Butterflies

Chapter Eleven

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'But what if he's waiting for you to start talking to him? And your waiting for him to start talking to you?
~ Just do it, now ~
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A 20 and a 10
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Isabelle

"You're not doing it right!" Milo yells from across the table, and I can't really tell if he's more scared or mad at the moment. "Well I'm not having a very good teacher." I bit back, my anger just barely at bay.

Let's just say this has been a very long morning...and it's still only 8am. Although, I really–really–am trying to think on the bright side. "You broke the cash register Isabelle." He hisses, his breath hitting my check as he leans closer so that nearby customers won't hear.

"How was I supposed to know it was old?"

"It's not." He retorts. I gather all the money that is now all in one pile in the middle. "It's fine, I'll just...fix it?" Milo grunts, and stomps off past the back doors of Mama Hazels.

I ignore his man-child-like state, and start scanning my surroundings for anything that will work.

The cash register is one of those two layered ones, and one of the hinges just broke off, so the top half grew slanted prompting the money to practically slide out.

I guess 'just broke off' isn't very descriptive, but all I did was open it. Ok, maybe I tugged it a little harder because of how rude the customer was being. Stupid pricks need to be thankful for what I'm giving them.

The store has been pretty quiet this morning, so when I don't feel like anyones going to be coming, I walk towards the back of the store. There's a small storage closet, and when I open the door I realize it is indeed small.

This used to be my ultimate hiding spot when playing hide and seek with all my friends. Technically no one is allowed back here, but Mama Hazel always left it open, and nobody ever found me.

It was pretty funny, actually.

Only problem though, I don't remember it being this tiny, or cramped pack for that matter.

I flick on the light switch to my right, and a small bulb begins to buzz above my head. It doesn't do much for light, but it does give enough to where I see a small box of random materials.

When I was in Portland, one thing I took up doing in my spare time was creating things. I remember vividly raiding my aunt's attic and creating just worthless items to pass the time.

The older I got, the bigger my things got. I built a treehouse for my little cousins that were on the way, I built them a crib too actually. My aunt was having twins right before I left.

Besides the point, I shove a couple other things away until I get to the box I'm looking for. I need something that's going to be slidable, like a hinge that can move back and forth. Finding a broken piece of rubber band, and popsicle sticks, I walk back out to the front room–thankful no one came by–and get to work.

First, twisting one of the ends of the string to the stick, and then tieing the other end to the other one, I place one stick in the bottom shelf pocket, and the other in the top shelf pocket.

See, that wasn't so hard.

I finish up re organizing the spilled money, and shut the cash register at the same time someone clears their throat. I jumped, spooked, to look up and see a familiar brown eyed man. It startled me, his eyes. Momentarily stunned me.