Day “0” - (Sept. 7th, Wednesday)

  Under my breath, I cursed, “Shoot, I used the wrong spell!”

  Frantically scrolling through my list, I ran in wide circles to avoid the Banshee and apologized to all the poor graves I trampled. My health was low, I didn’t want to die and lose all this progress. “Wait, please!”

  Then, the table under my elbows exploded in vibrations, knocking me off my game. Soon the song ‘Livin La Vida Loca’ followed. Why are you calling now, Charletta!!

  I paused the game, set it down, and fumbled across the table to snatch up my phone. I juggled it and hit the answer button. “Hey!” I gasped, “what’s up?” My eyes drifted to the few coworkers chuckling at me. Embarrassed, I adverted them and tapped on my paused screen, playing dumb.

  “Lyyyyn!!” Her cheer echoed through the receiver. “Are you off today?”

  I smiled and pinched the phone between my ear and neck to resume the game. "Nope, I’m off Tuesday and Thursday." My enthusiasm waned, “so I can try to go to school while I’m working.” Can I handle going back to school? I don’t want to fail again.

  “Sorry, Lyn. I should have called yesterday!”

  “You’re fine,” I said. “I’m on break for at least another five minutes. We can chat.”

  “A privileged rarity.”

  Her sarcastic joke inflicted me with guilt-ridden damage. I sank deeper into the hard plastic seat. “I’m sorry. I’ve had tons of homework over the summer for my GED, and I’ve been working double shifts at this job.” They were flimsy excuses. I didn’t want to call without accomplishments to give.

  Her huff transcended the receiver, and I swore I felt a light smack to the head. “It wasn’t a knock at you. I’m glad to hear your voice, and besides, Wicks has kept me up to date with your work.” She sighed in dissatisfaction. “I worry about you guys. You and Wicks have a knack for finding trouble.”

  “Don’t I know it.” I chuckled because of what I said and because I beat the Banshee.

  “Lyn.”

  I put out my pinky, forgetting it was a phone call. “We’ll be okay,” I put my hand back down before anyone noticed, “promise.”

  “You better be. You both need to be alive and well for my wedding in two months.”

  My back straightened. “Right.” I put my console into sleep mode. “I gotta request that day off.”

  She exclaimed, “DAY! You’re the maid of honor. You need to be here for at least 4 days. If not, the whole week!” Her lecture was on the horizon. Madre already gave me one last week.

  “You know work won’t let me do that.” My eyes checked over the few people in our tiny breakroom. Most were at the far corner near the small flatscreen, or nose-deep in their phones. “I was already out for a week with food poisoning.” As if on cue, the T.V. played a fast-food related jingle. I smirked, intentionally joking to Charletta, “I mean, how was I supposed to know eating out of a dumpster would be a bad idea?”

  “Are you crazy?!” She sputtered in a fast fluster of incomprehensible Spanish. Although I learned it from Madre, I could not understand it when they spoke fast.

  “I’m kidding, Charletta. It was a small restaurant called ‘Ducky’s Dining’. I’m sure Wicks talked to you about it." I grumbled under my breath. “It was so bad I slept most of the week.” Her end went silent. She didn’t respond. Did our connection drop? “Hello? Charletta?”

  “Still here.” Did I say something wrong? She moved on without acknowledging it. “Convince your work, Lyn. You need to be here for the rehearsal and the bachelorette party, and you have to meet my fiancé and his family, and Mom and Dad want to see you, and-.” She cut herself off. “Maid of honor rules, you are here for at least the month.”

  I smiled, shrugged, and moved the phone to face me like we were on a video call. “Wicks can pull off the maid of honor position for me.”

  She laughed, “Lyn, I can’t have him looking better in that dress than I do in mine!”

  I laughed too. He’d be so flustered and mad to hear that. “Okay, fine. I’ll ask for a week and see what they tell me.”

  Her ecstatic chirps returned, “if you can only get the day…I guess I can go over rehearsal with you, but I expect you to materialize as soon as the clock strikes 12:00 a.m. that Friday!”

