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I stand beside Connor, watching him like a hawk as he goes to take a customer’s order.
“Hi, what can I get you?” he says in a tone that’s verging on monotonic. Even as he flips open the black notepad I presented him with half an hour ago, he couldn’t look less interested if he tried. With a slouching posture and an expression that could turn milk sour, he’s not exactly the picture of a friendly waiter.
The woman Connor’s staring at expectantly doesn’t have a chance to respond before I interrupt.
“That’s not how it’s supposed to go,” I tell him for the third time, resisting the urge to slap him, “and you know it. You’re supposed to introduce yourself.”
He spares me a glance over his shoulder, but only rolls his eyes at me. “Whatever. It’s not like it matters.”
“Yes, it does matter.” I grit my teeth. “You’re working here, and I’ve been told to train you. That means you’re supposed to do what I say.”
“Look, it gets the job done, doesn’t it? So stop nagging,” Connor retorts, before turning back to the table. “What can I get you?”
His deliberate insolence is driving me up the wall; I don’t know how much longer I can be around him without completely losing it and punching him in the face. How he has any friends is beyond me. The only thing stopping me from screaming at him is the fact that we’re in the middle of the restaurant, and that causing too much disruption would probably get both of us fired.
The hour that I’ve spent with him already has been hell. There’s no other way to put it. After returning from the bathroom following my encounter with Dad, the situation’s just been on a steep downhill slope. Finding out I’ve got to work with my worst enemy is bad enough, but training him as well?
I swear, it’s a miracle he’s still alive.
I don’t have a clue why he even took the job. He knows full well that it’s my dad who owns the restaurant, and he’s also aware that I work here. If he’s got such a massive problem with my presence, why walk straight through the doors and fill out an application form that will mean he has to spend even more time with me?
I do not understand how his head works.
“Connor,” I force out in a low tone, “can I have a word with you?”
The customer at the table looks slightly unnerved by the two warring servers in front of her, and has deemed shrinking behind her menu the safest option at the current moment. In all honesty, she’s probably got the best idea.
“Excuse us for a second,” I say, offering her a small smile before grabbing the sleeve of Connor’s shirt and yanking him in the opposite direction. I only manage to drag him a meter or so before he pushes me away and sends me a piercing glare. However, despite his protests, I’m able to escort him away from the paying customers and into the seclusion of the back of the restaurant, where any potential arguments are less likely to lose us our jobs.
The furthest place is the storeroom, which requires a four-digit pass code on the door to gain access. Not that there’s anything worth protecting in here – unless any burglars happen to have an odd desire for boxes of cleaning products and multi-packs of condiments. I punch the numbers in and force the door open, dragging Connor inside the musty room.
“What are you bringing me in here for?” he demands, brushing at the part of his sleeve I’ve touched, as if I’ve left some kind of contagious residue on there.
I admit that the room isn’t the most luxurious of places. Hidden well out of sight, there’s not much need to keep things tidy, and a layer of dust has settled on most of the unused stock. The light bulb dangling above us is on its last legs, too – every so often it’ll flicker, submerging us in darkness for less than half a second before blinking back to life.
“Because,” I say, allowing my voice to go a little louder when the door shuts behind us, “we need to sort this out. Right now.”
“Sort what out?”
“There is no way we can work together like this,” I state, crossing my arms. “I know we’ve got problems – a lot of them, apparently – but we’ve got to forget them whilst we’re here, at least. If we start arguing in front of the customers, my dad isn’t going to be happy.”
He rolls his eyes, crossing his own arms in what I imagine is meant to be a challenging stance.
“Connor,” I say. “This isn’t fun for either of us. But we’ve got to at least try to get on, otherwise this is never going to work. Once we’re out of here, you can treat me however you want. That’s your decision. But we need to come to some sort of civil agreement here, otherwise both of us are going to end up out of a job. Can you handle that?”
A grunt is all I get by way of response, but I’m pretty sure I can make out the word “Fine.”
“Good,” I say, heaving a sigh. To be honest, I had expected him to put up more of a fight. At the very least a heated discussion about how he couldn’t be civil to someone he hated so deeply. But a simple agreement?
Maybe God is watching over me after all.
