Page 2 of Check Me Out

Again.

Beans are a nutritional powerhouse—full of protein, fiber, and antioxidants. But lentils had been on the menu for the past three weeks straight, and the thought of eating even one more legume (especially forbreakfast) made my stomach turn.

Back when I signed the lease on an off-campus house with four other math geeks, I hadn’t expected anyone to be a gourmet chef. Given the propensity around here to reduce everything to a figure, though, the menu was less than appetizing.

As I peered down into the pot and tried to steel myself to dig in, Chad from Applied Analytics strode into the kitchen looking inordinately pleased with himself.

“Dare I ask?” I said.

“I’ve struck gold.” Grinning, Chad dug into his pocket and produced a handful of small plastic packets in various shades of orange and red. “A few of these puppies, and this slop will tastejust like Taco Bell.” He waggled one of the packets at me. “I might even be convinced to share…if you agree to take out the trash tonight. Whaddaya say, Newton?”

I glanced at the chore board. Every household task, from scrubbing the toilet to watering the single, half-dead philodendron, had been recorded and divvied up to a standard of exacting fairness. But Chad had a minor in Business, and his tendency to weasel out of his chores was legendary. “Nice try.” I shrugged into my thrift store overcoat. “I think I’ll check out the cafeteria instead.”

It was a short walk to campus, but trying to calculate exactly how much was left on my meal plan made it seem twice as long. There was the late night at the library where I’d splurged on dinner. And the morning I’d run late and forgotten my cheese sandwich lunch….

Back when I’d first signed up, I was so proud of myself for opting into the cheapest plan. Now, I was sorely regretting it. I cursed at past-me for cutting up my credit card—another proud moment for present-me to regret—and checked all my pockets for spare change. But all I came up with was a gum wrapper, a napkin with some equations scribbled on it, and a scattering of lint.

Where had this urge to budget myself to the last cent come from? Well, I loved numbers. I had no desire to carry a crippling debt of student loans. And maybe I thought the challenge would be…fun.

It hardly seemed fun now. In fact, I felt naive. Even a bit ridiculous.

I decided I should just take Chad up on his offer after all. Fairness is such a subjective concept, whereas hungeris undeniably tangible. Beating some arbitrary, self-imposed challenge wasn’t the path to happiness I’d thought it might be. At the very best, all I could hope for was a grim sense of satisfaction.

As I turned to head back home and face the lentils, I realized I’d been so lost in thought, I’d taken a wrong turn and veered away from campus, not toward it. This wasn’t the “cool” neighborhood that tried to encourage unsavvy college kids to part with their parents’ money for pricy coffee and trendy pre-distressed T-shirts. I was closer now to the strip of businesses that catered to real adults—the type with families, mortgages and SUVs.

Maybe my feet had done all the thinking for me while my mind was otherwise engaged. Because I found myself on the edge of the Val-U-Mart parking lot. A grocery mecca.

And me without so much as a cent.

Even so, I paused, longingly imagining all the wonderful breakfasty items that beckoned from beyond that plate glass window. Eggs. Cereal. Toaster waffles. Things that even I, with my very limited kitchen skills, could hope to prepare with reasonable success.

A sudden gust of wind rose, and I flipped up the collar of my overcoat, then sank my hands deeper into the empty pockets as a scattering of dead leaves whirled past. It would do me no good to stand there salivating over something I couldn’t have. I’d come back once my next paycheck hit my account. Until then, it was plain, boring lentils, or nothi—

A leaf whapped me directly in the face, covering my eyes. I might think the universe was laughing at me, if I believed in that sort of thing—which, as a logical person, obviously Idid not. When I peeled the silly thing off, I nearly let go and sent it whirling along on its way. But at the very last moment, I realized it wasn’t brown, orange or red (like the tempting Taco Bell packets)…but green. Not leaf green, either, but the distinctive drab grayish-green of currency, which I recognized on a subconscious level before my brain even registered what was going on.

Eggs. Cereal. Toaster waffles. All within my ravenous grasp….

Or so I thought. Until I realized that my unexpected windfall was nothing more than a single dollar.

3

Angus

“So, Angus, when’s your next gig?” Barry was saying. The word “gig” always sounds so strange coming out of his mouth, like it’s some foreign language and he’s not quite sure how to use it in a sentence. “‘Cause I was thinking we could all go.”

I gave the closest self-check a halfhearted spritz of disinfectant. “Yeah, I was pretty much planning to be there. Seeing as how it would bemygig and all.”

Barry’s pale cheeks blotched an unflattering shade of pink. “Haha, good one! I just meant—”

That he wanted to go out with Colleen without putting himself through the risk of actually asking her. I knew it. He knew it. And unless she was a lot dumber than she looked, Colleen knew it, too. But she was so inscrutable, there was really no telling exactly how much she enjoyed watching Barry squirm. Before I could come up with a suitably smartass remark, the fluorescent lights kicked on and the automatic locks clunked open…and there, framed by the whoosh of the automatic door, stood a guy who made me forget all about the whole awkward not-date.

He was twenty-something, tallish and slim. Pale, with striking dark eyes, and wind-tousled dark hair. Not quite goth. More utilitarian, like he didn’t have time for fussy haircuts or sorting laundry. In the circles where I “gig,” everyone goes to great extents to be noticeable, me included. Tats, piercings, and all manner of bleached, dyed, tweaked and sprayed hair. But this guy, in his faded black jeans and dark duster, didn’t need to do a damn thing. And I noticed him just fine.

Truth be told, I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

It’s a certain kind of customer who crosses the threshold the moment the store opens. The third-shift hospital worker coming home after a night of emptying bedpans. The senior citizen who’s been up since four and is jonesing for their decaf. The panicked chef whose delivery service got their order wrong. But this guy fit none of my preconceived expectations—which only intrigued me more.

Especially when he picked up a flyer from the floor—an AndHedonia flyer—and instead of just tossing it aside, carefully pinned it back on the bulletin board.

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