  My sister and I spoke a little more before I said goodbye. I’ve barely been here for two months. Work’s going to make me jump through hoops to miss another week. I tucked my console away, adjusted my uniform, and put on my best customer service smile. As long as I work hard, it’ll be fine.

  Alexander dreaded the store—its populated space overtook his focus. He went out when he had to, and his recent birthday present made him.

  His new kitten chewed through his wires while he was in the shower, including the HDMI cable he needed to keep himself and his guests entertained tonight. She’s lucky I unplug electronics when I’m done with them.

  Upon entering the store, an influx of pleasant smells tempted Alexander to pursue them. I’m so glad I ate earlier, he thought. Otherwise, his instincts would be impossible to ignore. He dismissed a few people he passed and went to the electronic section.

  He grumbled at his body. “I have a party soon. Can’t you be quieter?”

  It was reacting to those around him, so he held his breath in defiance. It was short-lived because his stomach stabbed enough to make him sharply gasp. Alexander’s hunger pains never struck this hard after he ate.

  Behind his glasses, his gaze intensified to find who caused his hunger to become unbearable. It narrowed when he saw the red-headed worker. In a slow stride he moved toward her, avoiding the few displays in at the center of the walkway leading to the electronics section. Like he has always done, he planned to sneak up on her, and-

  The abrupt laughter from an older customer beside her disrupted him. Alexander gained enough control to yank his body to the next aisle. He crouched, trembling, and trying to stay below the short aisle separator.

  Alexander pressed a hand into his growling abdomen. What the hell is going on?!! Through shaky breaths, he inhaled more of her sweet, teeth grinding scent. It’s so potent.

  He closed his eyes to calm down, but it only worsened his problem. Alexander reopened them and strove to focus on the headphones next to him behind locked glass panels. He even pushed up his glasses to read the labels better, but it wasn’t working. His stomach still bellowed in agony, only loud enough for him to hear. It told his other senses to attune to her friendly chatter with the older gentlemen in the next aisle.

  He waited for their conversation to end, and when it did, despite knowing better, he stood up. He overlooked the aisle, since they were shorter in the electronics section, and them both to be gone—or that she’d at least move. Yet her rolling card was there, and she was stocking HDMI cables. It was like the universe taunted his starvation and his body wanted to accept that fate. Alexander fought it. He walked near her, maintained a small distance between them, and stooped down.

  His sight struggled to search the cords she stocked, and when he went to ask for one, he focused on her. He didn’t take in any of her appearance—his mind fixated on her size. She’s so tiny. He swallowed hard. Her obnoxious, vexing aroma promised his body that she’d end his hunger, an assurance that didn’t feel tangible until this very moment. It had to be a lie. He gave up on the idea that he’d be able to have just an hour of silence from his stomach’s pain.

  Her voice snapped him back into reality. “Do you need this?”

  Shit. He flinched and sprang up. She followed his rise and stood up, too. She held out one of the HDMI cables to him. He gulped back his temptation to grab and eat her. Don’t do it. His nervous hand adjusted his glasses. “Yeah. I didn’t want to interrupt you.” He reached out to get the cable, and his fingers touched hers.

  She smiled. “You’re fine, sir. I’m stocking them, anyway.” She handed the package off to him. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

  Alexander’s thoughts contained nothing but the urge to satisfy his craving, so he couldn’t coherently answer her. “Uh...” FUCK. He wrestled with his instincts to jerk his stare. I’m not doing this now. He was busy—no matter how much his body hurt and demanded. He stood silent and caught something to preoccupy his mind. Her shirt logo. Out of selfishness, the logo reminded him of work, and its particular clause when pertaining to their lunch period. “Do you like your job?”

  As she waited, her initial eagerness to hear his response switched like to confusion. It gave Alexander time to regain what little composure he could when towering over the girl who came up to his sternum.

  “It’s work,” she said. “There are good and bad days like anywhere else. Why do you ask? Were you thinking of working here too?”

