Chapter 1
“Jesus, look at her.”
“She’s literally dead, bro.” The voices are almost inaudible over the mini fan blowing into my ear.
“Should we check for a pulse or something?”
I faintly hear the door thud gently as it shuts, followed by the rustling of paper. “Shh. Hold this.”
Light, stealthy footsteps approach. “She’s gonna shit herself.”
Two fingers painfully jab into my ribs with no warning.
I yelp and frantically topple to the ground, the metal stool I was sitting on clanging harshly against the counter. Hoots of laughter fill the air, which had been beautifully silent a mere second ago.
Bleary-eyed, I defenselessly peer up towards the heavens. Ken’s grinning face beats down at me like the sun. “Wake up, sleepingugly.”
“Please kill yourself,” I groan, allowing myself to lie on the cold tile floor in defeat. “I amnota sleeping ugly. I’m a sleeping beauty.” My grumpy response sends him and Dorian, his accomplice, into another fit of laughter.
Dorian walks over and extends a hand. I regard it with disdain, pulling myself up. “You were awake twenty minutes ago, Olive. We come back and you’re drooling all over the checkout counter, dead asleep.”
Stumbling to my feet, I prop the stool back to its original position and plop back down, still disoriented. When I look at the counter’s surface, there is indeed a slick puddle of my own drool. I wipe it off indignantly with the back of my hand, earning looks of disgust from both guys. “I am so close to docking your pay right now, Ken.”
“No, you’re not.” He grins, reaching for the bag of McDonald’s that Dorian is holding. “Not legally, at least. You’re paying me minimum wage.”
“That’s nottrue,” I mutter, letting out a long yawn, “but it definitely will be if you haven’t bought me the frappe I asked for.” I reach out a hand, wiggling my fingers expectantly.
“Well, good thing Dorian did.” Ken pulls the caramel drink out of the bag and hands it to me.
Dorian smiles and sits on the step stool near the fish tanks with a bag of fries in his lap. “You’re lucky I’m here to help you out for the summer. Also, your hair is super messed up.” Grumbling, I reach up to undo my high ponytail, running my fingers through my black hair to free the tangled ends from one another.
“Helpusout?” Ken rolls his eyes. “All you do is sleep in the office or scroll on your phone while we slave away.” Dorian frowns and flicks a fry at him, which Ken catches and devours successfully.
Ever since he returned from California for the summer, Dorian accompanies us every morning, trailing behind as we do our daily chores. Not that we mind– it’s like the days working together in high school, except now we only hang out during the summer. Dorian’s developed an intense tan since then; a west-coast surfer boy badge of honor that’s years’ worth of sun damage. Ken, however, has stayed a perpetual paper white. If he ever forgets to lather on sunscreen, he still turns a blistering shade of pink. My bronze skin turns warmer at most.
“Youdobuy us food every day,” I say thoughtfully, sipping the frappe. “Maybe that’s why we keep you around,” This ears a snicker from Ken and another flicked fry of protest from Dorian.
For the last month, it’s only been Ken and I running the aquarium store together. After opening a year ago, we had a rough start with finding fish suppliers willing to do business with such an inexperienced proprietor, generating a pitiful revenue for a while. It took some time and numerous sleepless nights before the shop reached a comfortable point of stability.
As we scarf down our sugary breakfast, cars from the highway produce a faint white noise from afar, and there’s a power drill buzzing from the repair shop nearby. Dogs bark from an adoption event at the Petsmart across the plaza, and the scent of coffee from a nearby cafe sits vaguely in the background. The water of the blue tanks cast translucent reflections of blue on the walls, flitting about on the pale pink paint.
Ken flaps his stained white shirt, grumbling. “Why do you always keep the air conditioning off? It’s burning hot in here.”
“It saves me so much money!” I tilt my head smugly. “I think you should adapt to minimalism like in the hunter-gatherer times. Also, this mini fan is excellent.”
“You call it minimalism, I call it a workplace violation.” Ken goes to prop the front door open, letting the summer breeze seep inside. “You’re so damn stingy. If I die of heatstroke, I hope you know that you’re liable.”
