I would like to thank everyone who read and enjoyed the first chapter, or even if you didn't enjoy it. Reviews are greatly welcome, because they let me know what I'm doing well and what I could be doing better.
Here's the second chapter. I did my best job on it, so I hope you'll like it. I also have a new cover for this story, a public-domain image that's rather cheesy. But I was raised on Mario Kart, so I don't care.
ONE YEAR EARLIER
I only had about ten minutes left of my shift, but I was starting to feel like it would never end.
It was a scorching day, and I was covered in a cold sweat every time I returned to the air-conditioned building from the delivery truck parked outside. I didn't love the work, but it felt good to be volunteering rather than sitting behind a desk.
"Lucas, could you grab the carton of apples and carry it inside?" one of my supervisors, a dark-haired woman named Bianca, asked me.
"I suppose I will," I responded, not seeing any reason to refuse. If I didn't do it, I'd be shirking my responsibility to the food pantry. I had, after all, signed up for this.
Holding the apple crate correctly required both arms, which meant I could not hold one arm out to keep my balance. Of course, being in my late teens, I shouldn't have had much trouble with this.
But as I was carrying the apples downstairs to the shelves, I tripped. I don't know what happened to this day, but I went down hard.
As I tumbled down the stairs, the apples flew out of the crate, rolling in every direction. To add insult to injury, I landed unceremoniously on the floor at the bottom of said staircase.
"Oh no!"
"Are you okay, Lucas?"
"Be more careful next time, will you? The supply chain issues aren't making it easy to get new apples!"
What felt like the entire population of that hall ran over to my side. I tried to tune them out because I couldn't handle it. Being the center of attention isn't all cracked up.
"I'm fine," I muttered, getting back to my feet. The aching in my shins and knees, as well as my sides, begged to differ, but I was reasonably sure I hadn't broken anything, which was the most important thing.
After making sure that I wasn't seriously injured, just a little bruised, another of my supervisors told me that I'd be on the hook for the damages I'd caused. Not only had I let several dozen apples go to waste, but the impact had also broken the crate.
"Fine," I muttered.
Bianca frowned. "You shouldn't dismiss it like that, Lucas. There are people down there, hungry people, whom you'll let down thanks to this mistake. And you don't want that, do you?"
"Well, no."
"Look, just do better next time. Certainly, you should be more careful. But you're free to go now; your shift is over."
Hidden within that line was the implication that I likely wouldn't be welcomed back with open arms. It was just as well since facing the other volunteers, and the clients I'd wronged would be heavily awkward.
Still, I thanked Bianca for the opportunity to volunteer and made my way out to my car. After such a misstep, I figured that the rest of the day could only go up from here.
My phone rang as I pulled out of the food pantry's parking lot. I picked it up.
It must be her, I thought to myself. Who else would it be?
Since I was busy driving, I didn't check the caller ID, but the voice was familiar. "Hello?"
"Hey, Lucas. Is our dinner still on tonight?"
"Last time I checked, it still is," I replied, trying not to smile too widely. Of course, Janelle couldn't see my face, but wouldn't she be able to hear it if I sounded too happy?
"Awesome. I'll see you there. By the way, what restaurant is it again?"
"Uh…Altomare's Italian Cuisine. It's downtown - you know where that is, right?"
"Of course! See you at seven!"
I checked the digital clock. I had a little under an hour before my date with Janelle, whom I'd met on Tinder a week ago. Virtually everyone I knew had cautioned me against "speed dating," but I'd gone through with booking the reservation anyway.
Why? Because I'm an idiot sometimes, that's why.
After I pulled into the driveway of my house, I got out of the car and made my way up the front walk. I shivered every so often from the sheer amount of sweat plastering my shirt to my back.
I'll want a shower. And I need to do it quickly because Janelle won't like it if I'm late.
I saw my father watching Tucker Carlson on TV when I entered the living room. Of course, that's what he usually did - there were no other news channels available in our small town.
"Yeah, Tucker, keep going!" my dad exclaimed as he picked up a can of Bud Light. "Tell us all about what she's been up to!"
I tried to tiptoe past the TV without being noticed by my father; we ended up in arguments with one another frequently. Really, the best thing I could do for him, and vice versa, would be to stay out of one another's way.
But that didn't work. Then again, it's not like I should have expected it to work. I walked right in front of Tucker's face.
"Come on, Lucas!" my father bellowed. "Don't interfere with my TV time!"
