Chapter 4: Routine
Chell walked into the bookstore and waved to her boss, a kind older woman that reminded Chell of someone's grandmother. "Good morning, you two," she said, "We have a busy day today. We have a new order of books that came in. Chell, do you want to take inventory?" Chell nodded and smiled. She enjoyed taking inventory; the quietness of the back room was a nice change from the cash register.
"Are those the Maci- something books, Ms. Jackson?" Paul asked, "Who read those anyway?" Chell tapped his shoulder then pointed to herself. "Oh. I forgot you read that stuff." She nodded and signed to her boss. "She wants to know if she can have two copies of all the Maci-something books." The older woman nodded, "Of course, dear." Chell smiled and went into the back of the book store. Paul sighed, "What does get out of reading those things? I can barely get past the first two pages." Ms. Jackson chuckled to herself, "The girl is bright. Reading must be a hobby of hers. Even in a world of technology like ours, there are those who still love the feeling of a good book." Paul nodded, going to the register, "I know I would love to get a good feel of her." She popped him in the back of his head. "Ow… I was joking, ya know," he said, rubbing his head and sighing. Ms. Jackson knew the boy was lying; the whole town knew about Paul's crush on Chell. He was always trying to get her to go out with him, but she would turn him down. She was sure Chell wasn't ready for a relationship and that Paul was trying too hard to get something he couldn't have.
In the back, Chell counted the books carefully and wrote it down before carrying ten at a time to the front to stack them on the shelves she had cleared yesterday for them. She smiled softly to herself, able to hear the faint melody of the classical music Wheatley once played in the facility. Even though her life was in danger and she hated that little blue core, the music calmed her nerves. She found herself moving along to the music in her head, stepping in time with it. Paul watched her from the corner of his eyes and wondered what she was dancing to. She finished stacking the books before going to make sure there were two left for her. She planned on giving one to Wheatley, if he behaves himself. Bribery was always an option, right? She put one of the books in her tote and opened the front cover of the other one. Grabbing a blue pen, she wrote a message inside of it and smiled. Hopefully he would be good enough to get this gift.
Wheatley sat on the couch, his eyes on the television set. It was a soap opera and he was utterly confused at what was going on. "…So, that bloke's father is dating his girlfriend's pregnant sister who's secretly married to that bloke's uncle?" he asked himself, scratching his head, "How the bloody hell do humans keep up with this? And why do they call this a soap opera? I haven't seen any soap or heard an opera sung this whole time." He got up and looked around a bit. He knew she said not touch anything, but curiosity (and boredom) got the best of him. He walked into the kitchen and looked around. Chell did have a lot of small machines in this area. He walked over to the toaster and examined it, his glasses feeding him information about it. He set it down and smirked, "Alright, you primitive machine. I'm your boss now. I want you to make Chell something nice for when she comes home." The toaster didn't move. Wheatley frowned and loomed over it, "I see being civil with you isn't working, so let's try it my way. Ugly. Fat, short, ugly machine. Your creator probably abandoned you because you're useless. How about that?" He moved closer, looking at it, "Well? Are you cooking something?" The lever he had accidently pressed down sprung up, making Wheatley jump back in fear and cover his head.
"Ahh! Don't hurt me!" He looked at it and laughed, "Ha! Was that the best you got?" He heard the door open and peeked around the corner.
"Come on, Chell," Paul said, "Are you sure you can't come to the concert with me?" She signed to him, 'I'm tired, Paul. Besides I have other things I need to do.' He glared a bit, "It's that guy, isn't it? Is he forcing you to stay here? I can take him out if you need me to." Chell frowned, 'He has nothing to do with this. I just don't want to go to that concert with you.' Wheatley listened carefully and frowned. This guy just didn't get the message that Chell didn't want to go with him. Paul grabbed her hand, "Chell, listen to me. I don't like that guy around you." She pulled her hand back as Wheatley stormed over and pushed Paul away. "Listen to me, Paul… she doesn't like you and neither do I," Wheatley said, glaring, "And if she doesn't want to go with you, she doesn't have to. Now leave." Before Paul could get a word out, Wheatley slammed the door in his face. Chell pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. She wondered to herself why she seemed to attract the oddballs.