Short Fiction - Frito Pie
“Look if anyone asks how old you are, you tell them 16.” The wannabe mustache at White Rock Roller Rink said as he shuffled some loose papers into a trash can.
Duh. I could easily pass for 16 even though my sweet 16 wasn’t for another 2 years. I mean I was the same height as Ashanti - 5’3”. I’ve had my period like 3 years longer than everyone else, plus I already wore a 34B. No one else in my grade even came close.
His office was stuck in the past, like him. The walls were covered in wood paneling, as was the ceiling. The floor had what clearly used to be white carpet that was now an ashy beige; the same color of his over-sized pleated khakis. You could tell he probably used to be fit because of his wide shoulders. He might have even been cute once. But the grandpa glasses and his jello belly weren’t doing him any favors now.
“I’ll pay you in cash every Friday. Just make sure to keep track of when you were here okay?”
“Yes sir.” I responded with the smile my mom gives to cashiers at Walmart.
“Alrighty, I’ll see you Friday.”
“See ya.”
Ashley was my trainer. She was definitely at least 16. If I had to guess, I’d say she was a 36DD. “You have to be for-real 16 to work the ticket office and at least 15 to hang the skates. Since, you’re obviously not you’ll work concessions.” She barked at me.
First of all, who wanted to work the ticket office? Nobody. It was a tiny box, identical to jello-belly’s office. PLUS you had to be with him in there for 2 hours after the rink opened. No thank you! Second of all, skates sucked because it was located in the darkest possible corner in the rink. It’s so dark that in order to file away the skates correctly they had to install a black light. A. BLACK. LIGHT. All that anyone would ever see of me was the whites of my eyes, and what my mom calls, my horse teeth. Hard pass.
Concessions is exactly where I wanted to be for 3 reasons:
I could eat all the frito pies I wanted.
It was at the front and faced both the ticket office and the roller rink which meant that I could see exactly when Taylor walked in and where he was hanging out. That way I could plan exactly how and when to bump into him.
It was the only other location, besides the ticket office, that got to handle cash. I’m not planning on stealing any, obvs. But if I ever need to borrow some I’d at least have access. It’s better to be safe than sorry you know?
Taylor skates over in his $99 red and black speed skates. He whips his cheekbone length blonde hair out of his face revealing his glowing amber eyes. “Hey can I get a frito pie and a coke?”
“Sure, what kind of coke do you want?” My heart is pounding.
“Dr. Pepper”
Shit. We’re out of Dr. Pepper.
“Sorry, we’re out of Dr. Pepper.”
“What? For real? Damn…”
Say something. Say something. “I’VE GOT ONE LAST MR. PIBB THOUGH IF YOU WANT IT!” Dammit I was saving that for myself.
“Really? Right on. I’ll take that then. What do I owe you?”
“Oh don’t worry about it.”
“Seriously? You’re the coolest Jenna.”
He walks away and I realize I haven’t been breathing for at least 10 seconds. I pull out the fritos and the canned Hormel chili and dump them into the paper bowl. “Shit.” I say to myself. My register is going to be $5.48 short.
Author - Cené Hale
