Reckless Serenade

eight | oliver

viii. in which oliver york receives a surprise at work

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I QUICKLY TIED the scarf around my neck tightly as I sprinted down the pavement. Pushing past people, I had no time to apologize though I sent them all apologizing looks. Because Elliana had spilled an entire jug of orange juice on my uniform - how that happened, I have no idea - just before I had to leave, I had to stick it in the washing machine and risk being late. Little did I know, our machine malfunctioned and now I was an hour late to my shift at Java.

Christa was going to murder me. Even the clothes I managed to thrown on were not up to employee standards. My white dress shirt was on backwards, I had pulled these jeans out of the laundry bin, and I hoped to God I managed to slip on my own shoes and not a pair of my mother's. With the still dripping wet apron over my shoulder, I panted as I rounded the final corner.

And collided with someone warm and tiny.

She fell to the ground with so little as much as a groan while I only happened to stagger back from the impact. I blanched and bent down, grabbing her hands - scraped and calloused - and helped the girl to her feet. She didn't wince at the new stings on her palms, and once we were on our feet, merely dusted herself off like nothing happened.

"I'm sorry," I blurted out just as she spoke at the same time.

"Watch where the hell you're going."

The two of us jolted when we recognized our voices. I shut my eyes shut and pinched the bridge of my nose; my morning was already bad enough and now she entered the picture. When I opened them, Quinn had already slipped a smirk onto her graceful lips, cocking an eyebrow in my direction curiously.

"I don't have time for this." I muttered, half to myself as I pushed past her, fast-walking down the sidewalk to where Java stood at the end of the street. From this distance I could make out the crowd, smaller than usual, and Christa at the head, looking utterly perturbed.

The sound of footsteps behind me had me gritting my teeth. It was the clack of a heel, perfectly in sync with my own hurried pace. About halfway there, I whirled around and gave her an accusing stare. "What's your problem?"

Quinn rolled her eyes and paused in her stride, though I couldn't tell if she had actually rolled her eyes behind the amber sunglasses perched on the bridge of her nose. She looked different today, dressed in baggy clothes that wasn't suited for her body, though she still had her combat boots on. Her outfit screamed shy, when I remembered from yesterday how she was the exact opposite.

Giving an innocent look, Quinn simply gave another lazy grin and shouldered past me, roughly pushing me to the side like I did to her just moments ago. "I could ask you the same thing," she called over her shoulder and walked over to where she intermingled with the crowd waiting for Java the Hut to open.

I gaped for a second; I'd have to deal with her again? My shock was broken by Christa's shrill cry, "Oliver York, get your butt right over here this instant!"

Spectators in the crowd managed small smiles of amusement while Quinn just blatantly laughed. Feeling my face grow hot, I just hurried my pace and made my way through the crowd to the front. Unlocking the door with my employee keys, Christa and I swept off to the side to let everyone in.

Not wanting to hear another lecture, I quickly ducked into the store after the last person. My luck was still pretty rotten because a hand reached out and gripped the collar of my shirt in an iron grasp, pulling me back into the frigid autumn air.

Busted.

"Oliver," Christa sighed, crossing her arms over her chest as I meekly faced her. "I don't have to say anything, do I?"