Pinball

ii - rarity

dedicated to april xx

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a/n: had to re-upload this chapter because wattpad was being its usual moody self and mucking up my books. don’t bother reading this chap if you’ve already read it; nothing’s been changed.  

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ii – rarity  

I was still stunned when my dad came thumping down the stairs. You were too, and when he walked over to where we were standing, with our mouths agape beside the Donkey Kong machine, it took us both a moment to collect ourselves and greet my father. 

"Hi dad," I said. I nudged you with my elbow when you didn't say anything. 

"Um, hello sir." You finally said, grinning sheepishly. 

"Ah, Lincoln is it? Damon said you were looking for a job," My dad held his hand out for you to shake. "I'm Calvin Holdsworth, nice to meet you, son."

"Nice to meet you too, sir." You were fairly polite for a guy. 

Dad started talking to you about your job: wages and shift times and lunch breaks and whatnot, so I left the two of you to continue collecting coins. 

Ten minutes later, when he had finished going over everything with you and marched back up the stairs again to do God knows what, I'd finally finished retrieving coins from every machine in the arcade. You always tell me I'm a fast worker. 

I walked over to where you were, standing behind the counter and fiddling with the register. It was amusing watching you trying to work it. 

"Need some help?" I smiled. You jumped a little, startled I guess, and scrunched up your nose. 

"Erm, not really . . . I can do this on my own." You were – and still are – so stubborn. 

"What are you trying to do exactly?" 

"Nothing . . ." 

"Uh-huh." I said, not entirely convinced. I gently pushed you aside and pressed a button on the register, watching the compartment where all the money was kept slide out with a ding. Then I began scooping handfuls of one-dollar coins from the blue container, dumping them in their designated spot in the compartment. 

"So, what do I do?" You asked.

"Just wait, I'll show you around."

So I did, and we spent the next fifteen minutes getting to know each other while you got familiar with the arcade. 

You were an only child, like me, and you lived on the other side of our little town Northfort, with your grandparents, closer to the mountains. 

When you didn't elaborate any more on your family life, I pressed on, but immediately stopped when I could sense you getting uncomfortable and closed off. 

I changed the subject to relieve the awkward tension, but couldn't stop thinking about how there must have been something going on at home for your mood to shift so fast. 

"Why don't see you at school?" I asked, genuinely curious. 

"I'm home-schooled," You replied. “And I don't really go out much.” Your voice had suddenly lost that cheerfulness to it, but it wasn't cold or angry, just . . . deflated.