  Alexander dug into his front pants pocket and got his wallet. “No.” He picked through it to find the company business card he received years ago. What should I say? He griped, picking it out. What does that flirty bastard tell them? He forced a closed lip smile. “My work would benefit from having someone cheerful and social to help run the registers,” he held out the creased card. “It’s a pizzeria not that far from here.” She smirked at the cartoon pizza slice on the card. In a speech bubble it said, “The Happy Pizzeria”. To Alexander’s relief, the writing remained legible. To quell his domineering thoughts, he looked over her head. “It pays $100 an hour, offers medical the day you’re hired, plenty of va-.”

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Her voice squeaked, “$100 AN HOUR!” She tilted back to the card, shamefully, “S-Sorry. Continue.”

  He fiddled with the product in his hand and finished, “Plenty of vacation time, dental, and vision.”

  She waited, looked up, and spoke when he confirmed with a nod that he was done. “Why would they pay me that much to run a register?”

  “The owner’s a retired multi-millionaire who one day decided his passion was making pizza. He doesn’t care about money.”

  “And no one’s applied yet?”

  “He only accepts interviews from employee recommendations.”

  In awe, she pointed both hands at herself. Alexander jumped and tracked her gestures. “And you’re recommending me?”

  I am, aren’t I? He lurched and stupidly said, "yes.”

  She looked up at him and at the card. “I’ll look into it. Thank you!”

  To keep his hands from reaching out, Alexander ran them both through his short, damp from his shower, blonde hair. It received an eyebrow raise from her. “Y-yeah. Call the number on the card later this afternoon. I’ll put in a recommendation for, um......”

  “Lynette,” she said.

  He nodded. “Got it.” His legs, heavy and reluctant, refused to take a step unless it was toward her. He sheepishly chuckled, like he wasn’t trying to leave. “I’m Alexander.” He put out a hand to shake hers. Don’t pull her in, don’t pull her in.

  Her soft, small one met his, which was giant in comparison. He encompassed hers. I have the party in an hour. I am not eating her now.

  Catching his tongue between his canines, he ground hard to slice into it. The foul garbage like taste of his own blood allowed him to shake her hand, pull back, and turn around. He clutched the HDMI cord to his chest and muttered, “hope to see you hired soon, Lynette.”

  Once he said that, Alexander left. The harsh aches reminded him why he should never get close to a human without eating them. It had been years since he drew out a conversation like he did with her. He talked to customers at the pizzeria, but that didn’t require thinking.

  Inside his car, Alexander’s muscles tensed, and he squeezed at his abdomen. None of them wanted to let go, they just kept tightening. Between pressed teeth, he opened them enough to snarl. “Why is it that among all the humans I’ve ever met, your scents the fucking worst?”

  Once I got home, I studied the card. That was such a weird interaction and his voice was abnormally deep. I threw my back on the couch. What are the odds that some stranger invited me to join a job like that as soon as I'm struggling to start school? Sliding to my desk, I got on my laptop and checked their site. It looked legit, with a 4.7-star rating from thousands of reviews. Those pizzas look so good!

  Flipping the card Alexander gave me, I looked at the number, and pulled out my phone. My finger hovered over the number pad and I cowardly went to my favorites. I'll get Wicks's opinion first.

  He did with a few huffs. "What's up?"

  "Is it a bad time?" No, duh it is Lynette, he's on a business trip.

  "NO, no—they had me getting everyone coffee, so I was running around doing that."

  He wouldn't lie to me. I disregarded his exasperated breaths and the harsh construction-like noises in his background.

  "Okay. Well, when I was at work today, I was offered a better job at a pizzeria. The pay the guy was telling me about seems outrageous! It's-" There was another bang from his side of the phone. "Wicks, are you sure this isn't a bad time? Where are you?"

  "Don't worry, just-." His voice strained. "Trying to carry some boxes!"

  I pursed my lips, unmistakably recognizing his dishonesty.

  Let him work. I spoke fast, "I'll tell you later. LOVE YA! PLEASE BE SAFE!"

