Disclaimer: I don't own anything except Grace.
"Museum girl!" Keith greets me cheerfully. "What's up?"
"Unoriginal-nickname-giver!" I return equally cheerfully. "Not much!"
Keith laughs as he finishes filling up the container of marshmallows. He swipes a few, stuffing a couple in his mouth. "Touché. Want one?"
"Sure," I accept, taking it from him and popping one in my mouth. It's soft and squishy and brings back memories of my momma serving me her homemade hot chocolate with marshmallows and whipped cream. Haha just kidding. That was really Roxanne she served it to. "Did you find your wallet?"
"Yup!" Keith says brightly as Richard flips the sign on the door from CLOSED to OPEN. "It was in my shoe."
"…I'm not even going to ask."
"Oh, I-"
"I SAID I'M NOT GOING TO ASK!" I shriek, clapping my hands over my ears. Keith continues his story, but louder so I can (unfortunately) hear him. The door opens and closes as customers enter the shop and Keith and I fall into our usual routines.
Apart from when Keith tries to shove his disgusting, shoe-scented wallet in my face.
"That is not sanitary!" I yelp, staggering backwards. Keith lets out an evil laugh.
"Don't try to escape King Wallet, Museum Girl!" Before I can do something like hit Keith with the espresso machine, he stops and blinks at the door. "Hey, that's my sister. What's she doing here?"
I glance up at the entrance, where one of Keith's beautiful, willowy sisters is pushing the door open. It's…Sarah, I think. The youngest one. Shouldn't she be at school?
"Sarah!" Keith says happily, leaning over the counter to kiss his sister on the cheek. "What are you doing here?"
"We ran out of cat food!" Sarah chirps back, her large eyes crinkled up as she smiles. There's a little freckle at the corner of her eye that, when she smiles, looks like a heart. "So Lynette dropped me off at the pet store to order some on the way to work. I thought I'd drop by."
"You can stay here if you want," Keith offers immediately. I smile at his brotherly concern over her. "Come on, I'll buy you a hot chocolate."
"I want a coffee," Sarah argues. Her eyelashes are so long that when she looks up at Keith, they nearly touch her eyebrows.
"No!" Keith snaps. "It stunts your growth!"
Sarah's mouth drops open. "No fair! Jamie lets me drink coffee!"
"She does not, you little liar. She hates coffee."
The siblings begin to bicker. I only listen for a few minutes, then a metal more attractive shows up.
"Hi, Bernard," I greet, smiling hesitantly at him as he drops a fistful of money on the counter. I elbow Keith harshly, who starts preparing the drink even while arguing with Sarah.
"Grace," Bernard returns, nodding at me. There's a colourful flyer stuffed into his jacket pocket. I eye it curiously.
"What's that?"
"Hm?" Bernard glances at the flyer, frowning as he takes it out of his pocket. "Oh, something the museum is organising. Last-ditch attempt at raising funds."
I smooth out the crinkled piece of paper, reading it.
Could you beat an ornithomimid in a race?
How many people can you fit in a blue whale's mouth?
Can you guess how Alexander the Great died? (PS. They don't call him Alexander the Grape for nothing!)
Find out the answers to these questions and more at the Festival of Trivia, taking place this Tuesday from nine to five! Bring a friend! Bring a drink! Enjoy some fun in the sun with dinosaurs, mummies and Julius Caesar! Food and beverages will be sold!
"That's corny," I comment lightly, turning the flyer over. There's a crossword puzzle on the back. "This should be fun." I scan the clues, then frown when I notice something odd. "Hey, Bernard. 2 across. Who was Ramesses III's successor?"
"What about it?" Bernard asks carelessly, accepting the black sludge in a cup from Keith.
"His successor was Ramesses IV," I point out. "If they're spelling it R-A-M-E-S-S-E-S, then that's ten letters, not including the space. They only give you nine letters. Did they mean Ramesses II? His successor was Merneptah, which is nine letters."
