"I think I'm gonna get the mint chocolate chip. . ." Paige examines the pump before hastily pulling the lever, and a gush of green, liquified cream comes cascading down into her small, pinkish bowl. "What are you getting?"
"You know what I'm getting," I roll my eyes at her, happily skipping over to the last of the choices, as I noticed they had my favorite flavor in stock. This has always been my favorite kind of ice-cream, and it's so hard to find, nowadays! And to top it off, at a small joint in upstate Washington? Talk about beautiful coincidence.
"Rainbow sherbert." We say simultaneously and burst into a fit of giggles.
Now all that I have to do is figure out how much I'm paying.
That'll be a more difficult quest than I'm used to, but I accept it as my fate and destiny.
"So, I know that one of these cups is .0025 of an ounce. Along with my ice-cream, that'll equal…" My brow furrows in concentration, and Paige pushes a groan out before setting her cold sugary treat down on the paying scale.
"Jenny, you have to lighten up about the money! Look; I can pay for you, if you want, but-"
"That won't be necessary!" I bite my lip in satisfaction and raise my clenched fist to the sky. "I've calculated the amount of ounces and multiplied that by price per ounce, and I've concluded that I will be paying exactly three dollars and eight cents for my ice-cream."
"You know what. . ." She slams her palm on her forehead before backing away, holding her decorative cup. "As a token of gratitude, for finding out the amount of ice-cream you're getting, why don't you go in front of me?"
I scowl at her from under my hardly perfected brows, as she ushers me in front. Something about her sarcastic tone didn't seem genuine. She's a tricky one, I'll give her that much.
I don't see why she gets so angry when I figure out how much I'm paying. I was raised to respect the value of the dollar!
I toddle up to the cash register, just as the last man was pushing through the big, double doors, escaping into the lazy pavements of our small town.
Through all of the quiet chatter and commotion in the parlor, I can still hear the desolated ring of a lone coin jingling against the counter top. My eyes widen a fraction as they navigate downwards to find the source of the clamor.
…. A dime? Who would leave a dime on the counter?
As I put all of the pieces together in my head, I realize there could only be one culprit who do such an act, as to leave behind 10 perfectly good cents!
The man before me! I have to catch up to him and return his dime!
"Sorry, Paige! I'll be right back!" I grapple for the thinned metal, and bolt through the doors, not bothering to hear her complaints or objections.
Why couldn't this person just freaking pick up his dime?! It's just one coin. Why did they have to be so stubborn as to leave it behind for anyone to have?! Such a disgrace. Someone worked hard for that money.
I stumble upon a crowded parking lot, and frantically scan the rowed cars for the unfamiliar face that I'm hoping I'll recognize.
No luck. There's too many people either entering their cars or jumping out eagerly from excitement overload.
I sigh half-heartedly, when I spot someone tall across the lot in the corner of my eye. He has dark blonde hair, and could easily reach up to six foot and one inch tall. At least.
Jenny, now is not the time to play 'I spy with my little eye…'. You have to give back this coin, if it's he last thing you do!
I hurtle my feet towards the shrinking figure, as he gets further and further away, not caring that my hair is rushing passed my ears and I probably look like a stupid elephant whilst sprinting. I clutch the silver metal in my sweaty palm and quicken my already bone shattering pace. I notice the man opens the door to a black sports car, near the back of the lot, and he hops in, closing the door behind him.
"Wait! S-sir, please wait!" I wail and chase after him, as the headlights flicker on and the engine roars to life. I run swiftly over to the open window, and get a good view of the mystery money bags man. Yes, I just called him 'money bags man.' What else would I call him? 'Man who likes to save money like a genuinely organized person'? That doesn't quite fit the bill.
His blue eyes glance up at me, and distaste flashes in them, as he looks me up and down.
"Thank you!" I flick some hair out of my face and grin down at him. "You left your dime back in the ice-cream shop. I thought you might want it back."
I plop the shiny, 2007 piece into his palm, and he blinks, dumbfounded.
"You're giving me back a dime?" He says, almost unbelieving what he's forcing himself to say.
"Yes… You forgot it back there…" I trail off, since I notice he's uninterested.
"What are you? A penny pushing Jew?" He tosses the dime onto the ground and resumes to glowering up at me from his lowly position. Even though, at this moment, I'm taller than him, I still can't help but be intimated to the point where I just want to curl up under a blanket and hide.
"N-no…" I slur my words, and cough, abashed. "I'm a happy Christian…"
"Yeah, whatever. Religion is dumb." He yaps and hocks a loogie down onto the pavement by my shoes. I gape in complete shock at the Satan for human being in front of me.
Did he really just spit on me?!
"Now get away from my car."
I freeze in place, almost not being able to understand English.
What's wrong with this guy?
What's wrong with me?
Why can't I move?
The man proceeds to smashing the horn on his steering wheel, snapping me back from my unwanted reverie. I quickly take jolted backwards steps, but not before tripping over my own sneakers, and landing on my butt.
