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Chelsea had been telling me I should think about going back to school for this stuff. She kept harping on the fact that Moo U was right here in Burlington. I’d told her it wasn’t going to happen, but she wouldn’t let it go. I supposed I deserved it for the way I’d been on her ass about submitting her game to manufacturers. It was nice that we both encouraged each other to aim higher, really.
I didn’t know why I was so opposed to college. Fear, maybe. What if I admitted that I wanted something more than this life of minimum wage retail, and then I failed at it? I’d make a fool of myself. And succeeding might be even scarier. If I got a degree, what then? I’d never be able to float by with little effort, like I was currently doing.
For now, all I wanted to do was learn more about myself and my life. This chapter talked about a global assessment of functioning called the “Global Assessment Scale.” Not global like the planet, I reminded myself, but like somebody’s overall well-being. It looked at social, occupational, school, and psychological functioning. I could apply this to myself or to anybody else.
Since there was no way I was going to write in the book, I needed my phone to add up my score. Technically, I wasn’t supposed to use it on the job, and normally I wouldn’t touch it. That was how I’d ended up picking up my habit of reading. It would only be for a minute, and I’d keep it hidden behind the counter. The store was totally empty, anyway. This would be fine.
I pulled it out of its hiding spot. I’d only intended to use the calculator, but the notifications caught my eye. There was a new message from Chelsea, which made me smile—I’d open that after work, or I’d end up texting her all day. I had a new friend request on Facebook, though, and I didn’t recognize the name. I couldn’t remember ever meeting an Ava Corney.
That was odd. No one ever added me. Probably a bot or a scammer. I could’ve just deleted the request, but I clicked on her profile instead. Her face was no more familiar than her name. She was older, maybe in her forties. Her picture showed her with her knees in the dirt, planting a tree.
Ava Corney. It didn’t ring any bells—so why was I still on her page? I clicked on the picture and zoomed in. There was something about the slope of her eyes, the nub of her nose. Was she a teacher I’d had as a kid, maybe? I might not remember a face from ten or more years ago, but I wouldn’t forget a name, and I didn’t remember a Mrs. Corney.
I hit “delete” and forgot about the friend request for the rest of the day.
When I reached Chelsea’s place that night, I could hardly find her within the flurry of papers and different-colored pens. She sat at her kitchen table, her hair swept into a messy ponytail. Her eyes were bloodshot, and she looked as if she hadn’t slept a wink.
“What’s all this?” I asked, picking up a card.
“Put that down! You’re going to mess up the categories.” She set the card back in place, then patted it as if to reassure it that everything was okay. “I figured I should have something real to show to that game company, not just a list on my phone.”
“So you’re making an actual card game?”
“Exactly.” She put her hand over another pile of papers before I could even look at it. “I’m doing it by hand first, and then I’ll go get it printed on card stock.”
“This is amazing.” She’d taken my idea and run with it. I couldn’t have been prouder. “You’re going to do amazing, baby.”
She relaxed long enough to let me kiss her. Then she sat tensely, her hand twitching toward a pen.
“You want to keep working on it, don’t you?”
“I’m sorry! I’m kind of in the zone. Maybe I shouldn’t have had you come over.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “You can keep working on it, and I’ll do my own thing. We can enjoy being in each other’s presence. Don’t people do that in relationships?”
“You tell me.”
“It’s my first one.”
“Well, it’s mine too.” She wiped a palm across her forehead. “I guess we get to come up with the rules.”
“Then I say I’m going to work on setting up your new bed while you work on this.”
“You’d really do that?”
“Anything for my girl.”
I touched her arm, then headed into her bedroom to see if I could make any progress on the behemoth we’d picked up. The work was difficult enough to absorb me, but I was still conscious of her in the other room, cutting paper and occasionally talking to herself.
“Is this one supposed to go here or here?”
I smiled as I screwed in a piece. She was adorable.
When I was tired enough to take a break, I reached for my phone rather than disturbing her. Sitting on the floor, I opened the Facebook app. There was a message in my “other” inbox, the one where you got messages from people who weren’t on your friends list. It was from Ava Corney. I hadn’t gotten a notification this morning. Now my curiosity was piqued again.
Hello,the message said.You don’t know me, but I have reason to believe we’re related. My brother is very likely your father.
I stopped reading as the wind left my lungs. If I’d been standing, I would’ve doubled over. I felt like I’d been punched in the gut.