Bernard's head snaps around. "What? Give me that." He snatches the flyer back from that, scanning it. His eyes widen in shock. "You're right. It is supposed to be Ramesses II."
"I thought so," I agree, my head bobbing up and down. "It looked odd, that's all."
"You're such a nerd." Keith rolls his eyes at me.
"Shut up," I snap in return. Bernard is still staring at the paper in shock.
"But…I wrote that crossword…"
Well that changes everything. Keith and I exchange awkward glances. I turn back to Bernard. "It's probably just a typo. It's only one extra I."
Bernard only stares at the paper some more. Then he seems to realise he's not alone. He crumples up the flyer and stuffs it back into his pocket. "Yes, well, no matter. No one will come anyway."
Sarah peeks at the flyer from where she's standing. "Hey, my homeroom class is going to that! We won Trivia Night so we get to go there for the whole day."
"What a prize," Keith comments sarcastically, before wincing when I step on his foot and glare at him. "I mean, sounds cool! Bernard's museum sure knows how to live."
Sarah beams and I nod wistfully. "It does sound good…want to go, Keith?"
"Can't," Keith chirps, not sounding regretful at all. "Gotta go to the kitty litter factory that day. We buy in bulk," he adds, seeing my weird look. I groan.
"But I really want to go! And it say bring a friend, and apart from you the only person I know is-" I break off awkwardly, glancing at Bernard. Bernard is sipping at his drink, staring steadfast into the distance. Keith doesn't seem to pick up on the awkwardness and claps excitedly.
"Well that's it then! You can go with Bernard!"
"Keith!" I hiss, embarrassed. "Don't be stupid!"
"What?" Keith asks, looking honestly befuddled. "You wanted to go. Bernard can take you."
"He probably doesn't even want to go," I snap. "It's his work."
"You don't know that," Keith fires back. He turns to Bernard. "Right, Bernard?"
I wait for Bernard to flat-out reject the idea. I'm surprised when Bernard shrugs and cocks an eyebrow at me. "I will be there anyway."
"So it's settled!" Keith says brightly, oblivious of how much I want to kill him and send his severed head to his family. "You'll go with Bernard!"
"Fantastic," Bernard says sarcastically. "I can't wait. Excuse me while I go pick out an outfit in preparation for the joyous occasion."
On that wry little note, Bernard turns around and leaves.
"Is that your boyfriend, Grace?" Sarah asks curiously as the door clicks shut. "He doesn't seem to like us."
"He's not my boyfriend," I say automatically, staring after him. Through the glass, I can see him cross the street. "And he's like that with everyone."
"Oh." Sarah ponders my statement. I wait patiently. Then… "Do you want him to be your boyfriend?"
A cough tears its way out of my throat. "What?"
"Alright, squirt," Keith interrupts. "Either get a hot chocolate, or leave. What'll it be?"
"Fine," Sarah says grudgingly. She's forgotten about Bernard, but the damage has been done. What would it be like with Bernard as my boyfriend?
Actually, I think a more accurate question would be 'What would it be like to have a boyfriend?' That's depressing though, so I'm going to stick with my original question.
What would it be like with Bernard as my boyfriend?
That's marginally better.
I end up going back to Keith's house for afternoon tea. Anna is, contrary to my expectations, delighted to see me. Microwave is even more delighted. I help Keith feed the million and one cats. One of them has a scar going across its face and a hole in its ear. It bites me. Then it licks me. Then bites me again. Oh, cats.
"You smell like cat," Roxanne states when I come home, wrinkling her pert little nose.
"You smell like camera," I fire back, even though it makes no sense whatsoever. I head to the kitchen for a drink. As I do so, I think about the events of today. Tuesday should be…interesting, to say the least.
"Excuse me while I go pick out an outfit in preparation for the joyous occasion."
