I unlocked mine.
“See you tomorrow?”
“Yeah.”
He helmeted up.
“And Chip?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
As the bus rumbled toward downtown, I gnawed on my protein bar—a peanut butter one Coach Bentley recommended—and turned over what Chip had said in my head.
I felt that pulsar inside me flare back to full intensity as I tucked my stuff into my cubby.
“Hey,” Kerry said. “Can you take over the register?”
“Sure.”
It was a slow day—Mondays were usually slow—but a steady trickle of customers made their way through the store. I rang up growlers of Nitro Earl Grey, and tins of Darjeeling, and big fifty-count bags of Genmaicha sachets.
In the tasting room, Mr. Edwards and Landon were steeping some Bai Mu Dan to try.
I wondered if maybe Chip was right about everything.
I thought maybe he was.
That pulsar inside me flared out.
And I knew what I had to do.
Eventually, Mr. Edwards came out of the tasting room and headed to his office.
“Can you cover me for a few minutes?” I asked Kerry. “I need to talk to Mr. Edwards.”
“Sure.”
I rubbed the back of my head and knocked on Mr. Edwards’s door.
“Darius,” he said. “Come in.”
“Thanks.”
“Everything all right?”
My throat clenched up. I swallowed.
“Um. I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“Sure.”
“Um,” I said.
And then I said, “I’ve been thinking a lot about some stuff lately.”
And then I said, “I’m really sorry. But I think I want to quit.”
