Employee Orientations
"Don't get curious. Curious people don't deliver sandwiches."
-
It's Just Money
The Squat. Early August 1995.
Squat phone rings twice, Kid doesn’t answer. It stops.
Squat phone rings twice, Kid doesn’t answer. It stops.
Squat phone rings twice, Kid answers.
“What do you want, Tiny?”
“They taught you my code already?” Tiny’s voice, Kid could hear The News in the background.
“Easy code. Be easier if we had an intercom.” Kid pondered. “Does this building have pneumatic tubes?”
“Shut up and bring Jerk with you downstairs.”
Door opens, bell rings.
“Tiny.” Jerk was still yawning and made his way to pour himself a cup of The News’ coffee. It was too early for anything except reading.
“Sandwich delivery.” Tiny announced it like a bill come due.
Jerk was about to pour sugar in his cup when he stopped, looked at Tiny.
“Special order?”
“Yeah. A number seven.” Tiny extracted himself from his throne. “Finish making your coffee, watch the counter.”
Jerk did as he was told.
Kid could feel the energy in the air. “Can I… Can I watch you make it?”
“Sure Kiddo, was hoping you’d ask.” Kid was about to be initiated.
Tiny didn’t look for a hairnet for his curly mop of salt and pepper hair, but he washed his hands for 30 seconds in the prep sink and had Kid do the same.
“Kiddo, can you grab some kaiser rolls, I need one for this sandwich.” Kid ran to grab them. Tiny went into the display case, barely above freezing, and got the prosciutto, salami, and honey ham. Tiny cut off 5 slices of each, discarding the first four. He placed the slices in one frying pan and started the heat. “Get a dozen eggs from the grocery cooler.” He commanded Kid while he grabbed another frying pan. Kid went in that direction, Tiny calling after. “American cheese too! The cheap stuff!”
Tiny had the meat sizzling in one pan and butter in another before Kid could get there and back. “Rolls, eggs, and cheese!”
“Cut the roll in half and butter it, one half turn of the pepper grinder on each side.” Tiny commanded. Kid obeyed.
Tiny grabbed the biggest egg of the dozen and cracked it into the waiting butter. As it fried, he ground pepper on top: one complete turn, then a second. He waited a little more before putting a slice of cheese on top of the egg, sliding the sizzling meat on top of that, and another slice of cheese on top of everything. In the second frying pan, he put the kaiser roll Kid had prepared face down in the sizzling oil and fat from the meat.
“I should have had more breakfast.” Kid said, trying not to drool as Tiny assembled the sandwich.
Tiny laughed. “Get yourself some Donut Tyme on the way.” Everything was neatly stacked into a sandwich, save the top of the kaiser roll. “Now, the secret.”
Tiny winked and made ‘shh’ motion at Kid. He grabbed a small plastic bottle of lime juice from the fridge and shook it. The bottle opened with a pop, crusty with dried juice. Tiny squirted a small amount on top of the meat before setting the rest of the bun on top. He leaned over to Kid and whispered. “The acid cuts the fat, and the citrus bite contrasts the flavors of the meats.”
He put the sandwich in wax paper, wrapped tight, and then sliced it in half. “You have to let it breathe, or it gets soggy.” Finally, he placed another layer of wax paper around it, more a sleeve than a wrap.
Tiny carried the sandwich out. Jerk let Tiny in behind the counter. Tiny wrote out the slip, placed the sandwich in a bag. He stapled the bag shut over the slip, before handing it to Jerk.
“City Hall. Third floor. McNally.” Jerk nodded and took the bag. “Cash only.”
As they walked, Kid peeked at the slip stapled to the outside. “Thirteen hundred twenty-nine dollars and sixteen cents? For a sandwich?” They weren’t questions. “McNally’s a councilman?” That was.
“City Comptroller.” Jerk corrected Kid.
“Tiny’s blackmailing the city’s Comptroller?”
Jerk stopped. Kid too. Jerk held up the bag. “We are delivering a sandwich!”
Jerk started walking. Kid caught up.
“A thirteen hundred dollar sandwich.” Kid was undeterred. “It didn’t smell that good.”