  "LENTILS!"

  I hung up and let him deal with his business. Now it's time for my business. There were a few imaginary anxiety vultures accompanying my fear. Don't squander this. They'll probably want me to send an application, apply, and if I'm lucky over a call and in person interview.

  Like a pecking chicken, I typed in the number and listened to the rings.

  "Hello, this is Sandra with the Happy Pizzeria office line. How can I help you?"

  "Hi, my name is Lynette Wayland. I'm calling because I talked to one of your employees earlier today for a job opportunity. His name was Alexander-" I don't know his last name.

  She interjected, "Ah, yes. When we spoke about your possible call, Alexander didn't have your last name either." She cleared her throat. "We're currently hiring for a cashier position. Have you worked at a pizzeria or any fast food establishment before?"

  "I'm currently working in the electronics area at a store, which requires me to occasionally work at the register…." I corrected myself. "Food experience, no." I didn't think to mention my month working at Mickey D's in high school.

  "Any cashiering experience is better than none. Plus, you'll learn everything else you need on the job. And sorry if I go silent, I'm writing down your information for our owner."

  I gave her my date of birth, spelled out my name, and a few other things, though not my address or social security. She hasn't told me to send anything over yet.

  "So, how soon can you be here?"

  "Huh?"

  "Apologies if you're not busy; Mr. Clemente is still in, and he can see you for a face-to-face interview."

  Pinching at my dirty work clothes I threw myself up from the couch. I have to take a shower, my curls are too messy for an interview.

  "Miss Wayland?"

  I went around the couch and went straight for my room door. "Yes, I can come in for an interview in the next hour!" I hope that doesn't sound too desperate.

  "Great!" She said, "I hope to see you soon. Have a pleasant drive here!" She hung up.

  I took a fast shower, brushed my teeth, texted Wicks about the interview, and checked the GPS. Awesome, it's a twenty-minute drive from our apartment.

  ...

  Driving for some time, I spotted the giant, hard-to-miss smiling pizza icon inviting people in.

  I'm surprised Wicks has never recommended this place. He loves the weird ones.

  The parking lot was lively, celebrating national salami day with Pizzas? The building itself was one of the biggest pizzerias or restaurants I had ever seen. It's like a two-story grocery store. I wonder if it has an arcade.

  Parking and reaching the double front doors, a wave of delightful smells enveloped me in a tantalizing combination of melted cheese and sizzling meat. If I get this job, I'll go home smelling like pizza everyday.

  The further inside I went, the hungrier I got. I should order a pizza to go after this.

  The main area was a warm, inviting mixture of wood and stone, with benches and tables offering cozy nooks to sit and chat. It was cleaner than I expected. Each place to rest looked as inviting as the next. It'd be nice to take my family here.

  My vision drifted to the walls while I waited in line. They were adorned with vibrant paintings and photographs of ingredients, as well as pizza-themed landscapes. Above, a soft jazz played on the speakers, swaying me back and forth. I have to get this job.

  While waiting, I juggled the possible interview questions in my head. Should I look some up right now? I reached for my phone and looked down at my empty, resume-free hands. How could I forget that.

  "Ma'am?" The cashier's voice called.

  I perked up, "Oh gosh, sorry. I'm Lynette here for an interview?"

  He adjusted his glasses, eyeing me, and slowly nodded, "Yes. Right back here." He gestured to the slide behind the counter. He pointed down the hall through the kitchen. "Down that way, the hallway on your left after you leave the kitchen. At the end, there is an office marked "Mr. Clemente.""

  "Thank you."

  "Good luck." He said to me as I passed. The kitchen looked as clean as the front and was HUGE. Do giants work here? Then again, who isn't a giant to me.

  Briefly I saw another person my age rushing back with an older woman in the kitchen and got to the hall he mentioned. It's rather empty down here. I walked down toward the office and passed two doors on the way. They stood directly across from one another. The first door was adorned with a small plaque with the pizza mascot wearing a band aid, and below it was a sign that read, "Infirmary."

