Paper or Plastic

by Vivi Barnes

  The clerk handed me a steaming cup of chai and rang it up. I reached for my purse and then realized I’d left it at the shop with my mother. Crap.

  I quietly told the clerk to cancel the order, but Noah caught on. “Hold on, wait a minute, I’ve got it,” he said, handing over a couple bills.

  “It’s okay, you don’t have to—” I started, but he laughed.

  “For God’s sake, Lex, it’s a dollar fifty. I think I can handle that.” Noah sighed at my hesitation. “Look, if it bothers you that much, buy me one next time.”

  Next time? I thought about that. Next time suggested he was interested in hanging out with me again. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea. As he ordered his coffee, I looked around the café and chose a small table with two chairs. It was weird at first to be sitting there, sipping tea and chatting with Noah. With his plain navy T-shirt and jeans, hair mussed a bit, he looked so different than when we were at SmartMart. Much more relaxed. Of course, he wasn’t in a tie and playing the part of a manager. I decided to consider, for the moment at least, that we were just friends hanging out in a coffee shop.

  “What are you smiling about?” he asked.

  I frowned. “Sorry, I didn’t realize I was smiling.”

  His eyebrows arched, and we both laughed. “So does your sister do a lot of pageants?” he asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Is she going to the big one in Tallahassee in a couple weeks? The Coastal Princess Pageant,” he clarified when I didn’t answer.

  “Oh, yeah. I think that’s what it’s called.” I tried not to smile at the fact that he knew the actual name of the pageant. “Your sister is, too?”

  He nodded. “In the three-year-old category. My mom took her to the first one just last year, and Belle loved it.”

  “Your mom—is she European?”

  “French Canadian.”

  “Canada to Florida? How did she end up here?”

  “She and my dad moved here when I was born. It hasn’t exactly been paradise for her.” He stared off into the distance for a moment, frowning.

  I decided to change the subject. “So why are you so in love with SmartMart?” I asked.

  “I never said I was in love with it.” He took a sip of his coffee. “I like working there because I have a better chance at getting experience that most places don’t offer to people our age.”

  “Yeah, but why do you care? I mean, are you planning to stay at SmartMart forever? Or do you want to be a grocery store manager when you graduate?”

  His eyebrows pinched as if he thought I was making fun of him, but I wasn’t. I really wanted to know.

  “No,” he said finally. “I’m working to get money for college. But I was serious about the experience. It’s good that Mr. Hanson’s letting me learn management—it might come in handy someday. At the very least, it’ll look good on a résumé.”

  I stirred my tea. “What do you want to do? I mean, when you go to college?”

  He smiled, a nice, faraway kind of smile. “Architecture. I love drawing, outlining plans for buildings. Sketching.” He was silent for a moment, his gaze drifting to the small black and white pictures of various landmarks on the wall. “There’s something to be said for structural lines, the way they converge. Beautiful.”

  His eyes were soft as they moved over the images. For the first time, I saw him as someone more than the shy SmartMart manager who tolerated me, more than the reclusive kid at school whose gaze never lifted above the ground or the guy who’d snitched on Bryce. Noah seemed so much older than his age. As he talked about his passion for architecture, something deep inside me stirred—a complicated, twisting knot that I had a feeling was going to unfurl painfully, frustratingly slowly.

  The clanking of dishes behind the counter broke the spell, startling us both. “So what do you want to do?” he asked, raising his cup to his lips for another sip.

  I hesitated. The truth sounded ridiculous, and I knew it. I wanted to play softball in college, plus I’d wanted to be in the Olympics since I was five years old. There was an Olympic girls’ softball event that was disbanded, but the rumor was that it was soon coming back to the games. I wanted to be a part of that more than I wanted anything else. But the one time I was stupid enough to mention it to my mother, I got shot down. Big time.