"Dad, all you watch is Fox News!" I responded. "It's poisoning your mind! You really need to get outside more!"
My father clenched his fist, causing his can of beer to squirt in all directions. He gritted his teeth as he faced me.
"I could say the same about you, my son! Why don't you focus on a real job instead of your volunteer work? Jesus Christ, son of God, why are you such a bleeding-heart liberal?"
"Because," I said, "I have a heart, unlike you. And I care about the people who are less fortunate than us."
My father then uttered a few words that I dare not print here. His rant went far beyond simple profanity (though he wasn't exactly afraid to use such words either.)
"Have it your way," I told him. "But I need to go upstairs and shower because I have dinner in less than an hour."
"Dinner?" my father all but screamed. "Don't you mean a date?"
I squinted at him. "Janelle is not my girlfriend, Dad. She's just my friend, that's all."
"You met her a week ago on some trashy dating app. And yes, I have a right to call it trashy. We have free speech in this country for a reason."
I rolled my eyes.
"And stuff like eye-rolling isn't welcome in this household either. Please respect my authority."
Respect my authority was typically a euphemism for Shut up!, at least in my household. It was then that I knew that pushing my father any further would be unwise, no matter how much I might disagree with his views.
More importantly, of course, there was my dinner with Janelle to think about. I ran upstairs and showered, spending those precious few minutes pondering what I should wear to dinner.
I'd come as far as deciding that a suit and tie would be excessive when I suddenly heard footsteps down the hallway floor. That's the thing about me: My ears can be very sensitive when they want to be.
"Lucas! I want to have a word with you!" my mother yelled in her slight Southern drawl.
"Shut up, Mom, please," I grunted over the sound of the showerhead.
I heard my mother gasp. "How dare you speak to your mother like that!"
"Well, I just did," I said matter-of-factly.
In the back of my mind, I imagined her shaking her head, but she didn't say anything else. "Just meet me in the living room when you finish, okay? We have some things we want to say."
Once I'd finished my shower, dried off, and selected an outfit for dinner, I tiptoed down the stairs toward the living room. To be honest, however, I knew there was no hiding from my parents. It just wouldn't work.
"Lucas?" my father asked into the ether. "Please show yourself."
"I'd rather not, but okay" I replied.
My parents both stood in front of the TV, where Tucker was still ranting and raving about whatever hot-button issue Fox News had elected to cover next. My mother looked almost as angry as my father; she crossed her arms over her heart.
"What do you have to say for yourself, young man?" she snapped.
"What do you mean?"
My father's eyes narrowed into slits, and he seized his can of Bud Light as though he were about to hit me. "You know precisely what we're talking about, Lucas. This is about how rude you were to me earlier, because all I wanted to do was watch Fox in peace."
"Yeah, well, I exist too. I also live in this house, and until I'm eighteen, you can't legally kick me out."
Dad rolled his eyes as if to say, That day can't come soon enough. But he knew better than to utter those words out loud.
"This isn't about kicking you out, Lucas," my mother responded. "We just want to ensure you know your manners, since you need to be tactful."
I snorted. "Yeah, as if you two showed me any tact earlier."
"Enough!" my dad bellowed. "Lucas, you may go to your dinner with that girl you met on Tinder. But she's probably a wh-".
"Dad!" I yelled. "You cannot say that word!"
"Why should I care? I don't know her, and besides, it probably applies to her anyway! I can say whatever the fuck I want!"
I'd had enough at that point. Some people might ask why I didn't call the cops, to which I would answer that the threshold at which contacting the police would be justified was a very high bar. Sometimes they just weren't to be trusted.
Instead, I walked away from that situation, ignored my parents' calls to return to the room, and left the house.
Ferguson: You're making quite the accusations against your parents, Mr. Teller. If their actions were so extreme that you needed to leave your home, why did you not notify the police?
Defendant: There was no reason to. They didn't pose a threat to my life. Besides, if the cops intervene in a domestic dispute, it rarely ends well for anyone involved.
Ferguson: Were there any other reasons?
Defendant: Yes. I planned to meet Janelle Wilson at Altomare's Italian Cuisine. We were going to eat dinner and then watch a movie.
Ferguson: So that sounds like a typical date between teenagers.
Defendant: I don't think that's relevant. Can we move on?
Fifteen minutes later, I arrived at Altomare's. Fortunately, the parking lot wasn't very crowded, indicating that I might not have needed the reservation after all.
Oh well. It's better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it.
