Page 2 of Violet Spark
And I made it to the Desert Freeze with two minutes to spare.
As manager, I was supposed to model a good work ethic for the other employees. According to the handbook. How I wished I didn’t know the handbook so well, but two years of working there in high school and now my humiliating return post not quite two years of college meant I knew everything about the pastel-painted box at the corner of I-Gotta-Get-Out-of-This-Place Street and I’m-Gonna-Die-Here-Aren’t-I Avenue.
Back when I was in high school, the extra money had paid for the gaming components I wanted without having to argue with Mom about the expense. Now, the raise that came with my manager nametag meant we didn’t lose the house.
And I was close enough to get home in minutes if Mom needed me. The last time she’d fallen, I’d been at school in LA, ten long Greyhound hours away. If the snowbird neighbors on the other half of the duplex hadn’t heard her yelling… Well, they’d be leaving in a few months, before the heat, going back to their summer home on Lake Superior.
Meanwhile, I’d be staying here.
Rique was standing by the Freeze’s front door as I parked, his pastel freezie-swirl shirt tucked in and baseball hat pulled low on his forehead, staring hard in my direction. Ready to go was Rique.
I rolled my eyes. Everyone knew Rique was gunning for my job. How I wished I could give it to him.
I took a long drink from my coffee before getting out of the car and sauntering toward him. He checked his watch—who wears a watch anymore?—before glancing back at me. “Morning, boss.”
He could’ve flipped me off instead and I wouldn’t have blamed him. I was a terrible boss, no question.
But Shirleen, the owner, liked me. She’d cried when I told her about Mom’s accident and begged for my old job back. I might’ve been crying a little too because I just didn’t know what to do with all the scary second and third notices piling up on the kitchen counter. Shirleen put the keys to the Desert Freeze in my hand and smeared my cheek with a violent pink lipstick kiss.
I was a “good girl.” Her words.
I didn’t feel good. Standing in front of this place I’d been so sure I’d never see again, I felt evil.
“Start with the fruit and veg prep,” I told Rique as I unlocked the door.
Another day in pastel-hued hell.
First came the gym rats with their endorphin-fueled get-up-and-go. They kept me busy enough bending out the drive-thru window with their matcha and pear smoothies that I didn’t have to think too much. A couple of hours in, I traded spots with Rique so he could handle the moms shouting their orders for extra celery or cucumber over their screaming kids too young for preschool. The teenagers wouldn’t hit until early afternoon, begging for extra shots and sprinkles. Once upon a time, the place had served only crushed ice in three colors. But everything had to change with the times.
Except me.
In a lull, I went outside and called home. My hands smelled like bananas. My shirt was splattered with raspberry juice, and so were my Vans. At least now I couldn’t tell which was the blood stain.
Mom’s speech came slow and sleepy as she told me about the true crime murder mystery she’d borrowed from the library. I cursed under my breath. We’d been rationing those pills since the doc said he couldn’t give us any more. I didn’t know if I was worried for her or worried for me. What would happen when the pills were all gone?
When she said “Love you, honey” again, I ended the call with “Yeah.”
The notification for Swann’s text was still on the screen:Heyoo! Just found out all the interns here are getting sent to LA next week for a few days to prep for a show. Need my Mojimo fix! Can you get away from classes? Miss you <3
Okay, yeah, I’d been avoiding my best friend. ‘Cause, see, I wasn’t at the Laguna College of Art + Design anymore. I wasstillhere, back where we’d been kids together. Avoiding reality, one day at a time.
Swann would understand about my mom, of course. But she’d also say optimistic things like this was just a temporary glitch in my digital design dreams. Or she’d urge me to find a way to get my art out there anyway.Out therewas the idea that I had any creativity left after working all day at the street edge of a strip mall.
My onlyoutthese days was gaming from the time I got home from work until I couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore. And hope I didn’t dream at all.
And it just so happened that some people—a rare, lucky few, yeah—made money from gaming, live-streaming while they did it. The best I could hope for was to become one of those. I had thirty-nine followers so far, including a troll and the fake account I set up for my mom. If I told Swann, I’d break forty. So, hey, upside.
It was time to fess up. My thumbs were poised over my phone screen’s keyboard.
I’m still in AZ with Mom
All I had to do was hit the arrow to send…but I just didn’t wanna. I knew what would happen. She’d text back for details. Then call me. Or worse, call my mom. And as my soul had been blended into the last round of avocado-chia seed-honey-yogurt smoothies, I didn’t have the strength to go into it all.
I held down delete until the cursor ate my words. And tried again.
I need my Swann too. Must chat soon but can’t right now. I hesitated, then added, BTW, I met a boy
It was what politicians called a pivot. More like a pirouette in this case. Overkill? It was true. Sorta. Maybe. A MageLord calling himself SunSummoner gamed at night, too, and he lived not forty-five minutes away in downtown Phoenix. Small world.