  Even my dad—the very man who introduced me to the delights of hockey, baseball, football, jai alai, and signed me up for my very first girls’ softball league—was confused by it, though he tried to be supportive. He attempted to talk me into actually playing one of the other Olympic sports, since softball couldn’t be guaranteed to make a comeback. Bryce was the only one who didn’t tease me or look at me like I had a horn growing out of my head. He even scheduled extra practices with me after school to work on my pitch. Court would sometimes grumble that he spent more time with me than with her, but she knew Bryce was like a brother to me.

  Maybe it was a dumb dream. Either way, I had no urge to tell anyone else, including Noah. As long as the idea stayed in my head, nobody could judge me for it.

  “I don’t know,” I said, deciding to play it confused. “Right now, I just want to make it through the next two years of high school and then move out of the house.” That part was true. All I could think of was getting out from under my mother’s thumb.

  He sighed. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

  “Your mom seems so cool, though.”

  “It’s not my mom.” He frowned, his eyes on his cup. Okay, now I knew for sure something was up with his dad. I wanted to know, but no way was I going to ask. He looked up at me, his blue eyes startlingly intense. “Can we change the subject?”

  “Sure.”

  I couldn’t think of anything else to say. We sipped on our cups, our eyes moving around the little café—the barista, the tables, the samples of coffee—looking at everything but each other.

  “So you have no idea what you’re going to major in?” he asked finally. I had a feeling it was an attempt to continue a safe conversation rather than really trying to pressure me to come up with something.

  “Maybe foreign languages.” It wasn’t true, but it was the only subject that came to my mind.

  “Which language?”

  “French.” It was the first thing I thought of, which was strange, considering I’d taken a year of Spanish in school already. But I’d always wanted to learn French, too.

  “My mom can help you if you need,” he offered. “The dialect might be a little different than the French they teach in school, though.”

  “Thanks.”

  We stood up to head back to the shop, not saying much. It was a comfortable silence, though—not the kind where you don’t know what to say because there’s nothing to talk about. I noticed that his hand tapped against his leg as he walked, almost like he was keeping time with a tune in his head. I wondered what kind of music Noah Grayson listened to. He didn’t strike me as a Top 40 kind of guy, more an alternative rock fan like me.

  The walk back seemed a lot faster than the time it had taken to get to the café. When we walked in, my mother was paying Ms. Frick. Noah called out to his mother, and she answered in French from the back of the shop. I suppressed the urge to ask Noah to speak in French, because then he’d probably try to have a conversation with me and find out just how non-fluent I was.

  “Where have you been?” my mother asked. “We’re ready to go and you don’t even answer your phone.”

  “I left my purse here, and my cell’s inside,” I said, picking my purse up off the credenza.

  “Here, help me with these.” Mom thrust one of the bags at me and paraded out of the shop, Rory on her heels.

  Noah and I stared at each other. “So I guess I’ll see you at work on Monday,” he said.

  “Okay. I’ll pay you back then, too.”

  “You never give up, do you?” he asked, his voice exasperated.

  I grinned as I backed away. “Nope. But would you really want me to?” I waved to Belle an
d her tired-looking mother and skipped out the door. When I glanced over my shoulder, I could see Noah still watching me through the glass. Why had I said that? I’m sure my voice had sounded flirty.

  My heart fluttered as I recalled his dreamy expression in the café. Of course I’d be excited about him actually having career goals. So many of my friends didn’t see past Friday night baseball games and Saturdays at the beach. It was good to have a friend who looked forward to college. That was all.

  Friend zone—that’s where you need to stay, Noah. For my sanity and yours.

  9

  Week three of SmartMart—the dreadful days of training were over, and I was officially a SmartMart employee.

  Many of the employees gathered in the break room to congratulate me on my “graduation.” I even received a Bessie-original certificate to celebrate it, complete with what she called “pixie dust” that was really a bunch of colorful glitter she tossed over the certificate. You would’ve thought actual fairies had stopped by to shower me in magic dust by the way Ruthie jumped up and down. Her enthusiasm was contagious, making me and everyone else laugh along with her. Bessie tossed some glitter at Ruthie, to her delight.

  “Congratulations on making it through,” Noah said as everyone dispersed back into the store.

  “What, the Ninth Circle of Hell? I’m kidding,” I said quickly when he frowned.

