STRUCTURAL INTEGRITY
I wanted to cry.
I mean, I was crying. A little bit. But I wanted to cry more.
I locked myself in the bathroom so no one would see me.
I’d had bad days at work before. My old job, at Tea Haven, had Corporate-Mandated Clearance Sales once a quarter, which had been way worse.
But I guess I thought Rose City would be different.
I thought it was going to be about serving people the finest teas, and helping them discover new favorites. Not profit margins and import taxes.
I had this feeling for a second.
Like I didn’t like working at Rose City.
But that was ridiculous.
I sniffed, kicked off my shoes, and slid out of my damaged jeans.
They were utterly destroyed. The rip had lengthened along the inseam, up to the crotch seam and down about twelve inches. Frayed edges waved in the air like tiny blue anemones.
I closed the toilet lid and sat on it in my underwear (a pair of green square-cut trunks with a shiny black waistband) and pulled my phone out of my jeans pocket to check the time.
I had another hour on my shift.
What was I supposed to do?
Someone knocked on the bathroom door.
“Darius?”
It was Landon.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” I said.
It was quiet for a moment. And then Landon said, in a softer voice, “You mad at me?”
“No.”
I wasn’t mad.
Just hurt.
And embarrassed.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you. I didn’t want my dad to get upset.” He tapped the door. “Are you gonna come out of there?”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
I cleared my throat.
“Darius?”
