Why should Dola reward Mom with good luck when she refuses to believe in her? “What do I have to do?” I squirm slightly in my seat. I’m sorta-kinda starting to believe in Dola—but only if she’ll help me out of this jam I’m in.

  “Jedena minuta. One minoot.” She lights the candle and mutters something in Polish for several seconds, her eyes closed. Then she flips her Bible to the back pages and searches through all of her grandmother’s secret incantations, looking for the right one. “Okay. This one will do the trick.” She pulls open the drawer and paws through an assortment of prayer cards, rosaries, and used tissues until she pulls out a shiny penny, a crinkled red cloth, and a baggie with what looks like someone’s hair inside.

  “Here.” She sets the objects onto my lap, one by one.

  I pick up the baggie and hold it at arm’s length, grimacing. “Whose hair is this?”

  “Yours. From first time you get it cut when baby.” She strokes my hair. “Piękna dziewczyna. Beauty girl,” she coos, gazing at me with such tenderness that I feel unworthy.

  “Thanks, Busia.” There’s a date written in Busia’s fancy European-style handwriting in black pen on a piece of masking tape. Although I’m a bit unsettled that she keeps my hair clippings like some sort of serial killer, I’m also touched. “What do all these things mean?”

  “Money is for good job, baby hair so you have baby someday, and red always mean good luck for love. But two boys not good, so Dola will help you to pick the right one.” She nods, completely satisfied that these are exactly the correct objects to solve all my problems.

  How I wish this ritual thing actually worked. But I’m not about to burst an old woman’s bubble and tell her that I’m not so sure that any of this is helping. “Great—except I don’t want any babies for a long time, just to be clear.”

  “Why you say that? Of course no babies now. Not until you are married.” She looks at me and shrugs, as if she wonders how on earth anyone could possibly get pregnant without being married.

  I decide to skip the sex-before-marriage discussion for now, especially since I can’t claim to have any intimate knowledge of the topic anyway. Oh God. Busia was married to Dziadzia for forty-seven years. She knows way more about sex than I do. How pathetic is that?

  “Okay, Boosh. What do I need to do?”

  “Hold all these tings close to heart and turn around in circle.” She makes a motion with her hand for me to spin.

  I stand up and twirl around, holding the objects as directed. I laugh, feeling silly as hell. “Like that?”

  “Tak. But no laughing!” She holds a finger to her lips, her forehead scrunched in irritation. “And keep going!” Busia spins her hand in a circle, so I start spinning too. On one of my spins, I see her pour holy water into her open palm. She dips her fingertips into it and flicks water droplets at me. I wonder if a pumpkin coach and a prince will suddenly appear.

  I can’t stop myself from giggling as I nearly stumble. “Woo-ey. I’m getting dizzy.”

  “Shh! Not talking.” Busia chants, “Please help Sophie and Matka be friend. Help her pick right boy. Give Sophie good luck and lot of money at dog store.”

  A little late for that. If she knew I had gone through three jobs in two days, she’d be baptizing me in this stuff. Although, meeting Nick at the pet store would qualify as good luck.

  Busia continues, “We also asking for—”

  My mom’s loud voice interrupts our ceremony. “Ma! Why are you up here?”

  I stop mid-spin, holding my hands out to steady myself. I pitch to the left, almost falling.

  “Sophie not feeling good, so I come upstairs with her.” She rushes over and ushers me to the bed. I gratefully accept her strong grip.

  Mom pushes the door open wider and stares at us, coffee cup in hand. “What’s wrong with Sophie?” Her face has concern written all over it as she hurries in to better assess my condition. “Wait. Is that your baby haircut?” She glances at the Bible, the candle, and the odd collection of talismans in my hand. “What were you two doing in here?”

  I wipe the flecks of holy water off my cheek, swallowing hard. “Nothing.” Unless Busia’s been teaching me the polka, I think it’s pretty evident what we were doing.

  She spins to face Busia. “Ma!” she snaps, eyes squinted together tightly. She launches into a long diatribe in Polish, complete with arm motions. My name is mentioned several times, along with Dziadzia’s and Dola’s, and a whole lot of Polish swear words. Busia argues back, minus the swear words, of course. Her voice quivers a bit, like she might cry. I feel so bad for her that I might cry.

  “Mom! Stop!” I plead, standing up between them. “Busia was trying to help me!”

  “You! Stay out of it!” my mother crows. “This is between me and Busia.”

  “But it’s not her fault! I said I wanted to do it!” I throw my hands in the air.

  “Get out!” Mom points to the door. “Now!”

  I turn and skulk out of the room. When Mom gets this mad, it’s best to stay out of her way. I tromp down the hall to my bedroom to hide out until this whole shouting match is over. If Dola doesn’t like arguing amongst family members, I wonder what kind of bad luck she’s going to dole, or should I say Dola, out now that
we have a three-generation war going between mothers and daughters.

  Tossing back my Hello Kitty comforter to the foot of my bed, I lie down, sliding only the sheet over me. I close my eyes and mull things over a bit. Maybe I should never have accepted Busia’s original offer to bargain with a Polish spirit for a boyfriend to begin with.

  When it comes right down to it, Dola hasn’t done squat for me. Giovanni was there that day doing landscaping before Busia did her ritual, which means I would have met him anyway. And I met Nick at work, which means I would have met him, too. So, if I’m realistic about it, nothing especially good has happened because of Dola.

  Nothing really bad either. Meeting the guys was worth losing those crappy jobs.

  A thought occurs to me then—could Dola have been responsible for me knocking over Giovanni’s wheelbarrow, or was it fate? Or God? Or just my klutziness? If I hadn’t made the deal, would Nick have just turned away and kept loading dog bowls instead of chatting with me? I sigh, wishing there was a rulebook about this kind of stuff. Obviously I can’t ask my mother.

  A minute later, my door opens. I keep my eyes closed, hoping that if it’s Mom, she will think I’m sleeping and go away.

  Someone taps my hip. Mom commands, “Move over, Sophie.”

  I mumble, as if I’m in a deep trance. “I’m sleeping.” I don’t want to get into a discussion with her, especially not when she’s in a super pissy mood.

  “No. Wake up. We are talking about this right now.” She pushes my hip more forcefully this time, making me rock back and forth. I groan and move a few inches, still keeping my eyes closed, hoping this will cause her to deliver a mini-lecture instead of the full-length HD version.

  She sits, half her butt on my leg. “Ow!” I shriek, even though it didn’t really hurt. I slide my leg over, and she launches herself farther onto the bed.

  “Don’t be a baby. And open your eyes.” She waits a few seconds. “I’m waiting!”

  She sounds angry, so I comply with her request. “Okay, okay. They’re open.”

  She hisses, “Why did you go to Busia’s room? It’s all a bunch of hogs washing. We talked about this last time when you did a ritual with her. You want money? You go to work. You want a boyfriend? Go meet a boy. Simple as that. You don’t need her silly deals.”