Jerk stopped again. Kid screeched to a halt. Jerk offered the bag. “You want to know why this sandwich costs as much as it does? Go back and ask Tiny, or you can hand it off to Comptroller McNally and ask him.”
Kid held up their hands. Backing away. “I was just curious.”
“Don’t get curious, curious people don’t deliver sandwiches. Doesn’t matter how much it costs, it’s just money.” Jerk resumed walking. He didn’t want the sandwich to get too cold. They were almost to City Hall.
McNally had a secretary. The secretary was named Ms Dunworth. Ms Dunworth was expecting them.
“Jerk!” She was grandmotherly, with half glasses, a pea green cardigan, and a tea stained smile. She considered the enigma of Kid. “And who’s this? You’re always a loner!”
“Kid.” Kid gave a small wave, doing that thing Jerk noticed where they shrink a little.
“And I’m Ms Dunworth.” She smiled again. It could brighten an abyss, tea-stains and all. “Well now that introductions are finished, Comptroller McNally told me to call when you were here!”
She picked up the receiver on her phone and pressed one of the square clear pillars. It lit up. Kid could hear the phone ring in the other room. A muffled male voice on the phone followed the muffled voice behind the door by a split second. “Yes, Comptroller McNally, they just arrived. I’ll bring them in.” She stood. Brown pencil skirt. Sensible shoes. Looked like everyone’s favorite teacher.
She opened the door, smiled, and they walked through. It clicked shut behind them.
McNally’s office was wood panelled with built-in shelves filled with books on accounting and finance. His desk dominated it, with two large leather chairs in front. A projection of his power. It hadn’t changed in the decade Jerk had been coming to it.
“Jerk, let’s see that sandwich. Jerk’s friend–” He gestured at the left chair. “–take a seat.” Kid instantly and correctly determined it was not a request and sat down in the left chair.
Jerk handed him the bag. “Price is on the slip.”
McNally looked at the slip. “Well worth the value I’ll receive, I’m sure.” His smile was too wide. He opened a drawer and pulled out a cash box, carefully counting out what he owed. He paid in a mix of twenties, fives, and ones, placing the 16 cents alongside it. Jerk took the cash, counted it out. Handed it to Kid to count too. Kid didn’t understand what they were seeing but knew what they were supposed to do.
“I hope you’ll both join me while I eat it?” McNally smiled that too-wide smile at Jerk and gestured at the right chair.
McNally took the sandwich and napkins out of the bag and began unwrapping it like a grandmother who wants to save the wrapping paper. He folded and saved the layers, placing them in his desk, out of sight. He used the paper bag as his plate. The comptroller picked up the sandwich with both hands and stopped, putting it back down.
“I should not start on this without having a glass of water ready.” He filled his glass from the pitcher on his desk before taking hold of the sandwich again.
His first bite was easily a quarter of the sandwich. It was too much for his mouth, but he chewed anyway. “Mmmm” His eyes rolled in his head and his head lolled a little. The cheese, the roll, and the meat must have been a massive wad he was chewing. He might have had trouble swallowing, if he didn’t take a huge swing of water with it. He took another bite, nearly as large. “Mfth dth toe gof!” He leaned his chair back gleefully.
McNally was oblivious to them. Kid questioned Jerk with their eyes, Jerk shrugged the same way.
McNally’s chair tilted forward, and he grabbed his glass of water to wash down the second bite, slamming down the empty glass and refilling it with one hand while he shoved the sandwich into his face again for another encounter with the other. “Toe gof!”
“What. The. Hell.” Was the first thing Kid said when they got to the street. They sucked on a peppermint candy Ms Dunworth had offered them as they left.
Jerk shrugged. “Sandwich delivery.”
“That smelled like a blackmail, but he acted like we delivered him the Holy Grail.”
“It’s just money.” Jerk repeated that to himself a lot during situations like this. “Sandwich delivery.” He started heading back towards The News, wad of money in his pocket.
“‘It’s just money.’” Kid repeated, following behind and not sounding convinced.
-
Bologna Steaks
The News. Early August 1995.
It was a mid afternoon lull. Tiny leaned back, eyes closed, while Jerk swept the aisles. Behind the deli counter, Kid was trying to figure out how the slicer worked from first principles.
“Wow this reminds me of a saw in shop class!”
