Page 6 of Hate To Love You
The manager rises from his desk. “You’re my best employee here,” he goes on, as if hearing nothing but himself and the noise of rocks turning over in his head, “and I think you’re more than equipped to show Teague how it’s all done. Layout of the store. Stocking duties. Shelves and aisles.”
“Mr. Michelson, please …”
“Now if you don’t mind, Peanut—ah, look at that, just rolls right off the tongue!—please show Teague how to clock in, and then let him shadow you today. Teague, now don’t you leave his side! Not for a second! You’ll get lost in the weeds!”
Teague smiles and gives the man a dorky salute. “You got it!”
Liam can literally feel his blood boiling in his cheeks. “Sir …”
“Oh, I forgot to return a call!” Mr. Michelson exclaims. “One of our sister stores is running low on … something. I may need to send Ben on an errand. Did you hear the rumor they might open a new store next door over in Spruce? Makes one wonder why they haven’t done that already, being where the Strongs are from and all. Anyhow, go on ahead, you two, if you don’t mind. I’ll need the office. I had a burrito from a food truck down the street and donotenvy anyone in my immediate vicinity.” Headjusts his glasses, picks up his phone, and begins slowly dialing a number.
There’s no use tempting fate here.
Liam’s fate for the rest of the day—and likely the summer—is as sealed as the tubs of organic fat-free peanut butter no one buys in this town.
Honestly, the only thing Liam wants to do right now is go home, curl up with his phone, and continue his conversation with Hate2LoveU. It started out so good. It felt so promising. And it was interrupted by the worst curveball he could have imagined.
A curveball he’s loathed and not missed since the day he took a diploma and walked off a creaky gymnasium stage.
But he doesn’t have to think about the whole summer. Only about today and surviving the rest of his shift. Then he can return home to what really matters: his unfinished conversation with a lightning-bolt-farting pair of cartoon butt cheeks.
After half an hour of Teague shadowing him, Liam realizes it won’t be nearly as easy as it sounds. “Hey, have you ever had to clean up something gross?” asks Teague.
The questions are endless. “Just do what I do,” instructs Liam through the permanent scowl he’s adopted since his break. “And pay attention. I’m not explaining everything twice.”
“Sure thing, boss.” Teague struggles to keep up with Liam’s fast pace as he pulls cereal boxes from the back of the shelf and moves them to the front. “What’s the point of all this nitpicking, anyway?”
“The better, fuller, and neater the shelves appear, the more we sell.”
“Really?”
“Obviously. You don’t want the store looking like hurricane panic—all scavenged through, messy, and bare. Older stuff to the front,” snaps Liam, yanking a box of cereal out of Teague’s hand,startling him. “Thisexpires earlier thanthat, so it goes in thefront. Aren’t you reading the dates?”
“Cereal expires? C’mon. No one checks for expiration dates on Cornflakes.”
“Your store manager does, and so do I.”
“If people checked expirations, no one would have anything to eat during the zombie apocalypse. Ever think of that?”
“I—You aren’t—This isn’tThe Walking Dead, Teague. It isn’t a good look when you haveold cerealon the shelf because no one’s—Why am I having to explain this??” bursts Liam.
Teague shrugs as he glances at another cereal box, smirking down at its date. “Thought all I’d need to do is sweep, mop spills, and hit on customers all day.”
Liam shudders in lieu of rolling his eyes as he glances up at the store clock, which hangs just above the cooler doors down the aisle. Several hours still remain of his longest shift on earth.
The day can’t end fast enough.
After realizing he can’t reach the back of the top shelf, Liam pulls the stepladder off of the dolly they’ve been pushing around the store, then climbs it. Even still, he struggles to reach.
“Can I ask you a question?”
Liam sighs as he stretches for the faraway box of Multi Grain Cheerios. “You’ve already asked a hundred and—mmph!—ninety-six of them. What’s one more?”
“Why do you hate me?”
The question throws Liam so hard, his foot flies right out from underneath him.
Down he goes, helpless to stop himself from falling.
