On Thin Ice (Editing)

Chapter 4

“Coral or salmon?” Ally asks, pointing at the lipstick shades.  I glance down at the glossy magazine pages and shrug, not really seeing the difference.  “Violet, this is important.  If I want Trace to like me, the color has to be perfect.”

I sigh, running my hand through my loose curls as I turn away from Ally to help a customer.  She’s been perched on the counter of the concessions stand for the past three hours, going through the teen magazine in her lap, filling out quizzes, and reading articles to me about clothing, celebrities, and weird diets.

On one hand it’s nice having her here - she’s passing the time while I work, and I really enjoy her company.  As great as that is, however, if I hear one more word about makeup or which celebrity wore what better, I might snap.  We’re completely different.  Ally is bright, perky, into girly things.  I’m darker, sarcastic, and coat my eyes in black eye shadow and dark mascara every morning.  She wears pastels, dainty jewelry and her brown hair is styled perfectly.  My wardrobe is full of black (like my soul) and I didn’t style my rainbow streaked hair this morning, instead opting for the bedhead look.

We’re opposites, yet somehow, it works.

That didn’t stop me from sending a withering glare her way when she sprayed me with a flowery perfume earlier, though.

Handing the customer his change, I turn back to Ally and frown.  “Just pick the pinkish one," I tell her with a wave of my hand.

“Violet, they’re both pink,” she groans, throwing her head back dramatically.  “You’re not being very helpful.”

“My sincerest apologies,” I deadpan.

“And you’re not being very nice, either,” Ally sighs.  “Why are you in such a bad mood?  Is it your period?  I’ve got some Midol and chocolate in my purse-“

“No, it’s not my fucking menstrual cycle,” I mutter, snatching the chocolate from her hands anyway.  “Thanks.”

In all honesty, I don’t know what spurred my bad mood today.  It may be the giant argument I had with my mother before coming to work this afternoon.  She told me to pick up the dirty clothes in my room, and I sort of snapped.  But, I had a good reason.  My bedroom door displays a sign with a message stating explicitly that she is never to go inside.  Obviously she didn’t get the message.

Or, it could be the fact that I had to clean up puke today - twice.  This kid ate an entire tub of cotton candy before spewing the pink and blue sugar everywhere.  And when I cleaned it up, he had the nerve to purchase another tub of the stuff, and blow chunks again.  I would’ve forced Duncan to mop it up if he were here, but he was off in Lake City with his younger brother.

And maybe that’s why I’m in such a bad mood.  Over the past two weeks, Duncan has become such an essential element to my daily routines.  Even on my days off, we’ve met up a few times for coffee or a run.  Not seeing him the entire day has put me on edge, to say the least.

“Oh my gosh, there he is,” Ally whispers, smacking my arm repeatedly, her rings surely leaving marks.  “There’s Tyler.”  I follow her gaze to where a few of the hockey players from Duncan’s team are standing.  A few of them have been running drills in a free rink all afternoon since there was no official practice today.