“You’ll work better with fingers!” Tiny barked without opening his eyes.
Tiny was tired. Two weeks after her surgery, Norma had gotten an infection in her surgical wound. Fevers. Puss. Drainage. The kinds of smells that even Jerk wasn’t comfortable dealing with. Tiny was sleeping even less than usual.
Jerk looked past the Tiny act and saw his father—his Dad—for the first time in a year or two. It was always easier to look at what he was eating or yelling about. The circles around Tiny’s eyes were darker, bruised and black. Tiny had been burning it at both ends before Jerk was even a twinkle, but Norma’s illnesses were another kind of exhaustion.
“I’m doing it! I’m doing it!” Kid called from the back, and then. “Whoa, those slices are way too thick!” Another pause. “Are fried bologna steaks a thing?”
“I could certainly be convinced!” Tiny called back, eyes still closed. Jerk wondered how well Tiny was eating with Norma sick.
“She’s not coming back to work at The News, Jerk.” Tiny’s lips moved but the rest of him was a motionless mountain. He spoke softly, it didn’t carry far.
Jerk didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Why, Tiny?”
“You and Kid—you’re young. When you’re sick, they want to fix you.” Tiny stayed motionless, arms crossed, eyes still shut.
“Me, Norma. We’re old.” Tiny sighed, collapsing a little. Jerk could almost see the years that Tiny pushed back with sheer force of will creep in, just a little. “You get sick, their first instinct isn’t to fix it. It’s to simply rip it out.”
“That’s… medicine?” To no one’s surprise, Jerk didn’t get what Tiny was trying to say. Jerk heard the chain-fence-slamming-shut noise of Norma’s favorite flimsy frying pan hitting the coils of the range in the kitchen cubby behind the Deli counter. The snap of the burner clicking on clattered in Jerk’s right ear.
Tiny ignored him. “Eventually, they just keep cutting pieces off—patches of skin, chunks of colon—until you start wondering if they’re healing you or carving away what’s left. To live. To enjoy.”
“What’s this, Tiny? Has Norma got something else?”
“No. Not yet. But eventually.” Jerk could almost see Tiny deflating, very slowly. “This is four surgeries in five years.” He got quiet. Jerk finished D and moved to E to sweep. There was a sizzle from the kitchen, a smell of salted meat and garlic. The smell seemed to slowly rouse the giant to speak again.
“I asked her if she missed The News, and do you know what she did? She started crying.” Tiny opened his eyes and looked at Jerk, his eyes wet. “She asked me when she’ll have given enough to me, to this place.”
She was always saying The News was the family’s business and not hers. Jerk guessed she meant it.
“Is it OK to open condiments?” Kid yelled from the kitchen.
“Yeah Kid.” Jerk yelled back. He didn’t care. He turned to Tiny. “So she’s not coming back?” Jerk’s eyes shot to the Deli counter, where the delicious smell was emanating from. “Are we shutting down the counter?”
“My father’s ghost would kill us all.”
Kid beamed as they came from the kitchen, a plate in each hand—the kind of thick plates that always went mushy with spaghetti and meatballs. But not today. It was two thick slabs of bologna, fresh off the slicer, fried with salt, pepper, and Jerk sniffed had Kid found Norma’s personal celery salt/paprika blend? Three dabs adorned each plates. Two different mustard, and a spoonful of horseradish. Kid set down the plates, then pulled out enough napkins for an army.
Jerk eyed Tiny’s iced tea, it was nearly full. He got himself coke. Kid was leaning on the counter, sawing into the second steak. Jerk was confused until he noticed that Tiny’s plate had one fork and the other, two.
“I only want a little. I thought we could split it,” Kid said, eyes smiling and so bright as they looked at Jerk. They took a cube of fried, salted meat and dipped it in horseradish, their “Mmm” cracking in their throat like a cat’s purr. Jerk shared some of his coke with them.
“This is great, Kid.” Tiny couldn’t lie about food. “A real supper.”
Tiny ate the slab of bologna quickly and methodically. He hadn’t been eating as much as he’d like, Jerk could tell. Tiny groaned as he stood up. He removed his bulk from behind the counter, grabbed a newspaper, and turned towards the bathroom.