Yawning, I finally stand up and go to the tanks. A new bag of ember tetras arrived this morning. I open the bag and gently pour the red fish into a bucket, beginning the acclimation process. Ken feeds the other fish live brine shrimp by squeezing them out with a turkey baster. Dorian claims my spot on the metal stool, resting his head on his arm and scrolling on his phone.
Ken and Dorian crack jokes at each other while we work, and I whine in protest whenever they relentlessly pick on me.
After I’ve finished restocking the fish while Ken wipes small splashes of water off the floor, Dorian sits up with a long sigh. “Are you guys still not done?”
“We would’ve finished sooner if you hadn’t wasted time sleeping like a lazy rat,” Ken quips.
I narrow my eyes at him. “What did I say about docking your pay?”
“What would’ve happened if a customer walked in to see you dead asleep? You’d probably quit this business and enroll yourself back in college,” Dorian juts in.
"Thatwould never happen,” I retort. “I time my morning naps accordingly, believe it or not. Who would ever pull up at a fish store so early in the morning?”
Ken’s snickers come to a sudden stop. “Uh. Good morning. Do you need help with anything?”
I turn away from him, confused by his nonsensical reply, but then I see who he’s talking to. A blonde-haired girl stands in the open doorway. She gives all three of us an expectant look. I blink, shocked at my newly discovered summoning powers.
“Yeah, is this a good time?” the girl asks politely. She’s holding a stack of papers; flyers of some sort. Her messy blonde hair is pulled in a ponytail while her bangs are astray around her face. She’s wearing a white cropped tank top and a pink cardigan despite the summer heat.
I quickly put down the soaked fishnet, which plops as it sinks to the bottom of the tank. “Yeah, totally.” I walk over to her. “What’s up?”
Up close, she’s shorter than me by maybe four inches. Her round eyes are a deep brown with a few freckles scattered along her delicate nose.
“So.” The blonde girl slips out a flyer and hands it to me. Her nails are long and painted baby blue. “My friend lost her dog in this plaza last night, and she printed out these flyers. If you’re willing, it would be appreciated if we could hang these up on your windows or something.”
“Aw, that’s so sad,” I sympathize, examining the flyer. Most of the paper consists of a cute white terrier with a long ass tongue. “HELP! I’M MISSING!” is plastered on the top of the page, with a phone number at the bottom. “Sure, you can put it up. I don’t see why not.”
“Yay! Thanks.” The girl smiles. “Keep an eye out for him. His name is Tito.”
“I absolutely will,” I reply.
“He has diarrhea too, by the way. So if you spot piles of liquid shit around here, you’ll know he’s hiding nearby.” This earns an immature chuckle from Ken in the back.
“Noted,” I say. “Poor thing.”
“I know, right?” She extracts a roll of scotch tape from her jeans pocket. “Anyway, I’ll tape this on the window. You can move it somewhere else if it’s an inconvenience. Up to you.” She gives the store a once-over, vaguely interested. “Also, nice shop. The fish are so pretty! I wish I could stay and take a look, honestly.”
“Well, why not?” I suggest.
“Because I can’t.” She sighs and looks at the papers in her arms sadly. “I have to pass these out to everyone in the plazaandget to class by nine.” She glances at Ken and Dorian, who are watching suspiciously and exchanging sly whispers. Dorian gives a friendly smile when he notices, and I shoot him a quick glare. “Maybe some other time. Bye for now.” She turns swiftly and leaves, looking satisfied at her success as she goes to the window to tape up the flyers.
Brow furrowed, she bites the tape roll and rips the tape off with her teeth. I turn away quickly, walking back to the counter. Ken and Dorian are eyeing me with bemusement, and I shoot a frown in their direction. I evade their suspicious gazes by going back to acclimating tanks.
“She seems chill,” Dorian goes back to his fries. “Hope the dog gets found.”
“Well,Ihope the tape doesn’t mess up the window,” Ken adds dryly, staring at the flyer on the window. “I’m not cleaning all that gunk off.”
“Oh, shut up.” I turn back to the window, watching the blonde girl again. When she inevitably spots me watching through the window, she beams and waves. I wave back, and she walks away, stack of papers in hand. “Have you guys seen her around here before?”
Dorian raises his eyebrows, impressed. “That’s a new one I’ve heard from you. You’re usually too busy complaining about everyone.” He glances slyly at Ken. “Especially Ken.”
