Paper or Plastic

by Vivi Barnes

  2

  On Monday morning, Mr. Hanson wasted no time getting me set up with a trainer. I’d barely finished signing the application when I was introduced to gray-haired, fragile-looking Bessie, who was probably about a hundred years old. She sure could move, though, and I found myself almost jogging to keep up as she showed me around the store.

  SmartMart was what Mr. Hanson proudly referred to as a superstore for one-stop shopping, where customers could buy milk, jeans, DVDs, and fishing lures all in a single trip. There weren’t very many shoppers in the aisles yet, so there was a peaceful, kind of pleasant vibe in the store, something I sincerely hoped would be more than just the calm before the storm. A couple times we stopped to help customers—a cute little boy who lost his mother and a woman who needed help finding a list of cold medicines.

  As Bessie talked to the woman, I noticed a tall, dark-haired guy organizing an endcap display of cans a couple aisles away. His long-sleeved shirt and tie screamed manager, though he didn’t seem to be much older than me. He was kind of cute, too, at least from this distance. His eyes lifted to meet mine, widening slightly as if he recognized me. Yeah, no. I totally would’ve remembered this guy.

  With his gaze still fixed on me, he absently placed the can in his hand on the display, but it crashed to the floor, taking out several others with it. He quickly scrambled to pick them up, looking completely flustered.

  I turned back to the customer, trying not to giggle. By the time I looked around again, he was gone.

  The rest of the employees greeted me as we passed their locations, their smiles warm and friendly. The old man who Bessie introduced as Jake pretended to be startled by me, straightening up and bowing deeply, making me laugh. Another woman gave me a hug as she welcomed me to the team. It wasn’t a bad morning at all.

  When a person is naive enough to believe things are starting to look up, that’s exactly when they begin falling down. And that very moment was when I learned about Code B.

  “Code B,” Bessie called into her radio as we hurried toward a guy on his hands and knees. Too late I realized that the B must stand for Barf. I jerked to a halt at the sight of the mess in front of the guy, but Bessie went over to see if he was okay. Another employee soon appeared, pushing a bucket and mop to the scene, while I was busy straightening the sunglasses on the nearest display. Okay, so maybe they were straight already. But Code B my ass—more like Code Screw This.

  I noticed the cute manager from earlier walking toward me—or toward the mess, more likely. He was tall and fair-skinned—my guess was that he didn’t spend time out in the Florida sun as much as I did. He was definitely hot in a “nice guy” kind of way, his wavy dark hair a striking contrast to his deep blue eyes. As he got closer, I noticed just a hint of a shadow around his jawline that kept him from looking too much like the boy next door, which might’ve helped to explain the fluttering in my stomach. I’d always found myself a lot more interested in the tall, dark, and dangerous type.

  There was something strangely familiar about him. Maybe I had seen him briefly during a shopping trip with my mother. I couldn’t remember. I turned back to the sunglasses, my arm knocking over some of the display.

  “Crap,” I muttered, bending over to pick them up. Manager Guy hurried over to pick up a pair that had flown under one of the jewelry racks. “Thanks, um…” I glanced at his nametag as he stood up to place the pair back on the display. “Grayson.” Of course he’d have a hot name, too.

  His eyebrows pinched slightly as he glanced down at the nametag. “Oh. Yeah, no problem,” he said, frowning. Maybe I should’ve sounded more enthusiastic or something. Or maybe he was still embarrassed about earlier.

  “I’m normally not this clumsy,” I said. Lame. “Well, I am, but I usually save it for huge displays of cans.”

  I grinned, and he laughed. “Yeah, that’s what I get for not paying attention. Anyway, I should probably thank you for giving me an excuse to avoid that mess a little longer.” He nodded toward Barf Guy, who was now moaning on the floor.

  “I’ll just make it a point to throw sunglasses around whenever there’s a Code B.”

  “I’ll keep an eye out for them,” he said, winking. Maybe he wasn’t my age after all. Guys I knew didn’t wink. I kind of liked it, though.

  Grayson’s radio buzzed with someone calling for backup at the disaster zone. “Guess I’d better go.”

