Starstruck Read Online Free PDF

below my boobs, where all my fat is, but he doesn’t. He just gives an almost imperceptible nod and looks around the room. He even inspects the far corners of the ceiling, maybe looking for pink elephants or whatever, and that’s when his hair flips back and I get a look at his eyes. They’re bleary. I think he’s high, but I don’t bring this to my mother’s attention, because I can’t speak.
    My mother is going to make me work with a criminal.
    “So,” I hear her say, “if you need anything, just call. I’ll be upstairs working on the ledger.”
    Correction: My mother is going to make me work with a criminal alone.
    By the time my vocal cords start to thaw, I hear the screen door out back close and my mom’s feet shuffle up the rickety staircase to our apartment.
    She’s left me alone with a criminal.
    I take a step backward and clap my hands together to keep them from shaking. “So!” I say, as if I have some idea what to follow that with.
    I don’t.
    He stands there for a long, uncomfortable moment. Then he holds out his paper bag and shrugs, as if to say, “What should I do with this?”
    “Um, yeah, you can put that back here,” I say, motioning into the back room. “And I should get you an apron.”
    Though I’ve walked through the door to the back room—where we keep trays of extra food to restock the shelves, boxes and bags and supplies, and the lockers for employees—a million times, I somehow end up tripping over my feet. I figure one of my no-name Keds knockoffs must be untied, but no, they’re both fine. I am just an idiot.
    I open a locker for him and then pull a clean apron from the stack. I usually feel all sweaty when I meet people. Maybe it’s because I’m usually all sweaty. It’s one of the reasons I don’t go to the beach, and it’s why antiperspirant is my best friend. But now the sweat is cascading off my forehead like Niagara Falls.
    “Um, I guess I’ll show you how to use the cash register first,” I say, wondering if that’s a good idea. He can just knock me over, steal the money, and be gone. Well, maybe not knock me over, but the rest would be pretty easy, since I’m not sure I can use my Tae Bo moves for real-life situations. However, since I just cleaned out the register and there’s probably no more than fifty dollars in it, I figure it’s no major sacrifice.
    I give him the rundown, something I’ve done with all our employees. He doesn’t ask a thousand stupid questions, not like the old ladies I’m used to training. He just nods, and when I ask, “Got it?” he gives me a smile. Not a nice, cheery one, though. That would have put me at ease. This one is decidedly Joker-like. Creepy.
    As I’m explaining our pricing for cookies and how to use the scale to weigh them, I realize he’s not paying attention. He’s looking out the window. I follow his line of vision, expecting to see a girl in a bikini or something, but I see nothing. There’s a house across the street that’s being gutted, and a huge Dumpster outside, filled with broken glass glinting in the sunlight, but that’s about it. I raise my voice. “And a full pound will fit in one of these boxes. Okay?”
    His nod is barely there.
    “I’m not really good at math, so I keep a pencil and paper nearby, or sometimes I do the calculation on the box or bag itself. But if you’re good at math, you can just do the calculations in your head.” I realize I am babbling too much, and too happily. “Um. Are you good at math?”
    He shrugs.
    I wish he would talk a little more. I mean, is he practicing for mime school? Still, I’m sure, despite his freaky appearance, there are lots of things we have in common. A month from now, I’ll probably look back at this and laugh at myself for thinking this guy was the scariest person I’d ever met.
    I hope.
    All right, I give up. I have more important things to do with my life than deal with the Freaky Silent Type. Like sleep. “Yeah. Well, the price list is