Page 1 of Shift Happens
Prologue
I was halfway through alphabetizing the new manga shipment when the bell above the door jangled with unusual urgency. Something crashed immediately after, which wasn’t a great sign for whoever had just entered Panels & Prose, my carefully curated comic book haven.
“Sorry! Sorry about your—what is this? A cardboard person?” A voice called out from the entrance.
“It’s a life-size Wolverine standee,” I replied without looking up, continuing to sort Assassination Classroom volumes. “And it’s survived worse than whatever you just did to it.”
When I finally glanced up, I found myself staring at what had to be the most fidgety human being I’d ever encountered. He was tiny—maybe five-foot-four on a good day—with a mop of chestnut hair that looked like it had been styled by sticking fingers in an electrical socket. His amber eyes darted around the store at a speed that made me slightly dizzy.
“Can I help you find something?” I asked, setting aside the manga.
“Job! I need a job. Here. With you. Working.” His words tumbled out as he took a step forward and promptly tripped over absolutely nothing, catching himself on a display of Batman figurines that wobbled precariously.
I lunged across the counter, saving the Dark Knight collection from certain doom. “Careful! Those are collectibles!”
“Sorry!” He winced, then stuck out his hand with such force I was afraid he might dislocate his own shoulder. “I’m Milo. I need to work for a human. You’re human. I checked.”
I hesitantly shook his outstretched hand. “I’m… glad I passed your species verification. I’m Finn. Finn Reed. I own this place.”
His hand was unusually warm, and I noticed calluses in strange places. He also seemed to be… sniffing me? While maintaining uncomfortable eye contact?
“Um, about the job,” I said, pulling my hand back. “I didn’t actually post—”
“I can do things!” Milo interrupted, bouncing on his heels. “Human things! I need practice at human things. My pack—I mean, my family says I should integrate better. Learn to blend.”
Blend? With that energy level and those social skills? Good luck with that.
He was wearing what appeared to be a hoodie three sizes too large, jeans that bunched awkwardly at his ankles, and sneakers with the laces knotted in a way that defied physics. His entire outfit screamed “I’ve never dressed myself before today.”
“Look, Milo—” I started.
“Please,” he said, his voice suddenly quieter. “I really need this. I promise I learn fast.”
Something in those amber eyes made me pause. There was an earnestness there, a vulnerability that caught me off guard. Also, if I was being completely honest with myself, business had picked up lately, and I could use an extra pair of hands around the store.
“Do you have any retail experience?” I asked.
“No,” he admitted.
“Customer service?”
“Does talking to squirrels count?”
I blinked. “No. No, it doesn’t.”
“Then also no.”
I sighed. “Any experience with inventory management? Cash registers? Computers?”
With each question, he seemed to shrink a little, shoulders hunching. “I’m good at… finding things? And I can lift heavy stuff. I’m stronger than I look.” He flexed one arm, and despite his small frame, I could see defined muscle under the baggy sleeve.
Great, so he can bench press comics but can’t sell them.
Against my better judgment, I found myself saying, “Okay, how about this—trial basis, part-time. You can help with stock and cleaning while learning the rest. Minimum wage to start, and we’ll see how it goes.”
His entire face lit up with such joy that I half expected him to start glowing. “Really? Yes! When do I start? Now? Can I start now? I can stay all night!”
“Whoa, easy. Let’s start with paperwork. Do you have ID? Social security number? Tax forms?”