  “Good luck,” I called as he walked away. He glanced once over his shoulder at me, rolling his eyes as the guy retched again.

  Bessie poked my shoulder from the other side, making me jump. Her knowing eyes were amused.

  “How can you stand that?” I asked, knowing that my cheeks were burning. “So gross!”

  She laughed. “Honey, I had two kids who used to get sick all the time, not to mention grandkids.” She glanced around at the guy who was still on the floor. “Probably drunk. I don’t know how people do that so early in the morning.”

  “I wish they’d be drunk outside,” I said, shivering. I drew the line at puke.

  I considered asking her about Grayson but couldn’t figure out how to do it in an offhand way. My dad had gotten fired from a job a long time ago because he was dating one of his employees—who later ended up being my mother. So I figured an employee/manager relationship wouldn’t exactly be encouraged here.

  Get a hold of yourself, Lex. You talked to the guy once—you’re not exactly swapping phone numbers.

  Bessie and I walked toward the front of the store, stopping at one of the displays to pick up a couple boxes of cereal off the floor and place them back on their shelf. “This gets messed up constantly because it’s the first thing people see when they come in and it’s what’s on sale. You’ll have to keep an eye on it whenever you pass by, and when you’re greeter, keeping it straight will be part of your responsibility.”

  I nodded, picking up a box of Ex-Lax from the floor and placing it back on the shelf with the others. Right next to the cereal. Guess that made as much sense as everything else. Noticing a quarter on the floor next to the display, I bent down to pick it up, but my fingers slipped as it stayed put. I slid a nail under and tried to gently pry it up. It didn’t budge.

  “Bessie, this quarter is stuck.”

  She looked down at me and started laughing. “Well, if that’s not an official welcome to the team, I don’t know what is.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Still chuckling, she explained how someone put it there as a joke. “But the interesting part is that we don’t know who it is. Some think it’s a customer, but others believe the prankster might be an employee.”

  I stood up and nudged the quarter with my shoe. “What do you think?”

  “I think the devil walks among us.” Her expression was grave as I stared at her. Then she laughed. “I’m kidding. I really have no idea.”

  “Such a weird thing to do.”

  She handed me a box of hair color that had fallen. “Honey, I wouldn’t think too hard on it. We have a prankster, that’s all. He or she pulls quite a few shenanigans around here—all harmless. But be sure to let me know if you figure it out.”

  “Hi, Bessie!” someone shouted right behind me.

  I whipped around to see—oh, no—the very girl I had filmed for that YouTube video, the greeter who had been talking to herself. But I wasn’t laughing now. As she yelled a cheery “Hi!” at me, her dark hair bobbing across her cheeks, I wanted to cry. I never thought I’d actually be working with her. I was suddenly glad I didn’t win that contest and that the video didn’t actually end up on YouTube.

  “Ruthie, this is Alexis, the newest member of our SmartMart family.”

  “Hi, Ruthie.”

  Ruthie clapped her hands and jumped up and down. “Alexis? My daddy drives a Lexus! My daddy drives a Lexus! Do you know I rode in my daddy’s Lexus? Do you have a Lexus? My daddy has a Lexus.”

  Her voice was piercing, and a headache that had just started pressing against my temples w
orsened, but I tried not to let it show. I just nodded and said, “Uh-huh.”

  “Where are you today, Ruthie?” Bessie asked.

  “Right here,” she said proudly. “Greeter. Here, I can fix that,” she said, ripping the box of hair color out of my hands and setting it on the shelf. Her rough hands became gentle as they moved other boxes to their proper spots, a big game of Tetris that she was clearly an expert at. The smile on Ruthie’s face was dreamy—she liked her job.

  “Have you ever used a POS?” Bessie asked when we ended the tour at an unoccupied register.

  “Um…a what?”

  “The POS is short for point of sale. We use a touch screen. We just upgraded from our old system last year, and some people are still having trouble with it. But I’m sure you’ll pick it up in no time.”

