Noodle Bowl Shift

Just fifteen more minutes left, Bobby thought, glancing at the wall clock.

The hustle and bustle of the lunch hour waned in the mid-afternoon. In the cafeteria adjacent to the Noodle Bowl, the number of Psychonauts dwindled while the trash cans filled with leftovers and plastic utensils. Idle chatter and gossip murmured in the nearly vacant space. A handful of agents busied themselves with sandwiches and paperwork, and a few interns sat at the booths, their smiles so sickening that Bobby's stomach churned.

The cool air rattled through the vents above him, providing a pleasant reprieve on his scalp and neck that the chefs lacked in the kitchen behind him. It also blew away the strong scents of salt, oil, and ammonia wafting from underneath the kitchen doors. Back in Drywell, the various headache-inducing odors strewn around town would have contaminated the air, creating a haze so thick he could hardly breathe or see half a mile in front of him.

Bobby examined his workstation as he had done many times throughout the day. Napkin dispensers bookmarked the ends of the hard laminate counter. Cemented to the center of the counter was a landline phone with the cord wrapped around it so tightly it might have been a cobra suffocating prey. The only other prominent item was the register in front of him, a bulky, eggshell-colored monster of a machine with differently sized keys and buttons. It seemed like something Otto Mentallis would have created to calculate the square footage of a diseased brain, not a device Bobby used to take the various orders of the Psychonauts and send them into the kitchen.

He supposed he had to consider himself lucky. Correctly punching in orders was one of the easiest gigs in the internship program. It also paid decently, which couldn't be said for other jobs around the Motherlobe as employment laws regarding minors factored in for restaurant work even at a classified government facility.

As he waited, boredom crept up his spine. The final fifteen minutes seemed to double in time as his unfocused eyes leered at the register. No one wanted to eat pasta, ramen, or chow mein at nearly three in the afternoon, leaving him tapping his foot on the tiled floor and drumming his fingers on the register to keep himself awake.

He checked the clock again and pursed his lips, growling from the back of his throat. Thirteen more goddamn minutes, he thought, tapping his thumb on a key, and I'm outta - oh shit.

An electronic beeping cut through his thoughts. A red light flashed on the phone as it rang, and he rolled his eyes. He already knew who was calling and what would be said. A person who loved wearing oversized aviator goggles and a peculiar amount of brown leather had a habit of calling him before his shift ended. And if he brazenly ignored it, then Bobby would have had another long, droning conversation with his shift manager and mentor about ethics.

He let it ring three times before slapping it off the receiver. He watched the phone rattle on the counter before grabbing and raising it to his ear, asking, "What do you want, Razzy boy? You want onion rings and ketchup this time?"

"Hey, do you - wait. You knew it was me? But, uh, that phone doesn't have caller ID. I checked," Raz sputtered, his pitch higher in surprise.

Bobby's lip curled. He twisted his finger around the cord, replying, "Because you always, always, always call at this time."

He heard Raz click his tongue, followed by a huff of frustration. "Good point. I guess you finally figured me out. It only took, what, a full month before you caught on?"

He tightened the cord around his finger, his nail turning a shade of dark pink. "What were you gonna ask for today, huh? Chicken noodle soup?"

Raz gasped. "Oh, chicken noodle soup! That sounds good. I should make some material about that."

The rush of giddiness in his voice was enough to make Bobby gag. "Don't. I'm already gonna anticipate your shit."

Raz hummed, the sound tempting Bobby to slam the phone back on the receiver. "Yeah, I guess you're right. It's no fun if you're ready for me."

Bobby gritted down on his molars. He looped a second finger around the cord, the blood flow to his pointer finger stopping. "Oh, yeah? Well, Razatron, I got you today, and I'll get your ass tomorrow," he hissed, slipping the cord around his thumb.

"Razatron?" He snickered, the still high-pitched giggle like nails on a chalkboard. "What, am I some kind of robot?"

"Oh, shut up, you mother-!"

