“Hey,” he says casually, leaning against the door frame to the break room, arms folded. “We meet again.”
“Hey,” I say back, trying to be just as casual.
“All righty.” Mr. Roth claps his hands again. “I’ve got to go. Dean here has you covered. Tim should be in around five o’clock—he’s our other cashier—and then I’m sure the three of you can get everything sorted.” He bustles around the store, straightening and moving bits and pieces around. “I’ll see you all tomorrow!”
Then he’s out the door, and it’s just the two of us. Alone again.
“He’s . . . very jolly,” I say.
“Practically jovial,” Dean agrees. He’s still leaning against the door frame like he’s waiting for somebody to take his picture.
“Should I . . .” I begin, trailing off, not sure what I’m about to ask. It’s hot in the store and I want to take my coat off, but I hug it tightly to my chest. My hands feel clammy.
“Right,” he says, pushing off from the wall. “Paperwork.”
He walks over to the counter and riffles through some drawers, then pulls out a stack of forms. I take a seat again on one of the stools. The coat situation is getting bad—I’m starting to sweat in earnest now. I decide to cut my losses and take it off. Dean raises an eyebrow when he sees my sweater.
“What happened to you?”
I motion to the stains. “There was a . . . blue paint incident at school.”
“Clearly.”
His eyes flicker to my chest, to where the sweater is pulled tight, and his gaze lingers for a moment too long. My whole face burns.
“I’m not good at ceramics,” I say, which makes sense in my head, but I realize Dean might not see the connection.
“Well, let’s hope you’re better at working a cash register.”
“I am,” I say. “Promise.”
“Promises are dangerous,” he says. “You should never make a promise unless you mean it.”
“I mean it.”
“Good,” he says. “Me too.”
“Good,” I say, though I’m not really sure what he means or what he’s promising, if he’s promising anything at all.
We spend the next hour going over everything in the store—how the movies are organized in the computer, how to fill up the coffeepots and open the cash register (this last one involves lots of elbows because it always jams). Apparently the cookies and pastries are just from Le Soleil bakery down the street—Dean picks up a bag of them each morning and drops them off with Mr. Roth on the way to his 8:00 a.m. lecture.
“So why do people come here instead of just getting them right from the source?” I ask, examining the various flavors lined up neatly in the glass display case. There are little action figures surrounding the cookies—a tiny Iron Man and Black Panther, a slightly less tiny Hulk.
“Because I work here,” Dean says, breaking into a grin. “I’m charming.” I look up at him and immediately blush and look back down at the counter. Do girls actually come here to talk to Dean? Is that why he thinks I’m here?
He must see my confusion or panic, because he shrugs. “I’m totally kidding.” At this, I flush even redder, but he continues on, thankfully ignoring the state of my face. “We’re like four blocks closer to campus, so that’s probably the main reason. But people come here for the vibe too. Where else can you get a little plastic Avenger with your cookie?”
Dean has a point. I do love the vibe in here. I don’t know why I ever stopped coming. This store is part of the reason I fell in love with movies in the first place.
“I feel kinda sad for Mr. Roth,” I say. “I mean, there’s that new Dunkin’ Donuts—”
“See that poster behind you?” Dean interrupts. “The Blues Brothers one?” I turn and see the classic poster, Dan Aykroyd and John Belushi in sunglasses, slightly faded from the sun. “That’s been taped to the wall since the eighties. Roth could probably sell it on eBay or something if he wanted, but he never will. Same with Raiders of the Lost Ark,” he says, nodding his head to another wall, “and Shawshank. If you like movies? This place is magic.”
“I love them,” I say, the words like a sigh. I love him. All I want is for him to think I’m as cool as he is, because he is so cool, and beautiful, and terrifying. James Dean is magic.
“You okay?” He waves a hand in front of my face and I blink a few times. Was I staring at him? If I was staring at him, I might actually die.
“Yup,” I say. “I’m great. I’m good. Are you good?”
“I’m good too.” He smiles. “You know, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”
* * *
• • • • • •
HANNAH
How was your first day??
ME
I have good news and bad news. Good news: I think James Dean and I are friends? Bad news: I think James Dean and I are friends
HANNAH
That’s a good step!
ME
Pretty sure he was quoting Casablanca though, so not sure if it counts?
HANNAH
A random old movie quote! He’s perfect for you. Was it in like a professional co-worker way or a flirty way?
ME
I mean figuring out if something is flirty is not one of my skill sets
HANNAH
Ok like did he touch you or make eye contact? That movie is romantic, right?
ME
I need an expert
* * *