"Nottrue,” I shut him down with a kick grazing his shin. “Quit trying to cause drama, idiot.”
Dorian grins smugly. “Jeez, fine. I’ll leave,” he huffs, heaving himself to his feet.
“Already?” Ken says. “You’ve sat here like an unemployed bum for hours.”
“So what if I am one?” Dorian quips. “Nah, I promised my mom I’d go with her to bring her car from the repair shop today.” He shakes the bag of fries, peeking inside. “Who wants the last fry, by the way?”
In a flurry of movement, Ken and I dive for the bag simultaneously, shoes squeaking against the tile. Dorian grins and walks out as we violently wrestle over it, squawking and shoving at each other. Ken wins by tugging at my hair and pushing me with an overwhelming amount of force when I squeal in protest.
“Hey! Hair pulling is off limits!”
“Shut your dainty ass up.” He’s completely zoned in on the paper McDonald’s bag, which is currently ripped in half. After digging around for a second, he looks up with confusion. “It’s empty,” he whines.
Dorian, who’s been outside watching through the window this whole time, starts to snicker. The soft sound of his laughter is muffled by the glass. I chuckle too, leaning on the counter for support. Ken, smirking, scrunches the McDonald’s bag in a crinkly ball and chucks it at me with as much force as he can muster. It harmlessly bounces off my head and onto the ground.
Dorian finally leaves. It takes us a few minutes to get serious again, just in time for the first customer of the day– a man in his sixties who buys a batch of goldfish and koi. After painstakingly scooping the specific fish he chose from the tanks, I cash him out at the register and he’s on his merry way. Ken promptly cleans the new mess of water accumulated on the vinyl floors and tank surfaces, and the cycle repeats with every customer throughout the day.
Ken’s shift ends at four today. Depending on how generous he feels, he might work full shifts on days when he doesn’t have morning classes, and pick up some evenings on weekends. Since the business is in a pretty comfortable spot now, we can have more flexible schedules, but it gets a bit exhausting when I have to close up shop for weeks on end.
After Ken finishes up, he grabs his backpack, hoists himself onto his bike from the rack near the storefront. He waves goodbye and speeds away. I watch with awe as he speeds across the road with no warning, precariously cutting off a car that honks with alarm. He dashes towards the main road, unbothered.
The day speeds by. When I’m alone for a few minutes, I scroll through the shop playlist while putting in orders for new fish and supplies. I jot down phone numbers and emails as fast as I can before there’s a new customer who needs help. The sun shifts in the sky, which slowly fades from blue to orange to black. When it becomes dark out, I switch off the main lights, turning on the purple LED bar light above the tanks instead. The purple combined with the blue tanks enhance the aquascapes, the lush green plants rippling under the waterflow. Specks of bright orange fish flit between them, reflecting tiny shadows along the floor.
The barlight was a gift I got from my mother when I opened the shop. When she heard that I wanted take a gap year after college, she threatened to destroy my tanks at home. When she found out about my plans to start a fish shop, she kicked me out to live with my brother. Yet, when she was the first to enter the shop after it was fully set up, she had the biggest smile on her face. She bought the expensive light for me, and I accepted it as an apology gift.
After the last customer, I start closing up at eight. I shoot my brother a text:You on your way?
He doesn’t respond, meaning he’s either driving or ignoring me on purpose. We share a car and he’s meant to pick me up tonight. He might’ve forgotten even though I reminded him this morning. If it comes to it, I sometimes end up spending the night in the office.
By the time I’ve finished cleaning up and done the nightly rounds of inspecting the filters and tank equipment, the blindingly bright headlights of the car finally shine through the window blinds. Relieved that he remembered, I quickly gather my belongings and head outside. The last thing I do is double-check the lock on the front door of the shop before heading to the car.
When I open the door, there’s a plastic Walmart bag sitting on the passenger seat. I curiously pick it up and sit in its place, clicking the seatbelt on. “What’s this?”
He glances at me shiftily, refusing to meet my gaze. “Compensation, I guess?”
“What do you mean?” I stare at him suspiciously before looking into the bag. Inside sits a pack of frosted sugar cookies– my favorite. “Yep, you’d never buy me snacks as a nice, brotherly present. What’d you do? Besides being late of course.”