The doors behind him swung open, the hinges sharply creaking. Biting his tongue, Bobby squared his lopsided shoulders and cleared his throat. He held his hand over the register, pressing two keys to bring up the ramen menu, and his gaze slowly shifted over to the person behind him.

The middle-aged woman paid him half a mind. She glanced at him, her wrinkled lips pursed. She smoothed the creases in her chef's uniform and adjusted her tall, white hat, the poofy brim casting a shadow across her stern face. She gave him a solitary nod in what he deemed approval before ducking back into the kitchen, the doors slamming shut behind her, her voice booming as she harshly criticized another cook's dish.

Bobby rubbed his brow. Agent Henrietta Brandt was a blowhard, a real brain-buster. If she caught him arguing with a customer instead of acting like the most pleasant of food service workers, then he risked having another group meeting with her and the Lesser Head to discuss his "disruptive personality, which had no future with the Psychonauts." Agent Brandt had drilled those words in his head day after day from the moment he took his spot behind the register. And if it wouldn't cost him his internship, then he would have cackled while shoving her head in a bubbling, boiling pot of hot oil.

"Bobby? Are you still there?"

Raz' voice dragged him out of his violent fantasy. He looked at the clock, finding the minute hand creeping closer to the next hour. Dragging his hand through his hair, he said, "Yeah, yeah, I'm still here. My bastard of a mentor just came in to look at me."

"Agent Brandt?"

"Yes, moron. I work at the Noodle Bowl, and she runs the Noodle Bowl. Who else would I be talking about?"

"Good point. I forgot she took over the Noodle Bowl after the old chef retired." Raz paused, and Bobby freed his stinging thumb from the cord, blowing on it. "So, what's going on with you today?"

Bobby grunted. He arched an eyebrow and gathered his thoughts. Tugging his collar, he hunched forward and rested his elbows on the counter. Suspicion rose to his mind, casting doubt along the seemingly innocent question. Someone like Raz, whom Bobby never cultivated a good acquaintanceship with, wondering about him made it sound like they were friends, and Bobby wanted nothing more than to emulate their time together in Basic Braining when he was shooting at Raz in a tank.

"Uh, I have class at four with Hollis, and then, I'm done. Why?" Why do you care?" Bobby snorted. "Shouldn't you be locking lips with Za-snot-to later today?"

"You've been calling Lili that since summer camp, and you think my material is going to get stale?" Raz shot back.

Bobby grimaced. The cord squeezed his middle finger until he thought his nail would pop off. "Well, you didn't answer my question," he blurted, tightening his grip on the phone until his knuckles ached. "Why do you wanna know, circus freak?"

Raz gave no immediate answer. Bobby heard him take a breath. He could have sworn he felt cool air on his cheek when Raz heaved out a sigh.

"I was - I mean, oh, jeez, this is hard and humiliating to ask. No one else is taking me seriously, and you, well, I mean, you two were friends at one point, right? And, uh, you're at least...associates now? If that's the right word. Since we all go to the Motherlobe, and we're interns. Do you know what I'm saying?"

The words that Raz strung together made absolutely no sense in Bobby's mind. He tried rearranging their meanings, but they formed a gibberish mess. He rubbed his temples, disbelief causing the corners of his mouth to raise in a sneer that he would have loved for Raz to see.

"Hell no. You're not making any sense. And even if you were, I still think you're a dumbass," Bobby jeered, looking at the clock. He freed his hand from the cord, clenching his fist as the minute and hour hands almost came together on the three.

"It's about Lili."

The strength in his hand fell almost instantly. He leaned to the side as if pushed by an invisible force. Bobby switched the phone to his other ear, repeating her name as if saying it for the first time.

"Y-yeah, um, okay, I get this is sudden," Raz admitted, "but Sasha and Milla are telling me this is nothing. So is everyone else in the internship program. And Lili won't - I don't know. It's extraordinarily confusing, Bobby, and I didn't want to ask you, but I don't have a choice. You're kind of, sort of, maybe my last option." He heard Raz gulp. "Can you help me? Or at least shoot the breeze with me about this?"