“Hey Tiny, can we fix the fan in there? It’ll help with the smells.”
“Sure, I’ll have the facility manager call around for someone to fix it.”
“Who’s the facility manager?”
“You, Jerk.” Tiny disappeared into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.
-
Help Wanted
The sign was red, with the white block HELP WANTED letters and a rectangle for a note outlined in black. Jerk wrote “SEE: JERK” in clean block letters on the rectangle. He taped it on the inside of the door as the mid-morning rush began.
“I hope we get a lot of applicants.” Kid leaned against the counter, coffee in hand.
“You should.” Tiny was behind the counter at the register. “You’ve got 50 hours in here this week.” His voice was genuine.
“Kid’s saving our asses.” Jerk had started straightening soup cans in D after putting up the sign.
“Did Paul and Mary say when Paulie was coming over to help Kid get the deli back up and running?” Jerk looked at Tiny while he asked, then to Kid. “They want training.”
“Should be here soon.” Tiny looked over at the counter. The display case was dark now, everything thrown out. Kid’s bologna steaks were the last thing worth eating. A flowerbed waiting for spring.
Door opens, bell rings.
“You’re looking for help?” Sad Eyes.
Paulie shook his head. “This is a nightmare.” The bridge of Paulie’s nose was high and his thinning hair shimmered under the florescent lights.
“Norma kept it clean.” Tiny’s arms were crossed. “We just had to toss the meat when she got sick and didn’t come back.”
Paulie gestured around the deli. “You didn’t come back here and scrub every day while she was gone. I’m not sure you scrubbed at all.” He looked around.
“I want to learn this stuff. Tell me what I need to do.” Kid was leaning against a counter.
Paulie looked around and started pointing. “Everything needs to get scrubbed down and sanitized. Hot soapy water, wipe it down, then disinfect.” Kid was taking notes. He pointed at the slicer. “Every single piece of that comes apart. Wash everything until it looks clean, then wash it one more time.”
Next he looked at the cooler. “Every shelf out. Scrub them down. If you don’t take care of that empty cooler smell now it’s never leaving.” He pointed at the display case. “Same goes double for that.”
Tiny seemed insulted. “There’s no smell.”
“There is. If you can smell it, it’s already too late.” Paulie moved on. “Check every condiment, seasoning, and dry good. If it’s even close to expired, toss. Write down everything you toss or is low.”
“That’s going to take the rest of the day, Paulie.” Kid looked around.
“I’ll be here with you, we’ll get this done.”
Sad Eyes was working as an aide at a nursing home in Arrow already, but he could work 7 a.m. till noon every day. He was excited to see activity in the deli and to hear the sandwiches would be coming back in-house soon.
“Roxy uses too much mayo.” He explained.
The next one wasn’t as smooth.
“Clark.” Jerk’s stomach tensed before he set his voice cold.
“Buddy!” Clark’s smile was warm, like he never left. Like—Jerk shut that thought out. Clark had been running a small betting circle out of The News while he worked there.
“We had to make a rule because of you.”
“Oh, what was that?” Clark’s eyes sparkled.
“No crimes on the clock, Clark. That rule’s got your name on it.”
“Oh.” Clark looked down.
“Still making books?” Last time, Clark left in handcuffs.
“No.” Clark looked at Jerk as he said it. “I’m almost done with my probation. I thought seeing your name maybe The News had passed down a generation.” Clark looked back to where Tiny was talking with Kid and Paulie.
“You know the job.” Jerk stated a fact.
“Has it changed?” Clark smiled, like they were friends. Jerk stared at him like a bedbug crawling across a tenant’s headboard. The smile faded.
Clark’s voice dropped, he leaned in. His aftershave hadn’t changed. It smelled like standing close to him during late-night conversations about Heinlein. “Buddy, I don’t want to cause another problem between you and your old man.”
“I’m not your Buddy anymore, Clark.” Jerk leaned back. He wanted to run. “You have a few gigs?” Clark always did.
Clark nodded. “Listen, If it’s going to be awkward between us.”
“Why would it be awkward?” Jerk looked back at Kid. They were staring intently at Paulie as he gestured at the kitchenette, head shaking.
“No reason. I have a wife now. Little girl on the way.” Clark’s voice shrugged for him.
