3Monday, July 2nd
I haven't been getting enough sleep lately. I get home from work at five AM, sleep until noon, and then wait around until nine so I can go to work again. Rinse, lather, repeat, repeat, repeat. Except this isn't shampoo, this is Real Life. I think I'll quit when I start college. I'll be too busy to stay up all night mopping the floor over and over and over again.
I'm worried about falling asleep at the counter. What if I fall asleep, and some robber comes in, unannounced, and he steals all the soda while I'm out of it? I'd be fired for sure, and Tansy McDonald wouldn't want anything to do with me anymore.
Speaking (writing) of Tansy McDonald, she came into work earlier, which surprised me a bit. I thought I'd only see her once every blue moon, or something, but there she was in all her high fashion glory.
"Oh look it's Sylvie darling." She was talking as if someone else was in the room besides me. "You look lovely. What exactly are you wearing, sweetie darling?"
"Um I bought it at a thrift store," I said. I was wearing my favorite plaid shirt with the green buttons.
"Thrifting is so vintage, isn't it?" Tansy said. "Like I got these babies at some dodgy shit store in London."
She showed me her shoes, bright purple boat shoes. The rest of her outfit looked even crazier: blue cheetah print pants, a neon yellow blouse with ruffles down the front, and tons of sparkly, wiry bracelets. Somehow she managed to look fashionable in it. Jillian would probably die if she saw it.
I decided to ask Tansy about the motorcyclists.
"You mean Boone and his gang of assholes?" Even swear words sounded eloquent in her accent. I'm still not sure where it's from, but it sounds a bit British to me. "Those guys are all posers. They like messing with chicks like you because ya don't know any better."
"Okay."
"If they give ya any trouble just tell me, and I'll fuck 'em up for you, okay?"
"Okay."
I don't think they'll bother me anymore, unless they want more cigarettes, but don't cigarettes last for a long time? I'm not a smoker, really, but Ursula smokes sometimes. I think she's been smoking the same pack for three months, but it's not like I pay attention to those sorts of things.
"Like Boone used to fancy me, but he's troll, so there was no way I would ever go out with him." Tansy kept talking. "Now he's dating this total slag. Her name is Ricky or some shit like that? I don't get some bitches, ya know?"
"Me either."
That sporty red car was outside the store again, and Tansy said, "Oh! It's Liam! I've got to jet. Ta-ta, darling!"
Then she hopped in the red car with the rocker guy who was driving it the other day, and they sped away like Bonnie and Clyde. Sometimes I wonder if Tansy is only a figment of my imagination. She seems sort of mythical and all. Also she uses words I don't know the meanings of. Like what's a slag? I'll have to look it up later.
Tuesday, July 3rd
I don't have work today, but I wanted to write this down because I thought it was relevant to my life. It's nice writing in my room instead of at the store. The lights are too bright, and I'm always anxious about being murdered.
Anyway, today I went to Mabel's house to bring her back a jacket I had borrowed a few months ago. I found it when I was cleaning out my closet. It was an ugly jacket, dark pink with some buttons on the front I never bothered to take off. I'm not sure why I wanted to borrow it in the first place.
Mabel was drawing some of her comics when I got there. She has this popular web-comic about ghost cats or something. I've never read it. She noticed me standing over her shoulder and said, "Jesus, Sylvie! Don't you knock?"
"Here's your jacket."
"Didn't you borrow that last January?" Mabel asked. She sounded a bit tired. "I swear, you're the worst at returning things."
"I forgot."
Mabel started grumbling about how ditzy I am. If you saw the three of us from far away—Jillian, Mabel, and I—you'd see our dynamic real easily. Mabel's grumpy and acts like she hates the two of us, while Jillian mothers everyone. I'm the baby, the one they have to look after all the time. They're afraid I'm going to get trampled on like a baby deer.
"You remember to eat, right?" Mabel said. "And you're not late to work either?"
"I'm not a baby."
Then I asked if she was doing anything for the Fourth of July. Usually we go to the park and watch the fireworks.
"I can't. I'm going to this art gallery with Abraham."
Abraham is Mabel's latest boyfriend. She met him at college orientation last month, and they fell in love while talking about artsy crap like Picasso. I don't like him that much. He seems kind of pretentious, and not in a good way. Also he makes Mabel go to these stupid gallery shows, so she can't hang out with Jillian and me. Boys are always ruining best friend get-togethers.
"We only have two months left to hang out," I said. "You have all year to hang out with Honest Abe."
"Please, don't call him that."
For being an artsy chick, Mabel is really uptight most of the time. I kept begging her to come with us to see fireworks, but she wouldn't budge. She said, "I'm not a little kid anymore, Sylvie. I have other things to do, you know?"
Things that involve kissing boys and looking at art until you're killed by absolute boredom. I'd rather watch fireworks than walk around a cold museum with some lame fine arts major.
Wednesday, July 4th
Jillian canceled on me too. She called me earlier, and said she was going out with this guy she met at the roller rink last night. I was a bit miserable about the whole thing. And I stayed in my room for almost the entire day. Ursula kept banging on the door yelling her head off about borrowing the car, even though it's not even my car.