  It's good for them to have an infirmary.

  Facing it was the second door. It appeared more utilitarian, a steel frame contrasting with the soft colors surrounding it. It had the mascot with reading glasses and folders. The sign read "Record Keeping." That looks secure.

  Reaching the sturdy, slightly weathered wooden door at the end of the hall, I stopped.

  I let out a quick exhale outside the door to the office. This whole place looks so well-kept. Its spotless. But Alexander could have been lying about the pay. It's probably ten an hour or something.

  I lifted my hand and knocked. A male voice beckoned me inside.

  Opening it, I expected a giant grand office to match the expensive-looking Pizzeria interior and was met with an average looking one.

  The walls were lined with bookshelves, some neatly arranged while others were stacked haphazardly as if they were just read. A wooden desk with a cozy, sleek, black ergonomic chair at the center of it. A computer sat on the desk, among a few papers and a framed picture facing him.

  "Lynette Wayland?" He stood up and walked over to meet me.

  He looks wealthy... His complexion was remarkably flawless, drawing attention to his well-defined features. And so young. He donned a sleek, all-black business suit that was freshly pressed. A vibrant red cloth peeked out from his suit pocket, and white gloves adorned his hands. He reminded me more of a mafia boss than a owner of a pizzeria.

  I shook the hand he offered me. He's about the same height as Wicks and looks around Charletta's age? Is he really a multi-millionaire who decided to just "retire."

  His firm handshake followed. "It's nice to make your acquaintance, Miss Wayland. My name is Edgar Clemente. I own the Happy Pizzeria, and firstly, yes I will confirm that what was told about our rates is true."

  Peering up at him, I smiled. OH MY GOSH!! I cried joyfully in my head, catching his eyes—they momentarily distracted me. Up close, they looked redder than a normal brown hue. Almost with a tint of purple.

  "Is something the matter?" He asked.

  I shook my head and moved to the seat he offered across his desk, "you have nice eyes." I hope he doesn't take that the wrong way.

  "Thank you, they're a gift from my parents." He warmly chuckled and comfortably leaned back in his plush chair. He took it well. "Before I start the classic interview questions, Miss Wayland, I must ask you a very important one." He rested his hand on a paper he had beside him. I couldn't quite read it from my angle. "How do you feel about pizza?"

  "Pizza? It's good?" Do some people here hate it?

  He touched his chest, "I started this place as a passion project. I don't know why, but the impulse to make pizza was too great to ignore. There's something I find so relaxing when I make them." His grin made it hard to tell whether or not he was joking, "and it's become a ritual of passage for me to ask those interested in being hired what it means for them." He folded his hands one over the other. His expression shifted from his previous jests into a hard focused stare. He tipped in slightly making me feel smaller in my seat.

  His abrupt intensity almost kept me from hearing him ask once more, "So, how do you feel about pizza?"

  What do I do? Should I lie? He's making it sound like I'd get in trouble if I don't say what he wants. My clammy hands fiddled at my belt. I could say, "I've always had a passion for pizza, too!" My mouth wouldn't let the lie slip out. This is a crazy first question, and if I do lie and get this job, I have to keep up that lie. That's way more effort than it's worth.

  "Honestly, sir," There'll be plenty of other opportunities. I knew there wouldn't another one like this. "I don't have a passion for making pizza. I heard what you pay employees, and it sounded exciting. I'd love to save as much money as possible to pursue another passion of mine. That way, I don't have to worry about not being successful in it." I lowered my head after. "I'm sure that's not the answer you wanted..."

  Chin up, Lynette, don't look pitiful in front of someone. I nudged myself and adjusted my posture in my seat. Don't mope about being honest. That's what you'd want, right? Hold that positive attitude so you can tell Wicks you tried. "However," I brought my eyes to his. "If I'm hired, I will work to the best of my ability to bring the cheer your customers need when they enter this pizzeria."

  I maintained strong eye contact, not letting myself waver to his intimidating silence.

  To hide his smile he moved a gloved hand to his mouth.