“I know. Everyone’s heard.” Jerk stared at the back of Clark’s head in the hyperbolic mirror. “How is ‘Crazy’ Becky?”
“Jerk-” Clark paused, as if he had more to say. Maybe something he should have said two years ago. “I could really use the money.” He didn’t say it. Coward.
“Floater to start. You know all the roles so we call you when we need you.”
It was dark out before Kid came out as Paulie left. “Meat comes tomorrow. Prepackaging, maybe.” They wiped their brow as they sat on the second stool behind the counter.
“Got a few solid hires and a few high school kids.” Jerk looked at where the sign was still posted. He looked at his paperwork. “Oh and a college student. Your wish is coming true.”
“You OK?” Kid looked at him as they asked. Head tilting.
“Of course I am. I’m always OK.”
Kid pulled on their soaked shirt and left it bunched high on their chest. “Liar.” They laughed. “One guy came in, you turned white, but talked a long time.”
“Clark.” Jerk gripped his stool. “We were close. Once.”
“Ah.” Kids bright eyes were curious. “Did you… want to…”
“No.” Jerk’s tone was flat and decisive. “It’s not worth talking about.”
“So pretty close.” Kid smirked.
“No!” Jerk pushed past and went out to Aisle D, sorting the ramen and soup. “Clark was just someone I trusted who ended up… screwing up.”
Kid checked a customer out and looked over at Jerk as they left. “Screwing up?”
“Made books. Ran it out of the store. Busted, September three years ago.” Jerk moved back to the cooler and started facing the bottles outward. “Tiny cut him loose. He and I fought over it. Clark pled, got community service. Probation.”
“You didn’t move like he screwed up. You moved like he betrayed you. He leaned in to say something and you jumped back.”
“He knows the job, OK?” He knocked bags of chips on the floor as he rearranged a shelf of them. “I don’t need to explain this decision.” He picked them up and carefully arranged them.
“I’ll let it drop. But…” Kid looked at Jerk, and then the door.
“Yeah?”
“I’m keeping an eye on him.”
-
Fugazi
Ilium, New York. Late August 1995.
The bus moved with the stop and pull motion of a winning tug of war played over miles. Kid swayed with Jerk. Jerk swayed with Late. They all swayed with the bus.
Jerk felt a hand slipping into his as they rode. He stiffened, then relaxed. He looked over at Kid, and squeezed their hand. “Thanks for coming with me and Late.”
“Books! Music! It’s a chance to see you in your native environment!”
“That’s The News.” Kid could see the corner of Jerk’s mouth trying to curl slightly.
They held hands the rest of the way.
Jerk had gone over to the book side of the store. Kid was flipping through a box of new vinyl releases after Late moved on to the box to the right.
“So this Clark guy…” Kid spoke first.
“Wait, why are we talking about Jerk’s–the bookie.” Late shot a sideways glance to Kid, alarmed, then looked at where Jerk had gone. “Did he come in?”
“Applied.” Kid said. “I watched them talk. He leaned in and Jerk leaned back. Way back.” Kid pulled up a record, realized it wasn’t what they thought, and slid it back down. “He’s going to be a floater.”
Late swore under his breath. “Christ, Jerk. Don’t be a martyr.” He pushed back, moved right to the next box of records and began flipping through them. “How did Tiny react?”
“Stared at Jerk for 10 seconds and then said ‘You’re the hiring manager.’”
“Look, Kid. I’m not specul– It would be rude to figure out my best friend’s emotions before he did, OK?” Late moved right another box, Kid followed.
“I just want to know wha–”
“Kid! Late! How wonderful to see you!” Came a bright and cheerful voice behind them. They turned.
Ms. Dunworth stood there, clutching a copy of Fugazi’s Repeater to her pea-green cardigan.
“That’s a really great album, Ms Dunworth. Getting a gift?” Late asked.
She clutched the album a little tighter. “Oh no! This is mine. I love the energy!” Her eyes were alight.
“Right on.” Late nodded his head.
“Ms. Dunworth, I thought that was your convertible on the street.” Jerk had snuck up on Kid and Late. He pointed at her album. “I have that on cassette, it’s great.”
