Around lunchtime, the museum’s other regular volunteer, Brenda, arrives to take my place at the front desk. She looks shocked at how busy the place is, and I can’t wipe the proud grin from my face as I head toward the backyard.
Things are in full swing back here. John’s friend George is playing folksy songs on his guitar and Rose is dishing out burgers and hot dogs as fast as she can cook them. I wave at her over the heads of a group of American tourists and wander toward the back of the yard, where John is manning the drinks station.
Halfway there, I spot Shelley chatting with a group of older women. My feet reluctantly slow. I suppose it would be rude of me not to go say hi to her.
I force a smile as I approach. “Hey, Shelley,” I greet her, and smile at the three women gathered around her. “Are you all having fun?”
“Absolutely,” says one of the women brightly. She has curly white hair and an old-fashioned pantsuit with an official-looking pin on her lapel. “We’re all members of the town’s historical society,” she says, holding a hand out to me. “And you are—?”
“This is one of our new volunteers,” Shelley says.
“Emily,” I say, shaking the woman’s hand.
“How lovely,” she says. “Did you help plan all of this?”
“She and Trey both pitched in,” Shelley says, before I can answer. My mouth nearly drops open with shock.Pitched in? We planned the whole thing!
“How nice,” says the white-haired woman. “I hope it hasn’t cost too much?”
“Oh, no, I’ve budgeted it all out,” Shelley says. “We’ll make a tidy little profit.”
“You can put the money toward another event,” the woman suggests. “Maybe something for Canada Day!”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” Shelley says.
The women smile and head off toward the barbecue. I return their polite smiles with difficulty. My cheeks are burning, and my chest feels kind of tight.
Shelley gives me a bland smile. “Some kid spilled their soda in the back hall. Be a dear and clean it up, will you?”
My cheeks burn hotter. I open my mouth to mutter “Sure,” then I stop myself. John’s voice suddenly echoes in my head.
The next time someone’s a jerk, you’re not allowed to smile and be polite to them.
Shelley’s definitely being a jerk, but even so, I’m not sure I have the guts to say anything.
Oh, screw it. It can’t hurt to try.
I snatch a nervous breath and blurt out, a bit shakily, “That was a bit rude.”
Shelley raises an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
I lick my lips. “You didn’t budget this event,” I say. “I did. And Trey and I didn’t ‘pitch in.’ We did everything.”
Shelley gives a condescending little chuckle. “This isn’t about takingcredit, Emily. And there’s a lot more to managing this placethan you might realize. Now, why don’t you go take a little break? I’ll take care of the spill.”
I open my mouth to retort, but it’s no use—she’s already walking away. For a second, I think about storming after her, but if I’m honest, my legs are feeling a bit shaky. I don’t usually talk to people like that, ever. It made zero difference, obviously, but it was still kind of exhilarating. My heart is thumping a bit faster with adrenaline.
I cross the lawn and approach John, who’s grabbing a can of soda from the cooler.
“Guess what I just did?” I say, taking a soda for myself.
“Bored someone to death talking about barrels.”
“Ha, ha. No, I just stood up to Shelley. She was being a huge jerk, and I totally called her out on it.”
“Nice.” John holds his can of soda out for me to clink. “Well done.”
“I’m not sure it made a difference, though.”
