Clunk. Clunk.
Now he could see it at the top of the stairs.
It was a box with “JARS” scrawled onto the side in black marker, held aloft by his sister.
Nicole placed it down on the floor with a thud which made the jars inside rattle.
“If you’re still bored,” she said, ignoring the look of fear on David’s face, “there’s some glass downstairs. Someone should clean it up before Carol gets home.”
“Thank you,” David replied. “That sounds like all kinds of fun.”
“I do what I can,” Nicole said with a grin. She picked up the box and made her way to the kitchen, her survival kit slung over her shoulder.
He wanted to question her, to yell at her, “Why wouldn’t you answer me? Why would you want to scare me? What’s wrong with you?” but that would be what she wanted, he guessed, so he let it go. When she looked away, David took a deep breath and finally stopped clenching his fists. He followed her into the kitchen.
“Why are you making survival kits anyways?” he asked, sitting in the chair across from her. “You’re gonna run out of stuff here soon, and then you’ll starve because you have it all hidden away. That would be horribly ironic.”
“That’s not what irony means, David.”
“Yes, it is.”
“No, it isn’t. Irony isn’t just bad stuff happening.”
“No, I know that. But this time it is.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” She rummaged through the cupboards as she half-heartedly argued.
“Anyways,” David interjected, trying to get back on point.
“You can never have too many survival kits. What if the power goes out?”
“The power doesn’t go off that often here,” David said, very matter-of-factly. “We’re on the hospital grid, so putting our power back on is a priority. So, the ...” He looked over his sister’s shoulder, “... Count Chocula that you’re putting in jars won’t be that necessary.”
“What if it goes out for a long time?”
“Then we can just eat the cereal out of the cupboard.”
“And what if we’re not home?”
“Well, we’re not home. We’re—”
“What if we’re not here? What if we’re ... at the mall?”
David paused. “You have a survival kit at the mall?”
Nicole turned, glaring at him. “No, stupid. That’s why I’m putting it in a backpack.”
David saw an opening. “Okay. So you’re putting them in backpacks so that you can take them wherever, right?”
“Yes.”
“So, why do you need more than one?” Victory.
Nicole paused and then said, “This is why nobody likes you.”
“Whatever,” he replied as he walked away, taking the insult as a sign of her defeat. “Though I think we’d survive at the mall. They have food there, too.”
NICOLE
David had been very annoying those past few days. Granted, she knew why it was happening—that, it could be argued, it was even her fault that it was happening—but that wasn’t the point. She was suffering just as much as he was, possibly more, because at least she wasn’t running around, taking stuff apart and asking ridiculous questions every thirty seconds.
And really, it wasn’t her fault at all.
Usually when her parents stuck to their guns, it worked out for the best. She and David learned from it and became better and stronger. This time, it just made her more angry and David more annoying.
The deal was simple—at least to her parents. She was seventeen and it was time she got a job. If she didn’t even want to start looking for a job, then she would stay home and earn money looking after her brother. As far as she was concerned, the deal was flawed from the onset.
She had already started looking for a job when it was first brought up a year prior.
She had even gotten an interview. She figured the job was as good as hers. Her grades were the highest at her school and she was incredibly hard working. When she wanted something, she got it with hard work and intelligence.
When the time for the interview came around, she was nothing but confidence. She had finally found a look she was comfortable with—true, she was wearing a bit more powder then, but she figured that out—and finally learned to be herself. She thought she nailed the first question “What makes you suitable for this job?”
“Well,” she started, “I’m pretty sure we’re selling shoes. I have a 98 in math. I can count. I know how many feet people have. It’s usually two. If it’s less, I give them half off.”
Her confidence faltered just a bit when they stared blankly. Her smile didn’t help. She’d never really figured out how to do it well. She rallied when they asked her to role play selling them shoes.
“Ma’am, you say you’re a size six, but we both know that that is a lie. Or are you talking about a men’s six? You look like you could wear men’s shoes. It doesn’t really matter. Shoes are shoes. Also, I don’t know how often you smell what’s going on down here, but you might want to consult a physician. Gangrene has a very distinct smell, and I’m worried this might be it. I’m just looking out for your health here. And sir, if you don’t stop staring at my hair like that, I’m going to have to smack you. This is not a runway. I’ve hit better for less. What kind of store are you running here, anyway? Treat people like people, Jesus.”
She was told she wasn’t very personable. Why she needed to be personable to work at a shoe store, she had no idea. You just had to be able to get people shoes that fit. That was literally all the job involved. Being personable did not come into it. She boiled it down to the same thing: people are idiots.
She didn’t bother with looking for stupid mall
