Palm Print

Chapter 4

Fry's was annoyingly busy as usual. It was Saturday, but it felt like a Wednesday. I hated Wednesdays, mostly because they were halfway, you know?

Like eating a slice of cake, you're excited to finish but sad that it's almost over. You're in this odd mix of annoyance and gratification.

It was the anticipation of wanting the weekend to start and the week to end: if that made any sense. It boiled down to how I felt about high school. I couldn't wait for it to end; however, when it did, I wished I'd enjoyed it more.

Maybe I was just stressed about college starting Monday. I'd worked hard to get accepted, but I wasn't ready to start.

I put my gray Bose earbuds in and listened to the audiobook of "The Boy I Hate" by Taylor Sullivan while wiping down my register.

I hated that Samantha's half-assing everything was annoyingly relatable. For instance, I was finally excited about my bungee jumping trip, but last night I had a nightmare about the cable breaking, and I fell to my death.

I tried to tell my mother about it, but she was being an asshole. She said: "Waste money if you want." 

"Really Mom?!" I thought.

Anyway, Taylor Sullivan's writing was simple but compelling. The more I read, the more I learned that storytelling wasn't only about complexity, but also how it was told.

"Taylor!" Brandy shouted. My heart felt like it was going to jump out of my chest.

"Don't do that," I scolded her.

"Did you not get any recently?" Brandy snapped back, smirking. I flipped her off. She quickly covered my hand, pointing at the camera. "Relax, babe."

I withdrew my hand. "He's always exhausted," I said, sighing and squinting slightly. "He's been working so much."

"When was the last time you got any?" she asked.

I pressed my lips together and looked off to the side, trying to avoid the question. She repeated it, but I ignored her. Kevin walked by carrying three fishing poles, and I seized the chance to change the subject. "Would you like some help?" I called out.

"Taylor!" Brandy shouted as I walked towards Kevin.

"No, I'm good," he replied, sweat pouring down his ebony skin.

"Are you sure?" I asked.

He raised a brow at me. "It's just three fishing poles. I'll be fine," he said, smiling.

He left, and with him, my sanity.

I dreaded turning around; I knew Brandy was looking at me with a smug, condescending "welcome back, bitch" expression.

"Taylor," she called out playfully. I gritted my teeth, took a breath, and turned around.

And there it was: the smug, condescending smirk. I walked back to her like a dog with its tail between its legs.

"That was really cute," she said, tapping my nose. "Boop."

"Don't 'boop' me!"

"Boop." She tapped my nose again. "So?"

"Fine," I began, my face flushed. I didn't even know why I was telling her; like it was none of her business. "It's been two weeks."

Her jaw dropped.

"Don't look at me like that," I said feeling more embarrassed.

"So, have you... like, played with yourself at least?" she asked.