He shifts gears and pulls out of the plaza. He’s a cautious, nervous driver at night, as well as infuriatingly slow. I drive better than him, but it’s not my duty to force him to face his fears.
“So, Blanca is having a big-ass party at her place, and she wants me there, of course,” he rambles, “but Ireallydon’t wanna go alone, you know?”
I roll my eyes as hard as humanly possible, leaning back in my seat. “You’re such a freaking pussy.”
“Am not!” he protests, indignant. “I just hate crowds. But I’m gonna look like such a loser if I don’t go.” He makes a turn, twitchily scanning every mirror in the car. “And if I go alone, all I’ll do is cling onto her like a freaking tick, and that’s... cringe.”
I stare at him as long as I can, making him visibly uncomfortable. “If you called me earlier and asked me nicely, then I would’ve said yes.”
“No you wouldn’t,” he says, deadpan. He’s right. I can name-call him as much as I want, but we’re both two socially-averse creatures from the same bloodline.
I shift in my seat, thumbing the box of cookies on my lap. “I don’t know anyone there, Isaac. I’m not even wearing a cute outfit,” I gesture at what I’m wearing, jeans and flannel over a plain shirt. “It’s gonna be so awkward.”
“It’s fine,” he says, pleading. “Trust me.”
I let out a childlike, drawn-out groan while kicking my feet with despair. “Fuck! I wanted to go home, shower, andsleep, but no. Ugh!” I grimace at him. “I’m so sweaty and gross and tired right now. You’re so annoying!”
“Quit whining! I literally bought you cookies as an apology. And as a token of appreciation.”
I begrudgingly take out a cookie and take a bite, silently cursing.
The ten-minute car ride to Blanca’s place is a drawn-out awkward silence. I know that secretly, Isaac actuallywantsto go to any party if his girlfriend is there, and no one will care if he doesn’t. He’s just a terrified little baby when it comes to trying something new, and he needs me to hold his hand, as usual.
He pulls into Blanca’s neighborhood. He carefully parks in the cul-de-sac, which is nearly full of cars. We can hear music blasting from the house before the car even stops moving. I sigh. “I didn’t even know Blanca could be a party girl.” As a medical student, Blanca is one of the most disciplined, diligent students to exist–the complete opposite of my brother.
“You have no idea,” he mutters, looking nervous. “It lowkey scares me.”
We leave the car and head towards the house; him striding forward, me trudging behind. The bushes in front of the house are overgrown and full of cobwebs. We trample over the brown, arid lawn and reach the door. Isaac opens it cautiously, and it’s unlocked. I’m immediately drenched in the rank, sour scent of beer and sweat.
Shriveling into myself, I follow Isaac as we weave through the crowded hallways looking for Blanca. I try to grab his arm so I don’t lose him, but he shakes me off, too zoned in on finding his girlfriend. His meek demeanor from before has vanished; he’s waving at people, exchanging confident greetings and bro-shakes. It’s shocking, I’ve never seen him so extroverted in my life.
Someone’s shoulder bumps into my face, and I momentarily turn around to squeak a “Sorry!“. When I turn back, Isaac is nowhere to be seen.
I abruptly stop walking and start scowling. I whip around and march right back the way I came, squeezing through the masses and out the front door to the road.
Biting back tears of frustration, I stomp to the curb and plop down in the dark, avoiding the prickly grass. I angrily crush pebbles on the pavement, my shoe producing loud grating noises. Isaac has the keys, so I can’t even ditch him and drive myself home. I find a small stick and aggressively start rubbing it on the rough concrete, trying not to cry.
I’ve been sulking on the sidewalk for around ten minutes before I hear the dim clacks of high heels on the cement. I glance absentmindedly behind me before doing a dramatic double-take, whipping around to process who’s standing there.
It’s the same blonde girl from earlier in the day, except she’s in a tube top and denim skirt, complemented with tears and mascara streaking her face. Her hair is in the same disheveled ponytail from before.
She doesn’t notice me even though she stands on the curb only a few feet away, sniffling quietly and wiping her face for a few seconds. I sit so still that I might as well be frozen, not even sure if she’ll figure out I’m there.
I jolt with alarm as she suddenly bursts into sobs. She wipes desperately at her face, ashy mascara painting her cheeks black.