"Roxanne!" I shout, exiting the kitchen. "Can you take me shopping?" It has absolutely nothing to do with Bernard though.
The next day Bernard doesn't drop by the Bean Baby, so on my day off I go to him.
"Excuse me," I request timidly, stopping in front of the receptionist, a waif of a girl not much older than me. "Um, do you know where I could find Bernard?"
"Bernard Green?" the girl asks in a bored manner, not even lifting her gaze. Oh it's okay it's not like I'm worthy of eye contact or anything, you spoilt bitch. "Yeah. Ancient Aztec exhibit, I think."
"Thank you," I say, but the girl has already returned to filing her nails into lethal-looking talons. Well, damn. Seems like whenever I wish I had more friends, girls like her come along and make me feel better about myself. I set off in a random direction, hoping it'll take me to the Ancient Aztec exhibit. As luck would have it, the exhibit I end up in contains a kindly old man who points me to another exhibit with someone who knows the general location of the exhibit. And by general, I mean he knows it's in this museum. At least, he's pretty sure, he thinks. It could also be at the museum across town, of course. After shooting him very mean looks that I plan on perfecting one day to make people cry, I decide randomly wandering the museum is the best strategy. It only takes me five minutes of wandering to find him.
"Your museum has useless staff, you know," I complain to Bernard, sitting on a bench as I watch him record some details about a small, worn tortoise-shell cup.
"Preaching to the choir," Bernard mutters distractedly, using his pencil to tilt the cup.
"What are you doing?" I ask curiously, cocking my head.
"We're selling this to cover the deposit needed for the tents and tables," Bernard answers. "It should fetch maybe two or three grand if we're lucky."
I have no idea about the value of ancient articles, so I wisely keep quiet. Eventually Bernard is done and he sits next to me.
"Did you come here for a reason, or am I your only friend?"
It's almost impossible to like Bernard sometimes, when he comes along and does something like this.
"A little from column A, a little from column B," I say sarcastically. Bernard is still looking at the notes he made about the cup.
"Did you know…" Bernard begins after a few moments of silence. "The tortoise-shell cup was brought to the markets by pochtecas?"
"I know," I say, rolling my eyes. "I love the Aztecs."
Bernard raises an eyebrow. "Maybe you aren't completely hopeless after all."
Note that I said almost impossible to like him. Bernard's watch goes off then, beeping like a cricket on speed. He checks it and rises.
"It's my lunch hour."
I beam. "Excellent! What are we eating?"
Bernard stares at me, nonplussed. "What are you talking about?"
"I figured since I'm here, we can go out to eat!" I say brightly, but my smile fades when I see Bernard's stare. "U-Um…but only if you want to…"
"I usually just eat my lunch in my office," Bernard states blandly. It's a small opening, but I take it.
"Then today can be a change. There's that café just around the corner from here."
"My, my, eating at rival food joints?" Bernard asks, raising an eyebrow. He starts walking though, which I take as a good sign.
"I'm sure Richard will understand!" I say, unable to keep a little bit of cheerfulness leaking through. "I can't boycott every café, after all."
We stop outside an office. Bernard haphazardly throws the clipboard into the room, turning away before he can see where it lands. Ah, yes, the classic 'If I don't see it, it doesn't affect me' ploy. I would be lying if I said I was unfamiliar with it. The mess inside still shocks me though. Files, papers, and boxes fill the office. I can barely see Bernard's desk.
"Jesus motor-boating Christ!" I cry, eyes bugged out at the mess. "This looks like my room!"
"You're not here to critique me," Bernard says flatly, but I detect a note of defensiveness in his voice. "Now let's go."
Bernard turns around and leaves. I follow him, but not before casting one last glance over my shoulder at Bernard's office.
Okay, I know I said a week. I'm sorry! I've been busy!
Also, that 'metal more attractive' bit was from Hamlet. I just finished an essay on it, so my mind is filled with Hamlet and junk.