  "Most people tell me what I want to hear. A time when pizza sparked their "hearts."" He placed air quotes over the word. "I'm glad you don't look ashamed that you answered sincerely. I'd be after the money in your position too." He sat back, "though, unlike you, I would have lied."

  He bent over, opened a drawer at his desk, and placed down a packet of papers labeled "Happy Pizzeria Contract."

  "As you are in it for the money, Miss Wayland, I have a proposition to offer you." He flipped to the second page and wrote something on the bottom of it. He turned it back to me. "The pay is $100 an hour, you're allowed up to a month of paid vacation after your first week, and as a bonus, if you stay here for six months, you'll receive $500,000."

  My eyes widened in disbelief, the words catching in my throat. "Wh-what...?" Stammering, my mind raced as I struggled to process it.

  He raised a pointer finger, "Furthermore, if you stay loyal to this pizzeria for a year, working hard, following our rules, I'll offer you another bonus of four million dollars."

  I fell back in my chair, the smooth cushion cool against me, and placed my hand over my chest. The rhythmic pounding beneath my palm was powerful and erratic. It's still beating.

  His lips parted with worry. "Are you alright, Miss Wayland?"

  “Y-yeah,…four million…” I uttered to myself. "A year? That's it."

  "If you stay, yes. And I'm sure that'd help with your money problems? On top of your $100 an hour." He handed me a pen, "Oh, and we offer some of the best medical coverage around, as well as dental and vision once you start."

  I pulled myself up and skimmed over the contract, "am I selling my soul?"

  He snickered and gave a shake of his head, "No, I simply have more than enough money for my family, not including how much my wife makes."

  I took the pen he held out to me. "How many hours would I average a week??"

  "Forty. Five days on and two days off, given that your recommendation was Alexander, he'll be training you. Thus, you'd have Tuesday and Wednesday off." He glanced at his computer and wiggled the mouse, "Todays Wednesday so if possible, you'll start tomorrow."

  "That works great." I replied, "What about lunch break and-"

  "You'll receive two paid fifteen-minute breaks and an unpaid hour lunch break and it'll be the night shift. 2 p.m. to 11 p.m."

  "Okay," I said.

  I couldn't find anything to disagree with and was in too much shock to analyze anything.

  He gave me a few more small questions, I signed the contract, and Edgar took it back. He walked me into the hall and to the infirmary for the rest. He left me inside while he got the nurse.

  The infirmary was a spacious room filled with beds of various sizes, some large enough to accommodate at least six people. Why do they have beds that big?

  Finding a spot in the far corner, I settled in a simple wooden chair. It was quiet. My gaze drifted over the scattered books and papers on two desks at the wall next to the door. A few minutes later, a woman walked in. She introduced herself as Sandra, the one I spoke to on the phone.

  She had a pale, beautiful complexion, and her ears were sharper than most people's. I guess that condition is not as rare as I thought. My older brother Wicks and my family had very slight points as well. I think Alexander had them, too?

  Everything she said and did seemed rehearsed from escorting me to a scale to check my height, shy of five feet, to questioning how I had been feeling and medical history.

  When that was said and done, she gave me a uniform from a cabinet stocked with them. It came with a hat, a name badge, red shirt with black trim, and black jean pants. Sandra offered me a second pair of it all and said they'd give me another after my first week. The fabric felt soft, stretchy, and breathable. These feel much more expensive than my other uniform.

  The pizza slice mascot was on the hat, next to the words "Happy Pizzeria," and on my shirt's breast pocket.

  Taking it all, I thanked her, went on my way, and returned to my apartment, teeming with unease being strangled by excitement. This is too good to be true!!

  I sank back on the couch, making sure I was careful holding my cup of fresh tea. I had funtube on the flat screen and watched a new indie game trailer with a cat as the protagonist.

  "That's so cute. It's eating some-" I jerked up with a gasp, "PIZZA! Dang it!" Nearly spilling my herbal concoction, I rued this day. "I didn't even buy a pizza!"