I go to turn around and head for the door, but just as I do, my vision disappears. At first, I think I’ve been spontaneously stripped of my sight, but after a few seconds, it dawns on me that the light bulb has gone out completely. Shaking my head lightly, I make a mental note to remind Dad to change it later.
Blinking a couple of times, I feel around the wall for the keypad to the left of the door. My hand finds it, and after some difficulty, I manage to enter the correct code to get us out of here. However, nothing happens. I try it again, more carefully this time, tracing over each key with my hand to make doubly sure I’m pressing the correct buttons. No, definitely the right code.
Still nothing happens.
“Oh, crap...” I say out loud, when realization dawns on me.
“What?” Connor asks from behind, his voice clearly tinged with irritation and impatience.
“The power must have gone out.” I turn around slowly, even though there’s no way I can even make out where Connor’s standing in the darkness. For all I know, he could’ve squeezed out of the tiny back window and be half a block away by now. The only thing that confirms he’s still in the room is the sound of his steady breathing alternating with mine.
“So?”
“The lock on the door is electronic, genius,” I answer sarcastically, even though a feeling of dread is spreading through me. “We’re trapped in here until it comes back on.”
Thankfully, I’m able to keep the fear from leaking into my voice. Without any light, there’s no danger of my expression giving my emotions away, either. Now, if only I could convince myself that I’m not on the verge of freaking out. Blackouts aren’t really a rarity, but there’s no way to tell how long one will last. A best case scenario would be the power returning to the restaurant in the next minute or so, but I don’t want to think of the other end of the spectrum.
What if we were stuck in here for hours?
I’m not sure what’s scariest about that prospect – the darkness or all that time spent with Connor.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
I sigh. “You think I’d joke about this? There’s no other way to get out.”
“Well, this is just brilliant.”
I don’t even need to see Connor’s face to know what kind of expression he’s wearing. The image is vivid in my head; I’ve seen it enough times to know every detail. At least the lack of light means that I’m spared being on the receiving end of his signature glare.
My thoughts turn to the room we’re in – and to the dozens of boxes piled around us. “There’s got to be a flashlight in here somewhere,” I murmur, daring to take a step forward. With my arms stretched out in front of me, I shuffle to the left until they meet cardboard. A faint stream of light comes in through the window, providing a tiny amount of illumination on the area I’m searching. However, after about thirty seconds of rifling, I come up short. Daring to move a little further, I stumble around a corner and head to where I vaguely remember Dad keeping a box of spare electronics.
Come on, I mutter inwardly as I search a shelf. When my hands land on the cool plastic of what I’m looking for, I almost let out a cry of relief.
The light streams out of it immediately when I flick the switch. I turn around and retrace my steps, although it’s still impossible to gain a sense of direction. My hands grip the flashlight a little tighter as the pace of my heart quickens.
“Connor?” I call out in a weak voice.
There’s no response. Biting my lip, I try to force down the panic inside me. He’s doing this deliberately, I tell myself. He’s trying to scare you. Don’t give him the satisfaction.
“Quit it, okay?” I say, but my voice sounds far from confident. “This isn’t funny.”
Just as I take another step backward, my back collides with another body. The movement shocks me and without thinking, I let out a strangled scream that echoes around the room. In a split second, I prepare myself mentally for the painful death I’m about to experience. Spinning round, I shine the flashlight in the direction of the being, as if the beam of light will somehow protect me from the potential ax murderer I’ve just encountered.
It’s not my fault; I’m not thinking straight.
“What the...? It’s just me,” Connor says, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Why are you screaming?”
Color rises to my cheeks and I’m internally grateful that it’s too dark to see. “Um, I...” I struggle to regain composure. “You made me jump...”
“Clearly,” he says, amusement audible in his voice.
I place the torch down on the floor, angled so it provides us with the maximum light possible, and we sit cross legged beside each other. My heartbeat is gradually slowing to a normal pace, but that doesn’t mean I’m not still on edge. I’ve never really been afraid of the dark before, but for some reason, this whole situation seems different.
Maybe it’s just the fact I don’t trust Connor completely.
“How long do you think it’s going to be before the power comes back on?” he asks, breaking the silence.
“I don’t know,” I reply truthfully. I swallow, wondering whether I should bring up the subject. After a moment of deliberation, I decide it’s probably a better alternative than sitting in silence and summon the courage. “Um... can I ask you something?”
“I guess so.”
