I’d forgotten that I’d asked her to stay here against her will. Enough time has passed that I doubt Ava is lookingfor me anymore. I’m sure she’s found her next victim to discuss the injustices of the school system with.
“Right, uh…sure.”
She spins toward the door just as it opens. It’s Hardy and Lily.
“What are you doing in my room?” Hardy says.
Lily’s eyes are wide. “And why are you wearing his hoodie?”
11
MOST PHILANTHROPIC
“I’m sohappy you’re able to come today,” Mrs. O’Riley, the director of MASE, says when I show up Saturday afternoon. She’s a middle-aged woman with dark hair pulled back in a severe bun that is in stark contrast to her warm smile. “It’s hard to get people to commit their Saturdays to being tucked away in a kitchen dishing up food for people they’ll never meet.”
“I’m just happy the timing worked out.”
Since cross country meets are so early in the morning, it wasn’t too difficult to make it here for the lunch shift. The only hardship is that I didn’t have time for a shower. I put on some fresh deodorant, changed my clothes, and hope that I don’t smell too bad.
Mrs. O’Riley doesn’t notice or doesn't care because she starts right into a spiel about MASE and the work they do here.
“You and another volunteer are packing meals to bedelivered this afternoon. How about I give you the tour while we wait?” Mrs. O’Riley says and leads me through the rest of the facility.
Many of the rooms are administrative offices and supply closets. We walk past them without fanfare until we get to the kitchen. It’s deep inside the building and is a cramped room with a buffet line of warm food and limited counter space.
Mrs. O’Riley lifts a lid to one of the chafing dishes. Steam comes billowing out. “We have chicken and dumplings in these.”
I nod.
She points to some industrial size cans on a shelf. “Peaches in those. There’s a can opener somewhere.”
“Okay.”
She walks over to a rack and rests her hand on it. “Cornbread’s on this, and pads of butter are in the fridge.”
I add each one to a mental checklist. “Got it.”
“You’ll need to put a hairnet on and wash your hands before you start assembling meals.” Mrs. O’Riley says. “I’m going to go back to the front and see if the other volunteer is here yet. But once you’re done getting washed up, you can grab some containers and serving spoons.”
She walks out quickly and leaves me with the echo of her instructions. Hairnet first. I pull the tangle of string out of a box on the counter and put it over my head. There aren’t any mirrors in here, so I try to use the glare coming off the plastic sneeze guards to see what I look like. It's hard to see, but I know it’s not glamorous between thatand the junky shirt and jeans I’m wearing. If I’d known the other volunteer was going to be late, I would have taken the extra couple of minutes to shower. Next time, I’ll know better.
After washing my hands, I start rummaging through drawers for serving spoons. They’re mismatched and different sizes, and I wonder which I’m supposed to use when Mrs. O’Riley returns with this morning’s volunteer right behind her.
Connor.
Deep down, I knew it was going to be him. When I told him not to volunteer for MASE at the thrift store, it was a challenge. That was enough to solidify his spot here. Still, my heart jumps a little when I see him standing on the other side of the small table. He doesn’t meet my eyes as Mrs. O’Riley introduces us.
“Ella, this is Connor. Connor, this is Ella. You’ll be working together this morning.”
There’s an uncomfortable silence.
“We actually already know each other,” I say, breaking it. I twist the serving spoon in my hands.
Connor still doesn’t look at me. His eyes stayed glued to Mrs. O’Riley. The middle-aged woman’s eyes narrow as she looks back and forth between Connor and me. I can practically see the gears working in her brain as she tries to puzzle out if we’re mere acquaintances or something more.
“We’re not dating,” I blurt out.
He raises his brows at me but neither confirms nor denies our relationship status.
