Thrown off-kilter, I rattle off the first three things that come to mind, putting a stop to this ridiculousness. “One: I’m a Gemini, though I’m not sure I believe in astrology. Two: Whenever ‘Proud Mary’ comes on the radio or a playlist, everyone in my family sings ‘rollin’ on the river’ as ‘Roland on the river.’ Nobody ever laughs, but we like it. Three: Over winter break, freshman year of college, I was ghosted and stood up by one of my supposedly closest friends, and I’m not even sure I want to forgive him for it.”
My second truth is punctuated by the sound of Mateo shouting from just down the hall, “Be right there!” Scurrying feet fly by as he runs past our closet, and the door I’d left carefully cracked slams shut. I realize I forgot to set the stopper. The hinges are temperamental.
“Shit. Sorry.” I turn back to grab the doorknob, but the light bulb flickers once before it gives out and we’re plunged into darkness. All my other senses stir to attention. The feeling of Derick’s hot breath from across the way floods me with too many unnamable feelings. This is what I get for putting off repairs. And conversations, apparently. “One second.”
Simultaneously, we reach out. My hand lands on the slippery doorknob; his hand lands on mine. His palm is huge and a little clammy. The friction from before turns to fission in an instant. The coarse hairs on my arm stand at attention. It’s epic and electric in a way I didn’t expect.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, pulling away.
“You’re fine.” I shake it off. “You were right. You really are always apologizing around me lately.” I’m still salty about the obvious apology yet to be made, even as a small part of me whispers that I’m not being fair—not when I keep trying to block him from saying more, afraid of how it may make me feel.
When I turn the knob, it won’t budge. There must be something weighty on the other side of the door that’s blocking us in. I remember Mateo moving those Coke syrup boxes and, of course, he would set them down exactly where they shouldn’t be. Those things weigh roughly 25 pounds each, and judging from the give, there must be a whole stack of them outside.
I bang and twist and push. Nothing does the trick. Someone got the smart idea to turn on the radio. No one can hear us over the danceable, upbeat pop track that’s blaring at a worrying decibel beyond the door.
“I, uh, think we’re stuck.”
“Stuck? Nah. Let me try.” With all the bravado he learned from his brothers, Derick attempts the handle for himself. As my eyes adjust, I can only see the faint outline of him, but he throws his shoulder into the wood like his hulking body is going to help the situation and not just leave him with an injury. After three tries, he says in defeat, “Oh. I guess we are stuck.”
“I think I established that already.” Machismo is my biggest pet peeve. Switching my brain back to manager mode, I assess the situation. “Someone will realize we’re in here and let us out soon.” Knowing Mateo, I reconsider. He could be anywhere, doing anything by now if Avery isn’t keeping a close, watchful eye on him. “I hope. Ireallyhope. But no need to panic.”
“I wasn’t panicking.”
Oh, right. That’s just me.A stifling sweat starts on my brow and grows slicker the longer we’re in here. Is the room shrinking, or am I just imagining it?
“Everything okay?” he asks. The sound of my own breathing has gotten steadily louder, becoming an added instrument to the song seeping in through the cracks in the doorframe.
I hang my head in my hands. “This is the last thing I needed on my first day as manager. I’m the youngest person Earl has hired for this role, and I can’t screw it up. Also, just, small spaces…”
There’s a throaty sound of understanding from Derick’s side of the closet. “This isn’t my ideal first day either.”
“Why did you even take this job?” I ask. Shouldn’t he have secured some bigwig position by now? His school was pretentious and expensive enough to have an alumni network and a career center. Not to mention his father’s wealth of contacts.
“Didn’t exactly have a choice.” His grayish outline dramatically sinks to the floor.
I roll my eyes, though he can’t see. “Sorry you’re slumming it with us for the summer.”
“That came out wrong.” He groans, and I don’t press it. I’m not the best at communicating my feelings either. “Sit. Make yourself comfortable,” he instructs. “We might be here a while.”
The panic remounts. “Don’t say tha—”
“You’re not a Gemini. You’re a Taurus,” he says, cutting my sentence short.
“Huh?” I maneuver myself down to the floor, knocking our knees only once. A quick bump, and a quicker brush. I ignore the rush of saturated adrenaline it causes.
“That’s the lie. You’re the bull.” Oh, he’s trying to distract me. I let him. “Hardworking, compassionate, but because of those horns…stubborn as hell.”
Even though it’s a dig, I erupt into laughter over how ridiculous this is. How after all this time, we’ve ended up stuck in a pitch-black closet together.
“Fair.”
“Listen, Wrenji.” He grows serious, measured. “At the risk of sounding like a broken record, I am so sorry for what happened back—”
Derick gets cut off by Mateo finally moving the soda syrups and abruptly throwing open the closet door. He catches us practically sitting in each other’s laps between boxes of paper straws, and he snorts, surprise morphing into amusement. “Earl’s looking for you.” Mateo’s singsong delivery sounds oh so tattletale.
I rush to standing, but it’s too late. Earl’s behind Mateo looking peeved at the perceived situation. I know how this looks and it’s not great. “Wren, what’s going on? I told you to show him around, not sit in a dark closet and… We need you at the admission booth.”
“Sorry, we got stuck.”
