“Don't apologise," I say. "You're right. I guess I am in a pretty good mood."
“Did something good happen?” he asks.
Oh, nothing much. But for the past few months, I’ve been secretly messing around with another guy in school, and last night, we talked on the phone, which I didn't think would ever be possible since my mum is way too strict. And it was so nice to hear his voice. We had a genuinely good conversation, and he's just so goddamn likeable.
Yeah, I can't say any of that.
So, in the end, I say, “I beat my Physics exam personal best.”
He stares at me.
“As in, you got a good score?”
“No, my personal best time. To finish the exam.”
“Oh,” he says, looking thoroughly confused. “Cool.”
The kettle boils, and I pour hot water into my cup of instant coffee mixed with milk powder. It'll be my third coffee since I woke up early to write a practice English essay.
I lean against the kitchenette and sip my drink while Aaron plays on his phone. At a minute to 8.30, I scull the rest of the coffee, wash the cup, and wait for Aaron to tell me what to do for today.
“It'll probably be slow this morning,” Aaron says, getting up to wash his own cup. There’s a tangled patch of bed hair at the back of his head. I want to comb my fingers through it to fix it.
“Meg and my parents should be able to manage the front, so I reckon what we'll do is organise the storeroom,” Aaron continues.
We spend the following hour organising the stock and keeping a list of what products we're running low on so we can order them. Although it's darker in the storeroom compared to the bright storefront with its several lights glowing like a constellation of stars, I like it better here. I like interacting with as few people as possible, and I like the silent, mind-numbing work. It means that my mind can wander.
Will R be free to call tonight? He was so cute last night. Sweet, too. He said I wasnice. No one’s ever called me nice in my life.
"We should do the topmost row now,” Aaron says. “That’s where workers put all the random stuff, and it’s always the messiest.”
"Sure," I say.
Aaron disappears and returns with a stepladder.
“I’ll climb up since I'm taller than you, and I'll pass the stuff to —”
“Hang on," I interrupt. “You’re not taller than me.”
He blinks.
“If anything, I'm taller than you," I continue.
He laughs, the first genuine laugh I've seen from him all week. Sure, he chuckles with customers, but it's that fake laugh you do when you're trying to make someone like you, but you don't actually know what the hell they're talking about.
Honestly, his laugh is endearing. His mouth opened wide enough for me to see his back teeth. I’m stunned at the sight for a few seconds before remembering to be annoyed.
"What exactly is so funny?” I cross my arms.
"You're not taller than me," he says. "And besides, I didn't mean to start a height competition. It's just that, look, my arms are probably longer than yours, which means that I can reach —”
“I can reach the top perfectly fine, thank you,” I say.
He slowly closes his mouth, and I stiffen, wondering if I've been too rude. It's one thing to be blunt at school, but it's another when Aaron is kind of technically my boss.
“Has anyone ever told you that you're kind of…” he trails off.
"What?” I demand, then remember, I can't be rude. "What?” I repeat in a softer voice.