“Kid said Clark’s a floater, Jerk.” They were flipping through the R section of Used Tapes.
Jerk shot a glare at an oblivious Kid at the front of the store who was talking to Ms. Dunworth, and then to Late. “He knows the job and he has flexible availability.”
“He hurt my best friend. I don’t know how, but I know he did.” Late pulled out a Ramones tape he’d seen a million times and pretended to care. Two dollars. “You were morose for months after he was busted, and this is you I’m talking about here.” He put the tape back.
Jerk ignored him.
“Jerk, I know–”
“So did he, Late.” Jerk moved to another section.
On the way back, Kid slipped their hand into Jerk’s again. He didn’t stiffen, he just swayed with them and the bus.
-
Boycuts
The Squat.
“May I read in here?” Kid was standing at Jerk’s open door. They were wearing sweatpants and a tattered vintage Institute hoodie Jerk would have written off as a rag if they didn’t wear it almost every night.
Jerk looked around his room. His desk and chair were as over-encumbered with books as his shelves. Stacks of comic boxes covered an ottoman he’d gotten from a tenant who moved out. There was only one comfortable place Kid could read. He looked around again, like an alternative might appear. “You mean next to me?” His eyes were wide.
“I could sit on a pile of books if you want.” Kid pointed to a stack near the door that Jerk had dirty clothes on top of. “The textbooks could work.”
Jerk looked at the pile of textbooks, and then at Kid. “You’ll get sore fast.” He moved over and rearranged the pillows to give Kid room. They slid onto the mattress next to him with a few zines they’d gotten at the record store. Jerk reread the same two pages three times before he remembered to turn the page.
“Hey, check this out!” Kid leaned over, showing him a zine. “Boycuts for Butches!” The first article had photocopied photos drawn over illustrating a technique for a ‘Boy’s Cut’ and the next an article was a crudely detailed buzz-cut technique. “I could cut my own hair!”
“It’s easier if someone helps you.” Jerk pointed to where those exact words were written boldly and underlined. “Anyway, just go to a barber.”
Kid made a dismissive noise. “They figure out I’m queer and ‘not a guy’ and they’ll refuse. ‘We’re not trained to cut your hair.’ ‘There’s a great salon down the street, honey!’” Their tone dripped.
“Even at Dapper Jack’s?” Jerk went there.
“Especially at Dapper Jack’s.” Kid grimaced like they were tasting bile. They rubbed their cheek. “I need to get a consistent supply of juice, then I’ll pass and…” Kid’s words trailed off and they sat in silence. Jerk closed his eyes, leaning back and listening to the rasp as Kid turned the pages of their zines.
He felt their hand slide into his. He stirred and opened his eyes. “So what’s this?” Jerk squeezed Kid’s hand. “Keeps happening.” Kid squeezed back. “Afraid of getting lost?”
“It’s comfortable. You’re… comfortable.” They sighed through a half smile before looking faux serious, their voice low. “And as you may have noticed, I’m not like the other guys.” They leaned their head against him. “Anyone ever just… felt right?”
“Once.” Jerk stiffened at the memory. “No, twice.” He squeezed their hand. “Right-er the second time.”
“You don’t mean?” Kid smiled, bright eyes dancing.
“Maybe.” Jerk turned pink and looked away.
Kid squeezed his hand. “Clark was the first?”
“Dammit Late.” Jerk swore under his breath, still looking away.
“Not Late. You.” Kid squeezed again. “You’re not the black box you think you are.”
Someone honked down on Vonnegut, then again after a minute, leaning on it the second time. Cabbie picking up a fare.
“Clark… We could talk for hours.” Jerk couldn’t meet Kid’s gaze. “He knows so many things. I thought he was like me. I could talk to him from the end of my shift until his shift was over. I’d forget to go and sleep. I…” Jerk sucked in his snot before clearing his throat, an ugly sound. “Fuck you, Clark.”
“Jerk, don’t–” They didn’t finish.
“He told me he was going to leave his girlfriend. Move into The Squat. We’d…” Jerk’s eyes wavered. “We didn’t talk about what would happen next. He’d push it off.”
“And then?”