So now I'm here, at work, because I was the only who could work tonight. I thought I had the day off, but then Tansy called me. This is probably the worst Fourth of July ever. All my friends are leaving me. I thought this would happen eventually, but not so eventually…
July 4th, Later
I had to stop writing because I skipped out on work for a while. I didn't mean to. I hope Tansy doesn't mind I closed shop for a few hours, but really, she doesn't even show up, so I'm sure it's fine. I'm back at the store now, so it's not like I left for that long anyway.
What happened was those motorcyclists showed up again, revving their bikes outside like a bunch of wild animals. I remember what Tansy said, about calling her, but I didn't want to bother her or anything. She was probably out watching fireworks with her own friends.
I thought about hiding behind the counter, so they wouldn't see me, but that was a stupid idea too. I had to be mature about this.
The same three who came into the store last time came in tonight. I tried to play it cool, checking my phone, and making sure the gum display next to the register looked all right.
"Look, Pike, it's your girlfriend," the redheaded girl (her name is Ricky, I later found out, also known as the "slag" Tansy had been talking about the other day) said, poking Pike in the side. He got mad at her then, and shook her off.
I could only assume they were talking about me, and I wasn't too happy about being referred to as his girlfriend. His face is sort of frightening to look at, and I'd rather be the girlfriend of someone with a nice, gentle face.
"Hey, girl," Ricky said, coming over to the counter. She was wearing a leather jacket two sizes too big for her, a patch sewn onto the sleeve. I didn't answer her and she said, "Hey, girl, are you deaf or some shit? You can see me, right?"
"Leave her alone, Ricky." That was Boone, the supposed leader of the motorcyclists. He threw his arm around Ricky, and she immediately settled like an attack dog. "She's not doing nothing. I mean, look at her. She's got some big eyes on her."
"And what does that mean?" Ricky asked, pouting.
"Girls with big eyes don't know how to hurt anyone."
"That's a pretty broad generalization," I said.
Boone started laughing this deep, loud laugh that didn't fit him too well. He's lanky with long arms and some hairs on his chin, not exactly a beard, but something in between. He didn't look like he could be the leader of a biker gang.
"Hey, hey, she's a funny one, right?" Boone asked the other two.
"Fucking idiot," Pike sighed. "You think everyone's funny. You're sense of humor is fucking stupid, man."
"You're fucking stupid," Boone said, still laughing.
"You're both fucking stupid." Ricky rolled her eyes. She grinned at me then, which concerned me a bit. She's the type of girl who has a dangerous smile. You don't know what it means for you. "Hey, girl, you want to go out somewhere with us? There's some fireworks later at the park?"
"You still on that?" Pike asked.
"Fuck off, I'm asking the chick a question."
I was excited about going to see fireworks, it didn't matter who I saw them with. And I was still a bit sore about Mabel and Jillian blowing me off. I thought maybe going out with a bunch of bikers would piss them off enough to hang out with me again. They're always worrying about me getting into accidents, and messing up.
"Why are you even asking her?" Pike asked.
"You're just pissed 'cause she called you a fish, remember?"
"Ahh can you fuck off with that bullshit I ain't no fish, ya bitch."
"Haha screw you, Pike, you fucking asshole."
Boone said, "Don't mind them. You can ride with Ricky. She's the only one with an extra bike helmet."
Somehow I found myself on the back of a motorbike, whizzing down the main road toward Hamilton Park, my eyes shut tight, so I wouldn't get sick. Ricky kept trying to pop wheelies while we were driving, but she didn't have enough strength to get the bike off the ground, I guess.
The fireworks were just starting when we all got there. I felt sort of cool showing up to a fireworks show with a biker gang, except people kept staring at me like I was the scariest person in the world. I'm sure I didn't look that terrible, but maybe my hair was a bit frizzy from the bike helmet?
"Did anyone bring a blanket?" Ricky asked the rest of the guys.
"Why the fuck do we need a blanket?" Boone said. "We ain't at a tea party, Ricky."
"Fucking assholes!" Ricky shouted, causing several families to look at us in horror. "If I get grass stains on my new skirt I'll kick all of your asses."
Her skirt was sort of nice. It was white leather with fringe on the bottom, like something out of an eighties movie. She made Boone give up his jacket so she could sit on it, and she made me sit next to her on it.
"We're going to be A+ friends, right?" Ricky said. "I don't have too many girlfriends. All I do is hang out with these pricks. It's tiring, right?"
"It must be."
"And I liked you, from the first moment I saw you I liked you a whole fucking lot." Ricky was momentarily distracted by the fireworks. We watched one go zooooooom up into the air, then explode into dazzling red sparkles, dissolving into the night sky. She clapped, laughing like a kid would. "You made fun of Pike, and that's hilarious in my book."
"Is it?"
"Yeah, 'cause no one has the balls to make fun of him to his stupid face. Like everyone's afraid of him."
"I didn't mean to…"
Ricky kept talking to me all night, and it was hard to pay attention to fireworks when she was prattling on and on in my ear, but I had a good time nonetheless. She seemed to enjoy my company unlike Mabel and Jillian who apparently want nothing to do with me anymore.
It was fun. I had a good time, I guess. When Ricky dropped me off at the store she said, "Hey, birdie, we'll catch ya around sometime, right? We'll hang out again?"
"Okay."
"We'll come pick ya up another time, and we can do something fun."
"Okay."
I have to admit, I'm curious to find out what sort of thing Ricky defines as "fun".