Knightsville’s prime local entertainment was Put-Put Palace, the local mini golf place that everyone and their mother goes to fill their empty Friday nights and weekends. I'd only gotten the occupation because my dad knows the owner, and I would've been fired for reading on the job a long time ago if it weren't for that. And since it was noon on a weekday, I knew I'd be in for an afternoon of silence. Perfect for me and Stephen King. After about an hour, I heard a car pull into the dusty parking lot, cutting my reading short. I'd recognize the car anywhere, as I'd heard and seen nothing of it when my best friend Jeff got it for his sixteenth birthday this year. The initial excitement over the Corvette had gone stale as of late, but he still treated the thing like a child. I wasn't allowed to sneeze in it.
I've known Jeff for . . . as long as I can remember. My mom and his mom are friends, so we see a lot of each other. It's not like we have that much in common; he's on the football team, he has a ton of friends and he'd rather play Halo 3 than read a book. I don't really fit in with his football friends, as I'm the farthest thing from athletic, so we don't hang out as much as we used to. We've just known each other forever so we get along good. I know he doesn't care about a lot of things I do, but I'm not the best at making friends so I try to keep the ones I have.
As I'd expect, he was with his jock friends (the monstrous ones that I was scared of) and his blonde cheerleader girlfriend that wore too much makeup, and her equally blonde friend.
"Hey Mason." he said. His friends looked surprised that he knew my name. I was trying not to look the huge linebackers in the eye, for fear that they might eat me as an afterthought.
"You know him?" his girlfriend asked, wrinkling her nose.
"Yeah, Mason's, like my best friend." he said innocently. She rolled her eyes.
"I didn't even know he went to our school." The other girl purred.
"You guys want four tickets?" I said quickly. I brushed my hair out of my eyes nervously.
"Actually . . ." Jeff looked from left to right, as if someone would hear the immoral following. "I need you to do me a favor."
The last time I did him a 'favor' it got me grounded and it lost me my favorite pair of shoes. The word couldn’t be used casually anymore, as trouble was always lurking as a shadow.
"What this time?"
He ducked under the counter and pulled me by the collar of my Put-Put Palace polo to the back. "Be a pal and get us in for free."
"You're kidding. I'll get fired."
"How will anyone know? There's no one here, it's only you."
"There's security cameras." I said flatly.
"Can't you just cover for me? I'll pay you back, please?"
Twenty-eight dollars of my car money was a lot, as I didn't make a lot to begin with. He looked like he was about to get on his knees and beg.
"Remember all the times I helped you in middle school and freshmen year? C'mon, man, do me a solid."
I had no idea when "do me a solid" was added into his vocabulary, which was just a sign that he was become more like his friends by the minute. I sighed, giving in.
"Fine, but you better pay me back." I said firmly, in hopes that he might actually do as he promised.
"Thank you, Mason, you won't regret it." He punched my shoulder in victory, harder than he probably realized, as I wasn't the size of city hall like his friends.
I gave them their tickets, and they were about to go out to the course when his girlfriend started talking.
"I'm really thirsty, Jeff." she whined.
"There's soda, in the cooler over there." I said quietly.
She rolled her eyes at me and went over and got one. She fiddled with her metallic purse before handing me the money. I dropped a quarter, and as I ducked down to retrieve it, and suddenly felt water cover my head, drenching me and my only work shirt.
I got up, covered in orange soda. She was surprising a laugh. I felt my face burn, which seemed to only give her more pleasure.
"I am so sorry." she said, even though we both knew she wasn't.
The other girl and the football players were laughing to themselves, as Jeff looked kind of mad and surprised. She flashed me a smile and left with the others. Jeff gave me an apologetic smile before following them.
Embarrassment still burnt on my face as I tried to dry my hair at least, even thought it was growing sticky and it smelled like orange soda. I'd never known Jeff's girlfriend; I didn't even know her name. But apparently I'd done something wrong, because you don't just coat a person in liquid sugar for nothing. I felt like I wanted to crawl under the counter when they came back to return the golf clubs, but I wasn't quick enough. They attempted to conceal their laughter to no avail at the sight of me again. Yep, I'm just here as a joke, no hurt feelings.
Jeff came up to the counter when they were outside. I pretended to occupy myself with the ticket dispenser.
"Look, I'm sorry, okay?" I knew he meant it, as sorry didn't come out of his mouth very often, but I wasn't really in the mood to except it, let alone hear it.
"Tell that to my hair." I said.
He sighed. "They just . . . they were just kidding around, you know? Don't be so uptight."
I looked up at him and back down again, hoping my ears deceived me, and he didn't just say that. "Aren't they waiting for you?"
"I will pay you back." he said, as if that made it better. "Promise."
"Sure." I said, tired of believing that. He probably owed me enough money for me to buy the Eiffel Tower by now, and he never paid me back.
He left, then. I heard the rain splatter against the windows as my shift ended. I put my hood up and ran to my car, getting soaked anyway. The rain just made me more annoyed, as if being humiliated and covered in soda wasn't enough.
I got home to my mother making dinner, Georgia coloring on the living room floor.
"Is that you Mason?" my mom called from the kitchen. I debated whether I should tell her about the reason why I'd never be comfortable around orange soda again, but decided that she'd figure it out by my sticky hair and stained shirt.
"Yeah." I called back, taking off my drenched hoodie and sulking into the kitchen, sitting at the island.
While salting the meat, she glanced up at me, then did a double take, over-salting the poor chicken.
"What happened to you?" she said.
"I don't want a kidney stone, mom." I said, pointing.
She put the salt down and shuffled as fast as she could in her evening slippers to me, smelling my shirt.
"Is that orange?" she asked, feeling my hair. I drew back.
"I'm fine, okay?"
"Why do you have orange soda all over you?"
"It spilled, I'm fine."
"All over you?"
"I really don't want to talk about it."
She gave me one last look, as if to stare it out of me, but gave up and returned to her sodium-laden dinner.
"Fine. If something's wrong, you should tell me, though."
"Nothing's wrong."
"Well in that case I need you to do me a favor." she said sheepishly.
This night just kept getting better and better.
"Could you run out to the art store and get Georgia some crayons? The big ones? No glitter. I promised I'd get them for her, but I forgot. Do you mind?"
"She really has to have them?" I asked, knowing that I was a softie when it came to Georgia, and I was doomed to the excursion anyways.
She nodded.
I sighed. "I'll be back."
She said my name before I left the room. I turned.
"Remember, if anything's wrong you can always talk to me or your father."
"Got it."
Thank you for reading!