“Then one day I find out his ‘crazy girlfriend’ is actually his devoted fiancée when she shows up to post bail for him at the same time I do.” Jerk looked away. “I wasn’t special. He was never going to choose me over her.”
“So why hire him back after Tiny fired him?”
“I… He knows the job?” Jerk didn’t even know. “I froze. Giving him a job seemed like the quickest way to make him go away.” He shook his head. “I’m an idiot.”
He reached over Kid and picked up ‘Boycuts for Butches.’ He flipped through.
“Would you cut my hair? If I cut yours?”
Kid blinked. “What?”
“Would… you… cut…” Jerk began repeating each word clearly and distinctly.
“I know what you said but what? Why? Go to Dapper Jack’s.”
“If they won’t cut your hair, I don’t want them cutting mine.” Jerk pointed at his head, where his habit of running his hands through his hair had made his cowlicks stick out defiantly. “It’s not like you’ll make this mess any worse.”
“What if I mess up?”
“That’s why they give you buzz-cut directions.” Jerk pointed at the pile. “Any other cool zines in there?”
-
Circle Mall
The bus kicked and sputtered up the hill past Foundry as they headed toward Circle Mall, hands held.
“So you wrestled?” Jerk gave Kid’s hand a squeeze.
“Started in middle school.” The bus topped the hill, passing a discount store that had seen better days. “Gave me an excuse to wear a unitard. Kept things ‘under control.’”
“Wearing one now?”
Kid smiled. “Tried that, but they’re not very practical for day-to-day life.” They tugged at their collar, revealing a strap from what they were wearing. “Sports bra, racerback. Elastic sewn in a couple spots.”
The bus stopped and sputtered. Bowling alley. A few people moved to get off. Kid rested their head against Jerk when the bus heaved onward again.
There were three places in the mall that served pizza, but Jerk refused to eat at two of them, favoring the hole-in-the-wall spot tucked away in the back of the mall’s half-abandoned food court. They each got a slice of pizza and a coke—big New York-style slices that they blotted with napkins to soak up the grease before anointing them with red pepper and a dusting of Parmesan.
“What did you do, science competitions? Spelling bees? I know!” Kid’s voice cracked. “School literary magazine!” Their crust crunched as they bit into it.
“I went to Academy. After school, it was all sports or marching around.” Jerk shrugged. “I’d go to The News after school and do my homework.”
“Academy?” Kid gave a mock salute. “What did you do to Tiny and Norma?”
“Do? I asked to go there.” Jerk turned his head, discreetly trying to work a piece of red pepper out from between two molars with his thumbnail. “I did a year in Ilium High. Didn’t enjoy it.” He wiped the fiery remains of the flake on his paper plate. “Thought I’d fit in better.”
“It work?”
Jerk shook his head and then shrugged. “Uniforms can only do so much.” He adjusted his straw. “Teenage boys will find ways to hate on each other.”
“They make fun of you for being queer?” They wiped their face, brushing crumbs off. “Before I got kicked out by my stepdad at 16, my semi-official name at Locks High was ‘Dyke Bitch.’” Kid made a motion like they were straightening a shirt and tie. “Didn’t quite fit, but I still decided to wear it with pride.”
Jerk made a face at the mention of ‘Dyke Bitch’ and then his mouth hung open for a moment. “I— Huh. That didn’t occur to me.”
“What didn’t?”
“That I might be queer.”
Kid blinked. They tilted their head. Blinked again. Sipped their coke.
“I never had crushes like other people. Never got the whole ‘love at first sight’ thing. Took me a while to realize I was even supposed to.”
He looked at Kid, something raw in his expression–an earnestness they hadn’t seen before. Like he’d stumbled into a question he hadn’t realized he needed to ask.
“Boy. Girl. Anyone. Never happened.” He looked away. “Figured it never would.”
“But who would you think about about when you…”
Jerk said the name of a journalist who covered politics. “I used to imagine them interviewing me while I did. They always asked such great questions.”
“I’m not sure if that’s weird or endearing.”
The mall fountain was dry and barren of a single penny.
“No wishes will be made today,” Jerk said, sitting on a bench facing it.
Kid sat beside him, elbows on knees, swishing the last of their coke and ice around in their cup. “You planning on making wishes today?”
