**
“Okay, throw the balls back in the pit and let’s break for a quick lunch.” The sound of basketballs being dribbled across the gym makes a racket. I’ll enjoy the thirty-minute lunch break I get in my quiet office. Some days I eat it in the conference room with the kids who pack a lunch while the others visit various establishments near the center. They don’t always make it back after lunch, getting caught up in the moment of something more fun but normally not good for them. I understand, I was once one of those kids.
Lunch with my regulars gives me the chance to learn more about their lives at home. I often hear facts no teenager would normally share with anyone over twenty. They learn to be closed off and secretive. But today rather than information gathering, I plan to use the break to enjoy private time… and check to see if Grant texted again.
The door to my office is closed the way I left it, but there definitely wasn’t a man sitting behind my desk this morning.
“Can I help you?” I ask politely rather than yelling “what the fuck” like I want.
He stands, a huge smile on his face like he’s here to give me a million dollars or solve world hunger, but I’m not dreaming so it can’t be either of those. The poor kid isn’t a day over twenty and he’s obviously proud of whatever reason brought him here. It’s not every day I get a black clad, hair gelled, office guy to visit the youth center. It’s not normally a good thing. I’m suspicious to say the least.
“You are set. I’ve installed any programs I thought you might need and downloaded the latest version of Dragons Reborn. She’s for you.”
“Who’s ready for who?” I’m normally much harder to catch off guard, but today has been the oddest day. I’m not sure what to do with him.
He taps the lid of a brand-new black laptop, which definitely wasn’t on my desk when I left three hours ago. “Your new laptop. Mr. Moore wanted to make sure I stayed to answer any questions you have.”
Mr. Moore, huh? “I get how to use a laptop. But you can take it back to Mr. Moore,” I emphasize the Mr. “And tell him thanks, but no thanks.”
Little wanna be Bill Gates’ face pales, his eyes turning from happiness to concern. “But it’s… I… I,” he stutters over his words. “I’d lose my job.”
“You would lose your job for bringing back a laptop I don’t want?” Sure, the kid is obviously scared, but Grant’s not the type to fire someone over this. At least I don’t think he is.
Sensing there’s hope, his words become excited again. “I’m an intern. This is the first task I’ve been given that doesn’t involve a copy machine. I can’t mess it up.”
“Fine,” I give in. I don’t want to get the poor kid fired. “I’ll handle Mr. Moore myself.”
He jets around my desk so fast his suit jacket flies out behind him like a cartoon character running from a madman. Except in this case I guess I’m the madman… or woman.
I sit in my office chair and am forced to lower it a few inches. More points deducted from Little Bill Gates for messing with my chair. My phone is locked in a top desk drawer and I pull it out, making sure not to touch the shiny new laptop. I don’t want it to turn into one of those “you touched it last… you have to keep it” situations.
Now that I’m alone and the situation is sinking in, my anger grows. Who the hell does Grant think he is?
CLARE: WTF? A laptop?
His return text takes longer than this morning, but I don’t grab the sleeve of crackers I plan to eat for lunch today. I’m too angry now. Another minute passes and I tap my fingers on a small portion of the desk, still not touching the laptop. What is he doing? Working? Of course Grant would choose now to work when I want to yell at him.
Another three minutes and twenty-five seconds later — not that I’m counting — and my phone vibrates.
GRANT: It’s not flowers.
CLARE: I said no gifts.
GRANT: You only negotiated for flowers.
The texts volley back and forth between us. I don’t put my phone down in between because the next one comes right away. Each time he replies my anger multiplies. And to think I’d started to like the man, but in a few short hours he’s pissed me off again.
CLARE: That’s crap and you know it, Grant.
GRANT: I was only helping out a friend. I’d do it for anyone in the group.
That reply makes me pause for a moment because it’s true. They are a close group of friends and they come off as people who would definitely step up to help someone out. But this isn’t a flat tire or a simple dinner check. A new laptop to play a video game on is not something even a friend would do.
CLARE: I don’t need your handouts and plus I’m not in the group.
The RDA girls are cool and I enjoy hanging out with them on occasion, but I’m definitely not a member.
GRANT: Well they think you are and you don’t disagree with Marissa. She’s vengeful.