His chest squeezed. Bobby clutched the cord and twisted it from side to side, threatening to tear it out of the socket. Heat wrapped its hands around his neck, providing an uncomfortable massage to an already uncomfortable conversation.

The scent of wildflowers filled his nostrils and fogged his head. He gnawed on his lower lip, his braces jutting into the cracks. His free hand found his mouth and gripped his jaw, eyes narrowing on a napkin dispenser with such force that if he had blastokinesis, then it would have combusted into a thousand pieces.

"Uh, you there, Bobby?" Raz asked.

"I'm here. I just had a customer. They wanted an extra soy sauce packet," he said, lying with practiced ease. "So, uh, Lili, huh? What's up? Aren't you guys having the time of your lives in your Barbie Dreamhouse, otherwise known as the Motherlobe?"

"No, no, it's - wait, aren't you done with your shift?"

"Huh?" Bobby checked the clock again and whistled. "Well, look at that. You do know my schedule. That's creepy."

Raz laughed. "Well, uh, maybe we can talk in person. If you have time after your class, that is. I'm with Sasha doing - huh?" His voice sounded like a whisper as he addressed another person. "No, Agent Nein, I'll be there in one minute. Yes, I know I should be delousing the Brain Tumbler. I'll hang up." He cleared his throat. "Sorry about that. So, what time are you free later?"

Bobby rubbed his chin and shrugged. It wasn't like he had anything else to do today. He reached for his pocket and felt the papery, unlit joint just waiting to be smoked after class. It was the highlight of his day when he could levitate to the Questionable Area and get higher than the clouds in the sky.

Still, he had to admit his curiosity was piqued. Raz and Lili were a notoriously public couple. He couldn't go a full day without seeing them kiss or engage in other nauseating displays of affection. If something troubled their relationship, then he wanted to be the first to see the ship sink in a blaze of fizzling embers.

But when he considered Raz' plea, it made him think otherwise. He was the last person anyone should have asked for relationship advice. The Psychonauts had counselors more suitable that Raz could have reached out to rather than his seventeen-year-old nemesis working the Noodle Bowl register. And they both knew Raz revealing his vulnerability tipped the scale in Bobby's favor, the leverage he would have over Raz almost mercilessly cruel if their conversation went deeper than either anticipated.

His thoughts shifted away from Raz to the third person in the equation. Lili was his first friend, and yet, he couldn't call her that anymore. She hadn't welcomed him back with open arms, but she was cordial when he joined the summer internship program two years ago. If he had to rank his former Whispering Rock PSI Cadets, then Lili would be a far second. The first place belonged to a girl he distanced himself from years ago.

"Psychonauts to Bobby? Calling in Major Bobby?" Raz asked, chuckling.

Wincing, Bobby shook his head and growled, "Don't say that to me. Meet me at the hanger around five."

"Sounds like a plan."

"Great. Have fun delousing the Brain Tumbler, ass-hat."

Sucking in a breath, Raz mumbled, "You heard that?"

Bobby smirked. "Yep. Have fun with the lice in your hair. I hope they bury through your scalp and leave their maggots in your brain."

"This coming from the kid who could have housed generations of squirrels and their babies in his 'fro?"

"Get fucked, Razzle dazzle."

"Right back at you, buddy. See you at five."

Bobby slammed the phone down and shook the counter. The agents paid him no mind, but the interns turned their heads toward him. He scowled at them and hopped over the counter, impatiently cracking his knuckles. Phoebe coolly met his gaze and returned to sipping her cup of water, while Quentin and Crystal immediately looked out the window, the former pointing at a random cloud.

Yeah, you punks better look away, he thought, shoving his hands in his pockets and marching off. Fidgeting with the joint, he tucked it between his thumb and palm, deciding to smoke it as soon as he was with Raz. Who knows? Maybe that goody two shoes just needs a hit to lighten up around her.