April Fools
1676 Words
Alright, Hannah, today is the last day you’re late, I tell myself as I stride through the big revolving doors of Parmell’s City of Books. The massive, elegant lobby greets me with its lustrous spiraling staircase on both the left and right. Bookshelves sprawl out to the sides, back, and above, on the second floor. I stride over the maroon carpet, past the first few stained-glass windows and displays.
My long-time friend Peter Livingston sits at the front desk, hunched forward and intent on his work. His blond head with its ever-familiar, meticulously styled hair is almost hidden by the computer monitor. I really can’t afford the time I’d lose to his teasing. Hopefully, I can make it by without his notice.
Nope.
The same blond head pops above the glossy chestnut counter. His clear grey eyes taunt me behind his wire-framed glasses. Quite the picture of intelligence – and spite – in front of me.
“Ah, Miss Wilde…” he starts in a sophisticated manner.
I stop and sigh.
“You are precisely…” he halts to check his watch, “3 minutes late.”
He meets my eyes once more and drops the pretentious attitude. He offers a sympathetic but teasing grin.
“Letting the worry catch up to you? You know I told you it’d slow you down.”
“And rubbing it in my face will help me get over it?” I bite back.
I wince. That was too defensive. Normally I can take anything he throws at me.
“Woah, hey I’m sorry,” he apologizes immediately, holding up his hands. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
He pauses and I feel my anxiety rise. How do I make him not worry about me now?
“You good?” he asks.
Forcing out the most natural-sounding chuckle I can, I smirk.
“A mere passing concern, oh wise one,” I reply, offering a dramatic bow. “But as much as I am flattered by you deeming me worthy of your precious time, I don’t have much time to spare – for you or the worry.”
He points to between his eyebrows. “The lines here say otherwise.”
I roll my eyes and spin around. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Peter.”
“Fine, then. Get wrinkles!” he calls after me as I walk to the back.
“That’s why I have good skincare,” I answer.
“That doesn’t solve the problem!” I hear him retort just as I slip into the employee’s lounge.
“That kid,” I mutter. It’s the stereotypical can’t live with him, can’t live without him situation. He knows me well and sometimes I wonder if he knows me better than myself. He’s the type to understand everything about a person just by looking at them.
Closing the door behind me, I walk over to charcoal black lockers. Unlocking the box marked with a bronze number ‘9’ on the door, I place my bag into it.
As I relock it, I feel my phone buzz. It’s a text from Peter.
[Seriously, you got this Hannah.]
A second message pops up.
[Btw, I’m telling you this because Theodore just came in. I tried to stop him but he’s on the lookout for you.]
My heart drops. It is Thursday after all.
Theodore. Theodore Thorn, the one and only, the incessant, the person who can take home the acclaimed “Least Favorite Human” award. He’s a short, overly tidy, sweater-wearing man in his mid-sixties who comes in every Thursday and seeks me out to “get my book recommendations.” That is then followed by him trailing me as I work, rambling on and on about whatever topic he’s fixated on at that moment. Truthfully, he’s harmless but it’s incredibly, unbelievably annoying, exhausting, and uncomfortable. The worst part is, he sticks around for hours.
Me: [uhhhhhhhhgggg]
Peter: [You seem very upset.]
Me: [Well, duh. You would be too if he liked talking to you.]
Peter: [Ouch? Anyway, it’s a good thing it’s April 1st.]
Me: [What does that mean?]
The phone vibrates again.
[April Fools. :)]
I groan inwardly. I literally feel the weight fall off my chest, but I still hope Peter can feel my glare through the phone screen.
[You really know how to make things better, don’t you? You demon.]
I can feel his smug expression as I read his reply.
[You’ll learn to forgive me. Besides, I heard him saying he’s going out of town this week. You know, last Thursday when I saved your ass from listening to him for 3 more hours.]
Me: [ -Angry emoji- I’m still angry at you. And I need to get to work.]
Peter: [Okay, see ya.]
I slip my phone back into my pocket and step out of the room, into the maze of bookshelves. I’m rounding a corner and almost slam face to face into someone. I let out a quiet yelp as I stop, and I notice it’s Roberta, my manager.
“I’m sorry!” I exclaim. “I didn’t see you there.”
She laughs. “Don’t worry about it. It’s a good thing you found me. I was just looking for you.”
Oh no.
“What can I do for you?” I ask. Play it confidently, Hannah.
“Do you mind if we go to my office?”
“Not at all!” I smile, but my mind is going crazy as we go up the stairs. I know how I’m a little late sometimes, but I put in a lot of effort to work hard and make sure to do a good job. I even do some of the other employee’s tasks. Yeah, I’m still kinda new. But I need this job. Geez… I should have tried harder.
I gulp down my nervousness as we step into her office. It’s brightly lit by the window behind her desk and a few well-cared-for potted plants sit on her desk and around the room. On the wall hangs a painting of the coast at sunset. My brain fixates on these details to escape from my impending doom.
Roberta gestures for me to sit in one of the chairs, and she rounds the desk to sit on her own. She arranges a few stacks of papers, then turns to me clasping her hands together. A strand of her graying brown hair has fallen from her hair clip and it hangs delicately beside her black glasses.
“I wanted to talk to you more about the assignment I told you about,” she says.
I blink in surprise. “What?”
“You remember me mentioning it to you, don’t you? Did I not—?”
Her brow furrows for a moment and she stares off. The next instant, she throws up her hands and laughs to herself. After a moment more of shaking her head, she leans forward and says:
“I am so sorry. I must have completely forgotten to tell you. I’d like you to take on a little assignment.”
I blink again.
“You’ve been doing so well these past several months, I thought it was time for me to step it up. Give you more responsibility, a challenge of sorts.”
“A challenge?” I ask. I’m not sure if I like or dislike the sound of this.
“Yes!” she exclaims. “You see, we’ll be getting a few new hires – one today, in fact – and due to the shifting of a few of our employees’ positions and responsibilities, we’re looking for someone to show these newcomers the ropes. And I think you’re the one for the job.”
I sit and gape. If I weren’t so shocked, I’m sure I’d be seeing a twinkle in her eye.
“What do you think? Well, there’s no time for that, actually. I apologize for not letting you know sooner – it was completely my fault, really – but we have one of our new folk coming in any minute now!”
As if on cue, there’s a knock on the door.
Roberta grasps my hand. “You’ll do so well,” she affirms in a whisper.
“Come on in!” she calls.
“Hi, Roberta,” I hear Peter say behind me. “The director’s new hire is here to see you. I brought him up.”
“Perfect! Thank you, Peter.” She rises from her desk. “Come on in! I hope your morning has been well…”
Her voice trails off as I drift deeper into my daze.
“Wait… me—?” I ask quietly, turning myself around.
And I then I stop.
This day really is getting to be too much.
There, standing in front of me is the guy from the coffee shop – the one whose privacy I invaded with my awkwardness.
Roberta looks from me to him. “Mr. Perry, I’d like you to meet Hannah Wilde. She’ll have the pleasure of training you over the next few weeks. Hannah, this is Mr. Leland Perry, the director’s son.”
Leland Perry looks over to me, his gaze serious.
“I look forward to training with you.”
- Writer