  While Bessie was explaining how to weigh fruits and vegetables, a customer walked up and put his basket of groceries on the conveyor. I glanced up at the unlit register light, but he failed to catch my subtle hint. He cleared his throat when Bessie didn’t stop and turn to him right away. It was probably only ten seconds, but his expression suggested he’d been waiting hours.

  “Hey, miss,” he snapped. He didn’t bother looking at me, only Bessie.

  Bessie looked over to him and smiled pleasantly. “I’m sorry, sir. This register is closed right now.”

  He dumped the contents of his basket onto the conveyor belt and crossed his arms. “I have ten items. This is a ten-item-only lane. It’s the only express lane that you people have. So are you going to check this stuff? I’m thinking of a word. Do you know what that word is?”

  The word that came to my mind was dick.

  “Yes, sir. I understand,” Bessie said without batting an eye. “I can try to call up additional cashiers, but I don’t have this register set up, so I can’t—”

  “You have two hands, right? So don’t tell me you can’t ring me up.”

  Bessie waved toward another cashier who was signing in. “Sir, this young man will be happy to assist you at the next register.”

  She attempted to help the man put the stuff back in his basket, but he raised his hand slightly as if he would slap hers away. He threw the items back in his basket and turned to the other register, grumbling the whole time about senile old ladies. A roll of Mentos rolled away from him, unnoticed. I was tempted to pick it up and chuck it at his fat head.

  Bessie shrugged. “Sometimes you get angry customers if they’ve had to wait too long. You just have to stay calm and smile, and that’s usually enough to relax them.”

  I didn’t know about that. The guy didn’t look relaxed to me—like an asshole, yes, but relaxed, no. “You were just trying to help him. And this lane wasn’t open. The stupid light is off.”

  “I know, honey. But never, ever lose your temper with a customer. Trust me, you won’t win. Not only that, you’d probably end up without a job. Mr. Hanson has a zero-tolerance policy for disrespecting our customers.”

  A zero-tolerance policy? I had a zero-tolerance policy for someone treating Bessie like crap. The thought of someone like that coming through my lane formed a pit of anger in my stomach.

  “It’s about time for your break now,” Bessie said brightly, as if she wasn’t even affected by the jerkwad. “Fifteen minutes, and the break room is just inside that door to the left, past the time clock.”

  I nodded and headed into the employee hallway, turning straight into the women’s bathroom. I put the faucet on full blast and splashed the cool water on my face, as if it could help erase the angry man’s face or, at the very least, the image of puke all over the floor. One thing was for sure—no way was I ever going to have a career in retail, or in any job where I had to deal with crap like that. Ever.

  I pulled my ponytail out, letting the hair fly around my face, and glared at my reflection. Awesome. Getting closer to looking like one of the People of SmartMart.

  My mother expected me to fail, I knew it. The way she looked when she dropped me off this morning, that sigh that said she knew I wouldn’t last the week, if even the day. That I wouldn’t be anywhere near my perfect seven-year-old sister’s standards—not that Rory would ever be forced to work here, even if she stole a freaking car.

  Screw it. I swept my hair back into its ponytail. I was going to make this work. It was just two months of stupid. I could last two months. I’d play this grocery game of Tetris better than Ruthie. I’d even spew rainbows and sparkles if it would lift me above my mother’s low expectations. I’d smile so hard it’d hurt.

  I stopped at my locker on the way back out, checking my email and responding to Syd’s and Court’s texts asking how my day was going. Meh except for uber-hot manager. My grandma had texted me a similar question, so I copied and pasted the same response for her. I knew she’d get a kick out of that.

  “Did you have a nice break?” Bessie asked as I walked toward her at register five. My heart flipped as the guy she was talking to turned to look at me—it was Grayson, the bright spot in this hell called SmartMart.

  “Sure,” I said cheerily. “Everything’s great. Hi, Grayson!” I grinned at him, but his slight return smile was hesitant as he looked from me to Bessie and back again.

  “Alexis, this is Noah,” Bessie said. “I believe you two have already chatted. He’s a supervisor in training. You could say he’s our boss the next few weeks until he heads back to school. In fact, he says you go to school together.” Her expression was expectant as she looked from me to him and back again.