What a perfect day.
I blink away my surprise and look up in front of me, and I watch as my half eaten ice cream cup comes pummeling down into the ridiculously shiny car, catapulting onto the man's chest.
I sit there, in complete and utter shock, as I listen to him screech profanities and other unholy words that I've only heard my mother say when Paris ate her special sandwiches.
"My shirt! Look what you've done!" He growls, and returns to staring at me, demise etched into his gaze. He immediately slams on the gas pedal, churning his car forward and into the street.
Okay, I can tell that guy didn't like me very much, but did he really have to risk my life in order to make a triumphant exit? I mean, the car was like, two feet away from me! I could have died!
I squint under the sun's violent rays, and catch a glimpse of something shining from a few feet away. It reflects the sun's brightness, and I almost have to shield my eyes from the extreme light. I unconsciously crawl over and fumble with the speck of sun between my finger tips.
It's a coin?
A dime.
The one he threw out from the window.
If I ever run into him again, I'll teach him how much a dollar is actually worth! People like him have to know that a dime is not just a piece of trash to us!
That's it. I've decided.
The next time I see him, I'm returning this time to him, no discussion.
That is, if I ever see him again.
▂▃▄▅▆▇█▓▒░Once Upon A Dime░▒▓█▇▆▅▄▃▂
"Are you making food?"
"No, why?"
"Oh. No reason. I mean, if you were, I wouldn't object,"
I roll my eyes at the demon spawn in front of me, and slink into the kitchen. I don't know why she can't just admit that she's hungry. She really should start to learn to make her own food, so that I don't always have to keep looking after her.
"Why don't you make your own food?" I holler from the kitchen and pop a bowl of macaroni and cheese into the microwave.
"You know I hate cooking!" Paris wails back, and I hear the television flick on.
"Well, maybe if you did it more, you'd grow to like it!" I bark, sounding a little more aggravated than I would have liked.
"Well, maybe if you just made food like you're told, we wouldn't have this problem!" She retorts harshly and a surge of rage boils up to my thoughts.
I know they used pretty gnarly torture weapons in the Roman times. Maybe I can talk to Paige's uncle to let me go to the museum and …. 'borrow' some.
A few bubbles pop from the inside of the oven, and the timer slowly ticks closer to zero. I pull up a high stool to the kitchen countertop, and throw my head onto my arms.
I haven't met a lot of people like Paris. Rowdy, loud, obnoxious when it comes to all things. I thought she would have even attempted to respect what she's got, rather than yearn for more. She acts like a snotty, rich American girl; the ones with their own dogs, private pools, and hot chaperones that take them anywhere in their signature Porsche whenever they'd like to go.
Well, considering my family has absolutely none of that, it always puzzles me. The way she acts.
The shriek of the microwave sends an unwanted shock down my spine, alerting me the fattening cheesy noodles are cooked. Well, enough.
"Here." I grumble stiffly and hold up the steaming pot of smiley shaped noodles. "No eating in the living room."
"Mom's not even home. You don't gotta be acting like a policeman when she's not here." She narrows her annoying aqua blue eyes at me and lunges for the purple plastic bowl, only to miss it by a few inches and come tumbling down onto the faded, worn rug.
"You done?" I throw a vexed glance at her before fleeing to the kitchen and setting the now piping hot bowl onto the stained glass dining table. There's a crack on the far ledge, just near the head of the table, due to one of Paris' 'extreme makeover nights' with some of her 'buddies' from school. If you ask me, they influence her in ways I wish the wouldn't. If she didn't see her friends, just maybe she would be attentive and cooperative, but no. That's waaaaaaaay too hard.
I fish my hand out and grab the landline phone, punching in Paige's number.
When we first met, during the summer when I had just moved here, she gave me the number to her home phone, and I was surprised at how easy it was to memorize. 5 of 10 digits are the same.
"Hello?" Paige answers after the second ring, sounding a tad hoarse.
"Hey, Paige! What's up?" I chirp into the phone, and lean on the nearest table top.
"Nothing much. I have a cold," She wheezes attractively into the other end of the line, and I hold the phone away from my ear, as if I could catch her sickness just by listening to her.
"That's a bummer. My family got tickets to the circus this weekend…" I sigh, disappointed. My eyes dart up and latch on to the little girl trotting into the kitchen. She gives me a questioning smirk, and I wave her away.
"Oh. Sounds like fun. Maybe I'll be better?" Her voice rises at the end of the sentence, ultimately sounding like a question. I guess we can both hope on something that will probably not come true. How will she get better by tomorrow? I mean, it is Friday, now.
"Yeah. Maybe." I watch Paris as she scampers around the kitchen, searching desperately for an eating utensil. She chucks her arms up into the air in irritation, and I let a giggle slip from my throat. I hold out a spoon for her, and she growls at me as she snatches it away from my grasp. I shift the speaking part of the phone down to the flesh of my neck. "Careful, Paris. That's hot."