I clear my throat awkwardly, “You okay?” The moment my voice reaches her, she goes silent, mid-sniffle. Her head turns slowly, searching the sidewalk before spotting me, eyes wide.
“Oh.” Her voice is bleak. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there.”
“No, it’s okay,” I say gently, offering an awkward smile. “We met earlier.”
She scans my face. “Wait... you’re right.” Her cheery first impression from earlier paints a stark contrast to her current embarrassment.
I feel an obligation to pat the ground beside me to offer her a seat. She does, but hesitantly sits a meter away, fiddling with her fingers.
“Uh . . . are you, like, in danger or something?” I look behind in search of a creep following her, eyes narrowed.
“No, it’s nothing like that,” she says quickly, rubbing her forehead. “Sorry. It’s just . . . I kind of drank tonight . . .”
“Is that normal for you?” I ask, gazing at her face.
“No, I don’t even like alcohol.” She sniffles again, voice shaky. “I was supposed to DD for my friends, but here I am now. And they’re not picking up the phone, no matter how many times I’ve called, or who I call.”
“Oh, damn.” I watch her sympathetically. “How many people did you come with?”
“Six, or seven. I honestly don’t know.” She adjusts her skirt, sitting back on the hard concrete. “I’m not even close to them. They just needed someone to drive, and I wanted to make some friends, so I just did what they said.”
She goes on, chuckling dryly. “I’m literally not even drunk, honestly. And I could just Uber myself home. I don’t know why I’m crying and shit.”
“I get it,” I say after a second, picking at my sleeve “My brother dragged me here and basically ditched me. I don’t know anyone here and he has the car keys . . . so I’m just waiting for him, I guess.”
“Aw,” she says sadly. “That sucks. It’s gonna be an awkward ride home, I bet.”
“Ugh,” I sigh. “Don’t wanna think about it.”
She wipes her face again and sees the black mascara on her fingers. She takes out her phone and tries to look at herself in the camera. “Ugh, it’s too dark to see anything. Is my mascara smudged?” She turns to me expectantly.
I don’t have to inspect her face for the answer, but I do anyway. “Yeah. A lot.”
She gives up trying to fix her face and puts her phone down, stretching her legs out in front of her. Her high heels scrape the asphalt. “It’s gonna be one long night.”
“Well,” I start, turning to her. “We can start with names?”
She smiles, a genuine one, like from the morning. “Adelaide. You?”
“Olive.” She looks a little surprised. “What, didn’t expect an Indian girl to be named Olive?” I laugh a little.
“No!” she protests, smiling. “Okay, fine, maybe.”
She pulls her hair out of its ponytail, freeing it. She ruffles her hair absentmindedly, curls sweeping along her smooth shoulders. “What year are you in?” she asks.
“I actually don’t go to college,” I say, uneasy.
“Oh, right! You work at that fish store.”
“Yeah. I own it, actually.” I brace myself. People’s reactions to that information go either of two ways: admiration, or downright skepticism.
Luckily, she’s the former. “That’s so cool, man. I bet it’s not easy.”
“Definitely not. I have my dad to help me, though. I don’t get much of the credit.” I kick the little pebbles on the road again. “All of the loans and legal shit are in his name. I’m still a complete novice in the business world.”
“How long have you had the business open?”
I stop to think. “A little over a year, I think? I opened it a year after finishing college.”
“Interesting,” she replies. And by the look on her face, she means it. “I’m a junior.”
I’m about to reply, but my phone rings. I look at the screen. “Ugh, it’s my brother.”
“Are you gonna pick up?” she asks, watching intensely.
“Nope.” I promptly turn it off. “He can bitch about it to his girlfriend. That’s why he’s here in the first place.”
“Really?”
“Yup. He’s here for her, but he wassoscared to come to a social event that he had to drag me with him,” I say bitterly.
“I wonder how many other people have been forced to come here against their will like us,” she muses, corners of her lip quirking upwards. “That would make this one shitty party.”
I snort in response.
We sit quietly for a few seconds, basking in the comfortable night breeze and the faint beat of party music. She yawns. When I glance at her, she’s resting her weight on her hands, leaning back on the concrete. She looks tired.
Without thinking, I ask,
“Wanna get out of here?”