I got out of my car and walked inside the restaurant, which, to be honest, wasn't very fancy. It looked just like your standard family Italian restaurant, though other couples were there beside Janelle and me.
And then I saw her.
She was a tall girl, the same age as me, with flat-topped blonde hair. She waved when she saw me enter Altomare's.
"Good evening, ma'am," I said quietly. "You're Janelle Wilson, aren't you?"
It might sound weird that I posed that in the form of a question, but I'd never seen Janelle in person before. Butterflies flapped their wings repeatedly in my stomach.
"There's no need to be so formal, Lucas. Why did you call me ma'am?"
That question somewhat disarmed me. "Well, I needed something to call you besides your first name."
Janelle lowered her eyebrows. "That's a bit sus, not going to lie. Where did you pick up that habit?"
I hadn't expected this. Janelle spoke quickly and aggressively, almost as though she were punching me with words. This was not the impression I'd gotten from her Tinder profile.
"It's just a force of habit, that's all."
"That did not answer my question, but okay. Moving on-".
"Mr. Teller?" the hostess said, casting her eyes around the waiting area. "A table is ready for your party."
"It's just the two of us," I told her. "Just me and my friend."
Even as I said the word friend, it felt wrong somehow. A girl I'd met online and decided to get together with out of impulse couldn't necessarily be called a friend. That word had a completely different connotation; it meant people who'd been close to one another for a long time.
Indeed, Janelle appeared to object to this. "That is up for debate."
We were led to our table and given menus. Once we'd both sat down, we looked awkwardly at one another.
"So…what shall we talk about?" I said eventually.
"What makes you think we need to talk at all?" Janelle shot back.
"Well, it makes sense, doesn't it? We're going to a movie after this, and they usually don't want people to talk while the movie is playing. Now's our best chance to make a conversation."
Janelle responded in the form of a laugh, with no words attached to it. Fortunately, the awkwardness was mitigated by the arrival of our waitress, who brought a basket of garlic bread with her.
Not much else happened for the next few minutes. The conversation slowed as we (literally) broke bread and watched the world go by outside. Of course, there wasn't much of a "world" to go by in a small town such as this one.
"So, what's your favorite subject in school?" I asked eventually.
Janelle snorted. "Do you care about that?"
"Well, isn't it good small talk?"
She shrugged. "I guess small talk is important, but is that one of your special interests? Is it something you're determined to talk about, no matter what the other person might think?"
"What do you mean?"
"It doesn't matter," Janelle replied. "Let's just focus on how nice it is to be together right now."
She was being sarcastic. She had to have been. But was I going to voice my displeasure at this? Hell no! This dinner was the closest I'd ever come to having a date, and I didn't want to screw it up.
And then, piercing the sounds of eating and talking in the restaurant, there came a squeal of what sounded like either delight or terror; sometimes, the two can mimic each other.
"Mommy, could that be Zeraora?"
I frowned. "Zeraor-what?"
"Your guess is as good as mine," Janelle muttered. "But what the hell is that kid talking about?"
I looked up at the TV on the wall, where the meteorologist was covering an unusual weather event. Since we were in a restaurant, the TV's volume couldn't be very high; perhaps that was a legal requirement. But I could see the screen well enough to know what they were talking about.
The headline was, UNUSUAL SUMMER LIGHTNING STORM IN SOUTHWEST; OVER 200 CONFIRMED FATALITIES.
"Two hundred…" I mumbled. "What a fucking tragedy."
"I don't see why that little boy thinks Zora is responsible or whatever," Janelle said. "But then again, if five-year-olds are known for anything, it's their imagination."
"Mommy, the lightning…it must be that Pokemon!" the small boy exclaimed, causing several other diners to look in his direction.
"Thunderstorms happen," a woman, presumably his mother, responded. "Although with global warming, we may have more and more storms where they don't belong."
Wow, way to bring down the mood right there.
There was a churning in my gut at that very moment. Somehow, I felt there was more to it than merely climate change. But then, what did I know?
"Are you okay, Lucas?" Janelle asked right then.
I frowned. "Yes. Why do you ask?"
"Your stomach's rumbling like crazy. I can hear it."
I placed my right hand on my belly. "Oh, I'm fine. There's no need to worry. I'm just hungry, that's all."
"Must be pretty hungry," Janelle echoed.
In reality, I knew the growling associated with hunger, and that wasn't what this was. But was I going to ruin my dinner by mentioning that to Janelle?
Once again, hell no.
