Milo and Maisie

Chapter Melody Time: Maisie and the Pargo (Part Two)

Natacha's accent was so thick that Maisie repeatedly asked the rudest question ever: "What?" She was making horrible use of the Inclusion Key, and it only made her rising anxiety worse.

After grabbing two yellow-green safety vests for them and keys out of the tracker in the back, Natacha first showed Maisie the All-Star Sports main Custodial closet, where they stored all their supplies. They ran into the other two Trash people.

They chatted briefly, but Maisie hid in the shadows and only spoke when Natacha inquired, "What size gloves do you wear?"

"Small." Maisie accepted the box of gloves and waited a little longer until Natacha was ready.

They went outside to the back dock and approached one of the parked golf carts. Oh, that was what a pargo was! Maisie felt even stupider now.

Growing up in South Carolina, she was used to heat and humidity but still sweated under the Florida sun. Maisie climbed into the pargo's passenger side, and Natacha took the driver's seat.

"To start," she explained, pointing at the choke, "put in neutral, let parking break loose, and pull choke." She did all three and twisted the key in the ignition.

Maisie jumped at the sound of a loud pop.

"You good?" Natacha said. "Don't be nervous. Trash isn't hard."

"What about that pop?" Was the pargo going to break down on Maisie before they even left the back dock?

"That's normal," Natacha answered, putting the pargo in reverse. "Hold on. We go to dumpster first to pick up trailer."

The dumpster. Of course. Maisie rubbed her forehead and chewed her nails.

Natacha turned right out of the back dock and headed for a large area at the end of the road. She stopped to let a few Guests cross and bounced over a bump when she entered it.

There were two green compactors there, a small building, and a few other Trash people driving trailers with six trash barrels on them. Maisie guessed they came from the other All-Star Resorts.

Natacha passed one of the workers, who was dropping off his trash, and waved at him. They were both from Haiti, so they communicated through Creole, but Maisie also recognized the French word for yes.

The man glanced at her and popped a query at Natacha.

"Training," she answered, patting Maisie's shoulder. "She good. Pretty girl. Will do just fine after a little practice."

Maisie hoped so. She preferred when Natacha spoke shorter sentences. They were easier to understand. The accent was beautiful—she merely wasn't familiar with it. Therefore, most of what she learned that day came from observing vs. listening.

Soon after Natacha showed Maisie how to put on the trailer (she only understood two of the steps), Feya texted her.

Hey! How's the first day going? I'm on break.

"Who's that?" Natacha said, climbing back into the pargo.

Maisie joined her. "A friend. Feya. She's asking me how it's going so far."

"Feya? Beautiful name! What does it mean?"

That was a good question. What did Feya mean? Maisie almost texted her that but went with something else.

It's going. How's the leg?

"Sorry," she apologized. "She's injured, so I have to make sure she's okay."

"You're fine. Friends are important. Just tell me when." Natacha placed her hands in her lap.

Leg's fine, Feya replied. It's a little sore, but nothing a little break can't fix.