It occurs to me that Manny, just like my parents and brother, has had to experience this insane thing happening to someone he loves. I’ve barely had time to process all this, but I definitely haven’t thought of it as something that sucks for other people besides me.
“And you, like, work here?” I ask idiotically as we pull out of the hug, unsure what else to say.
“No,” Manny says, smirking, “I just put on the shirt and pretendsometimes, so I can film some funny TikToks.”
I assume he’s kidding, but at this moment, I feel like I can’t assume anything.
“Yeah, I work here,” he confirms with a grin. “At least for right now. Back living with my folks since I graduated in May. Good ol’ Dom and Gina.”
“Dom and Gina are the best,” I say.
Manny shrugs. “Sure, but I don’t really need tolivewith them.”
“Oh, yeah,” I say, laughing, “your dad always takes the smelliest dumps.”
Manny smiles a little but doesn’t crack up the way I’m hoping. “Truth.”
An awkward silence descends—it’s been happening a lot today—and I scramble to find another subject.
“So you graduated from, like, college?” I ask. It feels unfathomable. Yesterday we were sitting side by side in Mrs. Destin’s class, passing back and forth goofy drawings of dogs with boobs.
“Yep,” Manny says. “I majored in business, but none of my full-time job applications have panned out yet. It’ll happen.”
I nod and look around, hating this gulf that’s opened up between us. He’s twenty-two years old, looking for work, and I’m a high school sophomore, looking for laughs with poop jokes.
“What, um...” I clear my throat. It’s so dry. “What was college like?”
Manny shrugs. “It was cool. Chill. I mean, hard work. But dope too. Met lots of good people.”
I nod, doing my best impression of someone who’s able to relate in the slightest to what he just said.
“Immanuel.” A tall white dude with glasses and a surprisinglylow voice is standing fifteen feet away in a matching gray polo shirt. “Less chitchatting on the floor. Check in to see if those customers by the laptops need help.”
“Absolutely,” Manny says. “Will do, Tom.”
“Immanuel?” I say once Tom has walked away. I realize Manny’s name tag says that too, and it makes me smile. “They make you go byImmanuel?”
“Nah, they don’t make me,” Manny says. “It’s what I go by now. Made a switch during my first year at school.”
“Oh,” I say. Embarrassment and FOMO heat up my neck and face.
“Aight, man, I need to get back to it,” Manny—I’m not going to call him Immanuel, sorry, but I’m just not—says, patting me on the back, “but let’s hang more soon, okay?”
“Yeah, perfect,” I say. “I would love that. Ineedit, actually. Maybe you can come over and we can shoot around in the driveway. Or we can chill in the parking lot of Wade’s Wings and—”
“That place closed, actually. And I don’t really do much hanging in parking lots these days.” Manny notices the depressed look on my face. “But shooting around sometime sounds good. Don’t worry—you’re gonna be okay, dude. You always bounce back after the first week. We met up in the summer a couple times, and you seemed really happy.”
My brain spins as it tries to make sense of these information grenades. Ibounced back? I washappy? Even though I saw my best friend only a couple times the whole summer? Are we, like, not even really friends anymore?
“Okay,” I say.
Manny slaps my hand and gives me a quick hug before glidingover to an older man standing near the laptops. “Can I help you with anything?” he asks with a confidence and charm that is so convincing, it really does feel like a well-rehearsed bit he’s filming.
But it’s not. It’s real.
After some time has passed—maybe thirty seconds, maybe five minutes, possibly another six years—I realize it’s more than a little weird that I’m just standing in the store staring at one of the employees. I take out my new big-ass phone and text Mom that I’m ready to get picked up, slowly moving toward the exit like a corpse floating in a lake.
Carter