I avert my gaze to the floor, even though it’d be difficult to make eye contact if I wanted to. “I’m just curious, but... if you don’t like me, why did you apply for a job here?”
When he doesn’t respond straight away, I begin to regret saying anything. What am I doing, trying to make conversation with Connor, anyway? Surely the best course of action in a situation like this is just to sit tight and pray for the electricity to return.
Well, there’s no going back now.
“I didn’t have a choice,” he says. “I didn’t want to, but my mom was bugging me about making myself useful and getting a job. She said if I didn’t find one by the end of the week, she’d sign me up for volunteer work. This was the only place in town that was hiring.”
I smile wryly at the thought of Julie and her unique parenting methods. Albeit unconventional, nobody could deny they were effective.
“Oh,” is all I can manage by way of a response.
I suppose it makes sense. It’s a lot more believable than my theory anyway, which involved Connor putting himself through the tortures of working here just to make my life just that little bit more miserable. I don’t think even he would be willing to do that.
“You know what this reminds me of?” Connor says suddenly, breaking me away from my thoughts. “That time when you slept over mine when we were kids. Do you remember? There was a blackout about ten o’clock, and you got so scared. We ended up building a fort out of our blankets to protect ourselves. Mom went and found all the flashlights we could, and we had about five each.” He laughs. “Then when it did come back on, we were so disappointed because the fort ended up being way more fun.”
His anecdote renders me completely speechless. It’s not that I don’t remember – in fact, after his recollection, it’s as clear in my mind as the day it happened. That was about a year before he moved away. What makes me unable to form a coherent response is his sudden change of attitude.
Is this really the same guy who’s been making my life hell these past few weeks?
Telling that story, he almost seemed... sweet. Like the memory truly made him happy.
Maybe even as happy as it made me.
“I remember,” I finally manage to force out once I’m over my initial state of shock. “Your mom made us popcorn, didn’t she?”
“Yeah. But then I made you jump and you ended up tipping the whole bowl over. Man, that stuff got everywhere. I swear, we were finding pieces for weeks afterward.”
I blush at the memory. “It was your fault, really.”
“Hey, you were the one who spilled it.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have scared me.” I find myself smiling, although I’m not quite sure why. The whole thing feels surreal. Half of me is convinced I’ll wake up any moment now, sitting up in bed to comprehend the oddness of what I’ve been dreaming about.
But this isn’t a dream. However weird it feels, it’s definitely reality.
Connor lets out a deep sigh beside me. “I really miss it.”
I’m not sure what exactly he means by “it”, but I’m not going to ask him for a definition. Instead, I swallow whilst staring at the pale beam coming from the flashlight. “Me too.”
A silence settles between us, but it doesn’t feel awkward. Instead it feels almost heavy, weighted down by all the memories in the air. I don’t know what made Connor sweeten up so suddenly, but it was obviously something. It’s not often his moodiness disappears long enough to say something half kind to me.
There’s so much I want to say, but I can’t. The words stay choked in my throat, although I’m not sure exactly which ones they are anyway. Maybe it’s a blessing that I’m forced to remain silent; knowing me, I’d only make a fool out of myself if attempted to say something meaningful.
All in all, the whole situation’s come as a complete shock. It’s weird enough for Connor to mention an event from our past, let alone comment on how he misses it. It doesn’t make sense. If he’s sad that our close relationship no longer exists, why has he built up such a wall between us? Sure, it may have been a little weird at first – we couldn’t exactly revert back to our eight-year-old friendship immediately – but we could’ve at least managed something better than this.
“Connor,” I begin, surprised by how choked up my voice sounds.
However, I don’t get a chance to finish my sentence.
Not because of a sudden breakdown of my voice box. Not even because the walls coming crashing down around us, or something equally as dramatic.
No, something way weirder happens.
Before I even manage to utter the second word of my sentence, my lips are frozen by the unmistakable sensation of another pair of lips being pressed against them. It takes a few seconds for the action to register in my brain, and when it does, I almost jump three feet in the air from shock.
Connor’s kissing me.
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Oh my god, I'm so excited to upload this! Such a good break from revision... I can't wait to see your reaction to this. Connor - yay or nay? I'm very curious, especially now you've got to see more of his soft side :-)
Please drop me a comment! You'll save me from dying of boredom while I'm revising Music. Until next time :D