(FEATURED)
It's been months since the unceremonious fall of Kimie Sato's older sister. The whole of Ridgerock High knows it, and by now, the majority have moved on. But Kimie still watches those who had a hand in it continue to walk free, and the mo...
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I never thought it was possible for a person to feel glum in a place where almost everyone was having ice cream, until today.
The scene seemed to mock me, because every booth I looked in contained a smiling person.
If I said Tybalt was ignoring me, it would be an understatement. It was like I wasn't even there—like I was a ghost, invisible. We had added smoothies to the menu, so the amount of work we had had doubled. I was taking orders, Tybalt was getting them ready, and Norman—good old Norman—was going from booth to booth, asking customers if they needed anything.
It was a little busy during the first few hours, so I didn't get the chance to talk to Tybalt, but once it was time for my break, I decided to get this conversation over with. He had disappeared, so I cleaned the last bit of ice cream from the counter before moving to the backroom.
He was putting some boxes up on a shelf when I saw him, and when his eyes met with mine, he quickly averted them, then started taping small, rectangular pieces of paper to the boxes.
"Hey, Tybalt," I heard myself say. "Can we talk?"
He didn't reply immediately, continuing to tape the pieces of paper to the boxes like it was the most interesting job in the world. "I'm busy," he eventually replied without looking at me, and the action was like a stab to the heart.
I took a while to recover, figuring I needed to apologize now, before trying again. "Look, I'm really sorry about yesterday. I—"
"Sato, I said I'm busy," he spat, his voice echoing a little in the room, causing me to flinch. "And I'm pretty sure that's obvious."
He still didn't look at me, but I watched him, mentally begging him to hear me out. After a few minutes passed and he still remained like that, I gave up and walked away.
My dad told me about him and how disappointed he looked last night, and I tried my best to pick up the phone and give him a call, but it was just too hard. Why I found it difficult to call someone and apologize was still a mystery.
I didn't know how long I stayed away from the counter, but I eventually figured I couldn't face Tybalt again that day, so I went to the manager and asked if I could leave. I lied that I was feeling a little sick, and he wasted no time granting me the permission to go home.
Immediately I stepped out of the building, my phone vibrated in my back pocket, and I waited until I was in my car before pulling it out to check the text.
The words lighting up my screen made me freeze, and I tasted something bitter at the back of my throat. The text was from West.
And it was bad news.
We have a problem. A California-sized one
Like my day wasn't bad enough.
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