I watch a young guy walk in with a For Sale sign. Typical occurrence right? Yeah, except he apparently can’t read. He tapes the sign up on the window,right above the “No Tape Please” sign. What is it with people these days? My mind is boggled.

“How’s your loan coming along? Have you told Pat you’re quitting?” There’s so many other questions I want to ask Jodi but can’t yet.

“Yeah . . . well . . . no. I have to get a cosigner but I don’t want my parents to do it because they shouldn’t have to. I don’t know how to tell Pat! She’s going to guilt me into staying, I just know it.”

“You’re have to just tell her! You’ve been here for six years Jod. It’s not a full-time profession. Denver would be so good for you.” Even as I say it, my stomach drops. Jodi won’t leave. Even if she quits officially, even if she gets a plane ticket, she won’t leave. This place depresses me.

“Hey, Marge,” Jared calls me some random nickname in the back. “Wanna take a picture with me?” He grabs money from the safe I’ve just opened and fans it out in front of his face. For a second I have a minor freak-out and wonder what if Keith came back here, what if Pat saw us, what if the sky fell down? Screw the what ifs. I stand next to Jared but apparently that’s not good enough.

“Marge. C’mon. Stand underneath me kind of, so we’re both in the picture.” I stand directly in front of him, his arm draped over my shoulder. Oh god oh god oh god. He’s right behind me and he wants to take a picture with me and he smells so good . . . my mind is uncontrollable. Jared fans the money out and hands me a bundle too. We grin at the tiny cell phone camera for an eternity.

“So . . . yeah, that was fun,” I force a laugh.

“I feel like such a pimp!” He grins incredibly widely. Oh Jared. What am I going to do with him?

The thirteenth day

Coming back after a break is pretty awful. I swear, as soon as I walk in here my mood instantly drops. It feels like high school in that way. Whatever, I’ll get out of this place soon enough. It’s not like I can really go anywhere else anyway, what with my car broken down and all. Poor poor Pierre. She’s getting old. But who would want to hire me for the last three weeks of summer? No one. So, Hagberg’s it is.