  “Noah…?” My smile slowly slipped from my face as the pieces came together. Noah from school. Grayson wasn’t his first name—it was his last.

  Oh no…no, no, NO!

  3

  Noah Grayson was a grade higher than me and known by pretty much everyone at school for ratting out my friend Bryce for vandalizing the rival school two years ago. I had already gone home from that baseball game, but from what I heard, Bryce and a couple of his friends had sneaked around the rival school, spray-painting “Ospreys Rule” over their Manatee mascot. Noah caught Bryce in the act and told the principal. Bryce got suspended from school for three days, kicked off the baseball team, and even got suspended from his tournament team for the rest of the season.

  Everyone had been outraged. And without Bryce pitching, both the school’s and the tournament’s baseball teams lost their games, not even making it past the first round of the playoffs. Not only that, the school he vandalized had the most horrible, loud-mouthed players of any school, and they delighted in rubbing our losses in our faces whenever they could. Still did, actually.

  Bryce took a lot of shit for it from everyone. And when they discovered who’d ratted him out, pretty much the entire school ostracized Noah. Bryce despised him with a passion.

  The only thing I really knew about Noah now was that he was a loner, always sitting by himself with hair hanging in his face, eyes to the ground. He definitely didn’t look like this.

  Now he was my manager.

  Noah nodded, his blue eyes tightening at the edges slightly as he took in my change in expression. “It’s okay, Bessie. I think she remembers me.”

  I tried to smile again, but I’m sure he could tell that it wasn’t genuine. “Yes, I do.” My voice sounded weak.

  “Wonderful!” the oblivious Bessie said, clapping her hands together. “You two should have a lot in common.”

  She excused herself and walked away. Noah’s eyes followed her all the way to the door. I shifted from one leg to the other, waiting for him to say or do something. The air between us had definitely chilled, and I was pretty sure it wasn’t just on my end.

  “So…Noah Grayson.” Brilliant, but what else was I supposed to say? I despised this guy on behalf of my best friend—was I supposed to fake being nice now?

  “Yep,” he said, stretching out the word so it sounded more like “ye-up.” His eyes hardened as they met mine again, like he was challenging me to spill about exactly how I remembered him, and it cert
ainly wasn’t as this tall, good-looking guy. But hot or not, I couldn’t like him. No way.

  I pointed at his shirt and said, “Why just the last name?”

  He shrugged. “Why not?”

  I gritted my teeth. And to think only minutes ago I was stoked to be working with him. “Worked here long?” I asked, keeping my voice light.

  “About a year. Started when I was your age.”

  My age? Oh, this was going so well. “So they made you a manager, huh?”

  “No, I’m not a manager. I mean, kind of. I’m on a supervisorial training program. It’s what they offer to high school and college kids who have promise.”

  “Ah, okay. Well, good for you.” I hadn’t meant to say it condescendingly—well, maybe just a little—but his furrowed brow made it pretty clear that he took it that way. His eyes cut over to the doorway again as Bessie walked toward us.

  “Okay, well, I’ll leave you guys alone,” he said in obvious relief as he backed away. “I’m sure I’ll see you later.” He nodded at Bessie but didn’t even glance at me.

  “Well?” Bessie asked as she signed into the register.

  “Well what?”

  She winked at me. Ugh, Noah Grayson—was she kidding me? But I didn’t say anything. Instead, I mentally ticked off the highlights from my first day.

  A drunk guy puked all over the floor.

  The first customer was an asshole.

  The girl I had submitted a video of for YouTube was now my coworker.

  My boss was a (unfortunately hot) loner kid from my high school who clearly remembered that we were not friends.

  Fantastic day. And by fantastic, I meant kill me now.

  The only thing that could save today from being a complete disaster was a visit from my friends right at lunch break.

  “Lexie!” The squealing came from Syd as she and Court ran up to tackle-hug me at the cash register where I was shadowing Bessie. Bryce was behind them, grinning.

  “Aw, you guys,” I said. I glanced at Bessie, who winked and waved us away with a smile, though it wasn’t yet my break time. I looped my arm through Syd’s and walked with them toward the deli. “Today was really sucktastic till you showed up.”