  His face relaxed into a smile. “I know.”

  I picked up the little jar of glitter and shook it at him as he laughed, getting a rainbow of sparkles all over his red tie. He took the tie and shook it over my head. “Here, you need it more. I think Bessie missed a spot.”

  “Very funny.” I shook my hair out and glitter sailed to the floor. “By the way, I have your dollar-fifty in my purse.”

  “My dollar-fifty?”

  “Yeah, for the tea.”

  He threw his head back and groaned. “You’re obsessed with that, aren’t you? Keep it. You can just buy me a coffee sometime,” he said. “Remember?”

  This was the second time he’d suggested I buy him a coffee next time. Which would kind of be a just-hanging-out-as-friends kind of date. Which might be cool, actually. “Okay,” I said.

  “Good.” He smiled and brushed glitter from my shoulder. “I’d better get back out there. See you later?”

  “I’ll be here.”

  The rest of the day was uneventful, but boring was better than chaos as far as I was concerned. I had to do the Dreadful Greeter Position by myself, which meant I didn’t even have Ruthie’s play-by-play to entertain me. I certainly got an eyeful of butt cracks, though. By the time the fourth beltless guy bent over to tie his shoe or try to pick up that stupid quarter, I seriously considered filing harassment charges. I was almost grateful for the never-ending chaos of a display that kept getting knocked around by shoppers.

  With an hour left in my day and very few customers coming through the door thanks to the downpour outside, I started to get delirious and built pyramids of green bean cans on the display shelf. At one point, Jake stopped to watch me. I set the can in my hand down, but the old man chuckled, reaching over to grab several nearby boxes of macaroni and cheese. He nodded for me to pick up the can I’d set down.

  “Come on,” he said gruffly, turning to walk toward the produce aisle. I followed, glancing behind me, but no one was around. “Days like this I’d rather be bowling,” he said, stopping to build a pyramid out of the boxes on the floor.

  “Excuse me?” The guy had obviously lost his mind.

  “Bowling. Ever done that?”

  “At a bowling alley, yes.”

  “Well, this is even better.” He reached the third tier of boxes and stopped. “Go for it,” he told me.

  I stared at the pyramid, knowing I probably should just turn around and head back to my position and let the crazy old man play his game, but at the same time…

  I backed up, hefted the can in my hand, and rolled it toward the “pins.” Jake and I both laughed as boxes flew everywhere.

  “Your turn to set up,” he said.

  I couldn’t help myself. I crouched down to pick up the boxes and built a macaroni box pyramid—proud that I made four tiers instead of Jake’s three.

  “Okay, your turn,” I said, facing Jake, but Noah was standing in his place, frowning, his arms crossed. Jake was nowhere to be seen—probably ran as soon as he caught sight of the manager.

  “What are you doing?” Noah asked.

  “Oh, um, I was just—”

  “You can’t stack boxes of food like that. What are you thinking?”

  Crap. “I’m sorry. I’ll pick it up.” My face burning, I turned back to the pyramid of boxes. It sucked being called out by Noah like that. I’d hoped he’d have a better sense of humor. Or at least not make me feel like such a slacker.

  A can rolled past me, knocking into the pyramid and scattering boxes everywhere.

  I whipped around to see him smirking. “Told you,” he said. “You didn’t build it with enough support at the bottom. Way too easy.”

  I picked up the can of green beans and hefted it in my hand, walking toward him slowly. His eyes widened as if he thought I was going to throw it at him, though the shit-eating grin still lingered on his face. “Your turn to set it up,” I said when I reached him. “Let’s see if an architect can build a better pyramid.”

  A few rounds of macaroni bowling later and I was convinced this was the best greeter shift ever. It wasn’t until I was clocking out that I finally caught sight of Jake, who winked knowingly at me. I laughed to myself. First Bessie, now Jake—was there anyone who wasn’t trying to set me up with Noah?

  And for some reason, I didn’t mind at all.

  The next day, Bessie set me up on the register. She stood with me as the first few customers came through, but the transactions were simple and the people were friendly. She soon gave me the thumbs-up and retreated to her own register a couple rows over.

