Page 1 of Semi Sweet
Chapter One: The Cash Value Market Pariah
"Stupid,stupid,stupid!"
I struggled with my work uniform. The black, frumpy unisex polo shirt refused to tuck into my khaki skinny jeans. I’d lost track of time and was going to be late for work.
I could see it now—my boss was going to be irritated with me again. It was a looping nightmare, a damned-if-I-did and a damned-if-I-didn't sort of situation. Two days ago, a customer accidentally spilled clam juice on my counter and somehow it turned into me being responsible. A week before that, the lotto till was off fifty dollars and despite three of us working the courtesy desk that day, I was the only one that got a write up. I should have been used to it, but I still dreaded it all the same.
"This is what you get for writing one more scene," I hissed at myself as I bounded down the stairs and tried to enter my code into the time clock as quickly as possible. My fingers slipped and the machine told me access was denied. I cursed and entered it a second time. Two minutes late. In the grand scheme of things, I'd been later before, but I was certain a lecture awaited me at the supervisor podium.
I threw the door open, prepared to make my way past all the registers, cashiers, and customers of Cash Value Market, the grocery store I'd worked at since I was sixteen, when I smacked into someone heading in.
Could this get any worse?I grumbled, figuring whoever I’d just bumped into would tell me off. I guessed I deserved it. I wasn't looking where I was going.
"Sorry," I sputtered, dropping my eyes to the tile floor.
"It's okay." The voice was one I didn't recognize. "I wasn't exactly paying attention."
I looked up. I'd worked at the store for nearly eight years and was familiar with nearly everyone, even if it was just by their face, and I'd never seen the guy I'd collided with in my life. He was tall with short, dark brown hair and eyes that were a deep russet. He wore a work uniform, a generic white button down, and khaki pants. There was no polo like the men wore up front. That left many other options. Options I didn't have time to figure out at the moment.
"Olivia!"
It seemed that my boss had spotted me. I cringed before apologizing again. "Sorry, really!" I bolted towards the podium. I was at least four minutes late now.
"You have it the easiest of anyone here," the front end manager, Russel, snapped once I reached his post. "Is it really so hard to be punctual?"
"I'm sorry, I lost track of time. I can stay five minutes later to make up for it."
He shook his head. "I've got something else in mind. Don't worry. I'll let you know. Now get to work."
I knew that meant that he had some crappy task for me, but I didn't have time to argue. I made my way to the service desk where the girl I was relieving looked both annoyed and happy to see me at the same time.
"Thank you for finally gracing me with your presence."
"I was five minutes late, not an hour," I contested. I had to stand up for myself or I'd have been eaten alive by now.
"The lotto lady is here," the girl sang like the statement was going to bring me pain.
Sure enough, an elderly woman with an unnatural shade of red hair was waiting over at the far end of the booth. Before I could utter another word, the door slammed behind me and the other cashier was gone. Luckily, there was no line because the lotto lady did not mess around. She had stacks of tickets to check and repurchase. Customers and employees alike groaned when they saw her coming.
"Hi there," I said as I searched for the patience I would need to complete the order.
"What's Lucky-Loot on?" the woman asked, fanning through the stack of instant tickets I would have to reprint for her.
Walking over to the wall of scratch tickets and flipping over the ticket in question peeking out from its dispenser, I replied, "Eighty-eight."
The lady made a face. "Oh no, that's way too high." She scowled as she looked at the tickets on the wall. "What about Mega-Bucks?" That was an expensive twenty dollar ticket.
I heaved a sigh and checked the number. "Seven."
The customer's face lit up. "That's lucky! I will take seven and double my luck." She slammed one hundred and forty dollars on the counter.
My eyes would have gone wide if I wasn't familiar with the woman's gambling habits. She was in the store everyday spending her social security check and she would likely spend almost another hundred today. Nothing surprised me anymore.
In fact, I could parrot what the woman would say next: "Oh Sweetie, if I win big, I'll make sure to return the favor. We'll go someplace tropical. What do you say?"
"My bag is already packed," I replied as she waved goodbye. Sometimes I'd say "I'm in," or "I'll hold you to it," but I was feeling hopeful today. Some day I was going to get out of this place.
Part of the reason I'd been late was I’d been writing a story. Dystopian romance was my favorite genre to read lately, so I was trying my hand at my own. Instead of having a love triangle like most young adult series, my plan was to have an established relationship between my main character and her downtrodden boyfriend. For as long as I could remember, I had dreams of being a writer. The older I got, the bolder I became at making that a reality. I’d entered one of my latest projects in an aspiring authors contest and I’d been getting my manuscript ready just in case I got to the final round and they wanted the whole thing.