Too late.
"Ow!" Paris cries out, grasping her fingers in agony. The scorching bowl of yellow noodles falls elegantly to the ground, splattering on the recently redone kitchen tiles.
"Paris! God, I warned you!" I yell over her whimpering sobs.
"What just happened?!" Paige pips, sounding alarmed.
"Nothing, Paige. Paris just spilled some macaroni." I complain to my friend, and grab the nearest dish cloth. "See, Paris, this is why you should do things on your own! You'll know what to expect!"
"Sounds delightful." Paige deadpans and I force a chuckle. I prop the chunky piece of technology between my shoulder and cheek, and get down on all fours to clean up this catastrophe.
"Why did you make that so hot?!" Paige whines and sniffs through a congested nostril. She wipes away some of her heavy, dark tears with the back of her palm, and goes to run her hand under some water.
"Why do you wear so much makeup?! There's a lot of things I could be asking you!" I explode and look up from her overly expensive shoes to find her face. I'm sure the expression on my face must have been deathly mortifying, cause Paris takes one look at me, and hastily dashes out of the room, miniature snivels escaping her lips as she crawls up the stairs and slams the door behind her.
"Well, that sounds like fun!" Paige half mocks, half sniggers through the other end of the line.
"Tell me about it." I groan, and continue mopping up the mushy yellow muck. It doesn't even look like macaroni. Never trust the picture on the package. It will never look that good.
"Anyway," She stops a moment to have a coughing attack, and repositions herself at the phone. "What was that all about last week? When you left the ice-cream shop as if you saw Ariel freaking Herman riding down the street on his motor bike."
"Who's Ariel Herman?" I pause for a moment, my brow furrowed in attempted recollection.
Ariel? I've heard that name somewhere before…
"You don't know who Ariel is?" She gasps in horror, almost embarrassed to be someone's friend who doesn't know who the mysterious 'Ariel Herman' is. "Ariel is not only the hottest most dreamiest guy in the world, but he's also in our grade! Oh, right. You didn't go to school here last year. Okay. It's understandable that you don't know him."
"I'd hope so." I chortle heartily, and pile all of the soggy noodles back into the cracked bowl and heave it into the sink. "I don't like perfect people."
"But you like me!"
"Precisely." I giggle at her raging wrath, and flick the faucet on so that chilling water pours down and into the pot, washing all of the dirtied noodles down the drain.
"I'll get you back for that later, but answer my question first!" She forgets that she's sick, and rambles into the phone. "Why did you leave the parlor?"
"I had to give something back to the guy in front of us." I blink wide eyed, although I know she can't see me. Couldn't it be obvious? She knows that I need everything that relates to money to be squared and centered. She could have noticed the lonesome dime just sitting there on the countertop.
"Really? What were you giving back?" She gawks, dragging out the consonants.
"A dime." I smile sheepishly at my stupidity, and drag my feet over to one of the wooden stools, plopping down in it with no effort exerted.
"A dime? Why?" She sounds preposterous, almost as if giving back some money to someone who had accidentally left it there was the last thing anyone with decent ideals and morals should do.
"Because… PAIGE! You know how I am with money!" I break, and begin flailing my arms around, hoping that she knows how much angst I get when it comes to dealing with money.
At this, she bursts out laughing, and I quietly insult her, just muted enough so that she can't hear me.
After she pipes down, I hear someone feminine through her end of the line, but I can't quite make out her words. The voice has a kind, but driven edge to it, almost sounding motherly, in a sort of way.
"Yeah. I know. Really? Today? Cool! Thanks. Yeah, I'll be sure to tell them. Okay. Bye." She mumbles quietly, probably not directed towards me, but I'm still inclined to listen. "Hey, Jenny? I gotta go."
"Okay. And you do know you're going to have to tell me what that was about at some point, right?" I smile into the phone, putting a jeering quality to my voice.
"Yeah…" She whispers softly, with a ping of sadness drilling at the back of her voice. I wonder what that's about. "I'll talk to you later."
"Kay. Seeya."
And with that, I hang up the phone and secure it on it's tiny alter on the far table. It blinks to an orange, feigned light, signifying it's charging, and the screen dims down to a black hue.
I wonder what Paige would be hiding from me, out of all people, her best friend. Well, I mean, I think I'm her best friend.
Who was that woman? What did she tell Paige?
All of these questions jumble around inside my head, knocking against the sides of my skull, and suddenly, an increasing surge of pain makes the backside of my brain start to throb. Great. Just great.
Well, I'll be looking forward to the circus, I guess. I just hope I don't 'accidentally' throw up on Paris on the way there.
- - -
A/N: I don't really know where I'm going with this. Hope you guys are having a nice day. c:
Also, Ariel is not pronounced like the princess Ariel, no. It's R-E-L.