“Wouldn’t come true.” He motioned at the fountain. “Made plenty of wishes here and none did, fountain’s defective.”
“Maybe your wishes were too selfish. What did you wish for?”
“To be normal.”
Kid laughed. “Aiming for the stands with that one, Mr 60 Minutes.” They pulled a penny out of their pocket and turned it over in their fingers. “Should’ve gone to Harmony Commons.” Kid flipped the penny. “Quality wish fulfillment.”
“No bookstore. Never saw the point.” Jerk leaned back, supporting himself with his arms, elbows locked. “Get lots of wishes fulfilled?”
“Just one.” Kid mimicked Jerk’s position and stared at the fountain. “Took lots of tries. Wished I wasn’t a—” Kid stopped. “Know what happened?”
“You woke one morning and weren’t one?”
Kid stood up and stretched, arms wide, smiling. “Better. I realized I’d never been one.”
Jerk stood up as Kid pitched the penny into the empty fountain. “Guess that’s one wish made.” He looked at the penny where it had come to rest, shining under a spotlight—molten copper, like Kid’s eyes. He looked away. “What for?”
“I’ll tell you when it comes true.”
“It’s always the same moves at the start.” Jerk said, watching the ghosts move on screen while Kid jerked the joystick. It was just them and the arcade attendant, half dozing behind the prize counter. “Like people.”
“People don’t always move the same.” Kid said. Ghosts were chasing them.
“Left.” Jerk said. Kid pushed the joystick left. Inexplicably, two ghost went right. “See, like people.” Jerk’s face was thoughtful. “It’s about where they’re expecting to go next, not where they need to.”
“Still didn’t help.” Kid said as they steered almost immediately into a ghost. They held up a quarter. “You want to play?”
“Nah, I don’t want to be here for 45 minutes.”
They nearly walked into McNally coming around a corner as they were leaving.
“Jerk. Jerk’s friend.” McNally’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.
“Name’s Kid.” Kid didn’t shrink.
“Sure it is.” McNally barely glanced at Kid. “So is it true? The deli counter has reopened?” McNally made a lip smacking noise, wet and squishy. “It’s been too long since I’ve had one of Tiny’s specials.”
Jerk jerked his thumb towards Kid. “Paulie’s teaching Kid to run it.”
McNally’s eyes lit up the way a cat’s did when they spotted a bird. He turned to Kid, slow and deliberate, like he was actually seeing them for the first time. “Is that right?” His eyes flicked over them, calculating. “That’s a lot of responsibility for someone so young. Tiny must be fond of you.”
“He knows I can do the job.” Kid crossed their arms, chin set.
“Then please do.” McNally looked at Jerk. “The city doesn’t run right without Tiny’s specials.” He kept his eyes on Jerk the whole time he said it before turning back to kid.
Jerk looked at his watch, they had an out. “We’ve got a bus.” He motioned to Kid. “Com’on, we’ve only got a minute.”
“Tell Tiny he’ll be getting an order soon!” McNally shouted after them as they hurried towards the stop.
They had more than a minute to catch the bus, but not much more.
“Guy creeps me out.” Kid exhaled the words as they let their shoulders relax finally. They were nearly alone on the bus.
“McNally? You get used to him.”
“I don’t want to get used to him.” Kid shifted in their seat. “I want to understand what I’m getting into.” Kid hesitated. “I feel like I’ve stepped into something that’s been running a long time without me.”
Jerk put his hand where they could reach it. “I can’t explain it… it’s Ilium stuff.”
“Ilium stuff.” Kid thought about it. “You mean like the Vanderkill Witch? Dragging people under?” The bus came to a stop in front of a half-empty strip mall and paused there for the thirty seconds required by the schedule as no one got on or off.
“Ilium has ru– No.” Jerk stopped and thought. “Not rules. Patterns.” He struggled for the words.
“Patterns?” Kid studied him for a second before finally reaching over, fingers curling around his. They squeezed.
“The same things happening over and over. Sandwich deliveries. People offering themselves to the Witch. Burning the Horse.” He made a face. “People drinking from the river for luck.”
They’d passed the discount store and were easing down the hill back into Foundry, the low gear rattling the bus and them.
“We’re doing all these rituals, each a small prayer Ilium will never change.”