I roll my eyes. “Sure. Because I’m going to meet my true love in Easton.”
“Hey.” Ricky frowns. “What’s wrong with Easton?”
Everyone’s eyes are on me, and I feel a prickle of unease. There’s nothing worse than being in the spotlight.
There’s nothing wrong with Easton, not exactly. There are tons of nice people, and it’s kind of pretty if farms and sheep are your thing. I suppose it is nice that you can walk down the street and recognise people from primary school or kindergarten. And I know my issues with Easton might be all in my head.
The truth is, though, sometimes this place feels…suffocating. It’s not like the population is particularly judgemental, but everyone wears similar brands, has similar hobbies, and even talks the same way. I’m scared to deviate from the norm.
Not that I would ever dare, and maybe that’s the issue. It’s not Easton’s fault, but I want a fresh start in a city far bigger and more diverse. Because in a different city, I won’t be shackled by my old habits. In a different city, I’ll be a hundred percent myself, and people will accept me because they didn’t know the old me: polite, basic, people-pleasing Aaron Wynn.
Everyone’s still looking at me, and my neck feels uncomfortably hot. There’s too much to explain, and I doubt they’d get it anyway. “There’s nothing wrong with Easton,” I say instead. “Ignore me.”
I spend the rest of the weekend relaxing, drawing and watching TV shows. I don’t have my usual shift on Saturday because Mum thought it’d be better for me to have a rest before I spend next week working. I don’t study either because I have three weeks to do that.
One night, I try to jack off by watching a porno on my phone. In the end, I turn it off and use my imagination instead. My memories, to be more specific.
When Monday rolls around, I procrastinate getting out of bed, then remember I’ll be working with Jude. Even if the prospect is not exciting, it’ll be interesting.
My shift begins at 8:30. Jude is already waiting at the store, punctual as ever. Now that I think about it, he’s never been late to Maths.
The store doesn’t open until nine, so in the meantime, Mum tells me that I'll be responsible for training Jude. It could be annoying, but it means I will get to do something different.
I hand him one of our uniform t-shirts since at the moment he’s wearing a plain jumper. "There's a bathroom through here," I say, leading him into the staff area. On one side is Mum and Dad's office, which other managers use when Mum and Dad aren’t working. On the other side is the bathroom as well as a kitchen and dining area, where I eat my lunch during breaks. Straight through is the storeroom.
While Jude changes, I decide I’ll show him how to do storeroom stuff first. Even though Jude can be nice in a practical sort of way — he helps me in maths sometimes — he's not the most personable guy. I’ve only seen him smile a handful of times, so I’m not sure how he’ll interact with customers.
Jude comes out with the shirt on, and it hangs off his shoulders, loose around the torso. I gave him a large, the same size I wear, but I forgot that Jude has more of a swimmer’s build, whereas my own body would be more suited to something like rugby. I guess at school, where he’s bundled up in our stuffy winter uniform, complete with a blazer, I hadn’t realised that Jude is pretty lean.
“Let’s start with deliveries first,” I say.
"Okay," he says and follows me into the storeroom. It's basically a shed with its walls lined with ceiling-high shelves filled with boxes. The other end of the shed opens into the back parking lot, where we receive our deliveries.
There’s already a pile of boxes wrapped in plastic by the backdoor for us to sort through. I hand Jude a clipboard and show him how to compare the deliveries with the paperwork, then get him to organise the boxes into orders for customers and orders for the store. After explaining everything, I leave him to it and pop out to the shopfront to make sure everything’s okay.
One of the store’s full-time workers, a woman named Meg, arrives, and I say hello. I make sure all of the displays look nice and neat, then return to the storeroom.
Jude leans against a shelf, staring into space, a tiny frown on his lips. Sure, at school, Jude usually has a resting bitch face, but this expression is different.
"Is something wrong?" I ask.
His furrowed forehead smoothens. "No, nothing," he says. "I finished everything."
That was fast. “Oh. Good.” I explain that now we’ll place each order into its place on the shelves, which are first sorted by the type of product and then alphabetically by name.
The boxes aren’t too heavy for me, since I’ve been working in this place forever. I do wonder whether Jude will struggle, but he moves the stock easily, the muscles in his arms flexing, and I feel guilty for underestimating him. And then I feel weird because I’m staring at his biceps.
The morning goes by quickly, and we take a lunch break at midday. I show Jude the kitchen, which has a fridge to put food, but tell him he can go down the street to buy food.
“No need,” he says because he’s already packed a sandwich.
I microwave some pasta — leftovers from last night’s dinner — and join him at the circular table. We eat in silence, and it’sawkward as hell. I could make small talk, but he’s wearing that distant frown again, so I decide not to bother him.
In the afternoon, I get Jude to serve customers. He’s pleasant to them, which is a relief, but sometimes, when he’s not helping anyone, he stares off into the distance with that little frown. It’s not out of character — it’s not like he was especially exuberant at school — but there’s something about the dullness in his eyes that I don’t like.
Days pass by without much excitement. Working is a little tiring, but at least it’s somewhat novel because I’m training Jude. He isn’t rostered on some shifts with me because he’s busy working at a shoe store, and those are the boring ones. After work, I try to study but mostly procrastinate and end up drawing. It’s okay, though. I still have two more weeks of holidays left to finish all my homework.
On Thursday evening, I'm in the middle of watching a shoujo anime when I wonder what F is up to. It’s hard to visualise it because I don't know what he looks like, how his bedroom is decorated, or what he does to wind down. I see glimpses rather than a full image: his hair against a pillow, maybe his hands, which though I've never seen, I've learned the shape of very well. Maybe he's watching a movie or TV show, like me.