  Things were going pretty well for the first couple hours. Everyone smiled at me. Some even recognized that I was new and welcomed me to SmartMart. Another cashier named Kitty came by to relieve me for my first break, which I took in the break room by myself. Nice and quiet.

  Then, like that day on the floor, all hell broke loose. This time, though, I was determined not to lose it.

  “My daughter only drinks organic one percent milk,” a woman said, stroking her daughter’s fine blond hair like she was a china doll. She frowned at me like I had just offered her water from the sewer. “Only organic. You have every other percent in organic. Why not one percent?”

  “I think we have the one percent in regular milk,” I said. I didn’t have any clue, but I’d say anything to get her to leave my line and go find it.

  She clicked her tongue at me. “Only organic. Only one percent. How hard is that? Where’s the manager?”

  I wanted to ask her if she knew exactly how many kids who participated in the Let’s Have a Ball camp would be happy with any kind of milk, but I didn’t. Instead, I motioned to Damon, one of the managers who happened to be walking nearby, and congratulated myself on keeping my cool as he pulled her from the line to assist her.

  “This package was already open. I don’t want it.” This from a guy who tossed a half-empty package of chips on the conveyor. I smiled as I was taught and took it back, despite the fact that the kid directly behind him had chip particles sprinkled all over his shirt and was licking his greasy fingers. My instinct was to sling the rest of the chips over him, but I refrained like a good little SmartMart cashier and offered to replace it. Of course, the guy didn’t want another. His kid already had enough grease in his belly to light a fire.

  Lex 1, SmartMart customer 0. Hells yeah.

  A couple customers later was a woman in a bikini top who should not have been in a bikini anything. I tried not to look at her boobs as I ran the groceries through, but here’s how that went:

  Cereal (don’t look at the boobs), bananas, orange juice (don’t lo
ok at the boobs), gelato, strawberries (eyes up, eyes up), milk, carrots (don’t look, don’t look), French bread, wine…

  Yeah. I ended up looking.

  I mean, who couldn’t stare at those things? It was like she was trying to hold basketballs with two triangles of tissue and some dental floss. It fascinated and horrified me at the same time. I thought she saw me looking at them when she cleared her throat, but she seemed pleased. I noticed that the bagger Larry couldn’t take his eyes off them, either. I snickered when he offered “Paper or plastic.”

  My guess was plastic.

  The next couple people were okay, but then came her.

  I could feel her presence even before sliding the first box of crackers across the scanner. She rose at least a foot over me, with hair that stretched even higher. She had authority here, and I was nothing but a flea to be squashed if I got in her way.

  She was the customer. She was superior.

  That was how she made me feel when she and her tired-looking husband pushed three overflowing carts into my aisle and a huge black binder was dropped on the counter. My jaw followed suit. I tried to pull myself together and started scanning the boxes of saltines. As I scanned the sixth box—was she saving up for the apocalypse?—the woman opened the binder, and light shone from within. I flinched before realizing that the light wasn’t divine intervention but a result of fluorescents reflecting off the metal binder tabs. Inside were coupons. Hundreds upon hundreds of coupons, each in its own little plastic slot.

  If there were a coupon hell, she would be queen.

  I scanned the contents of her cart—boxes of Advil, bottles of deodorant, roll after roll of toilet paper. About twenty packages of toilet paper later, I decided she either had major bowel issues or she felt the need to TP someone’s house. I really hoped for the latter.

  Then came the Windex. Bottle after bright blue bottle of liquid flowed across the scanner, sloshing against the plastic like contained oceans. My tired eyes started seeing little fish swimming inside, but maybe it was just the lettering on the inside label.

  After I finally made it past stacks of candy bars, countless cans of beans, and several bottles of salad dressing, I eyed that big black binder. Did she seriously think she had enough coupons to cover this stuff? Fingers sore and stomach growling for my lunch break, I scanned the last items and cringed when I offered up the total: $525.32. Who spent five hundred bucks on groceries?