✯ E V E L Y N ✯

The overhead bell rings.

Inhale. "Hello, and welcome to Ronni's Rainbow Rendezvous, where all your rainbow wishes come true. Would you like to try our new ice-cream flavor, Purple Panda Palooza. It's delicious."

My voice is so monotone to the point that my question marks have turned into full stops. The benefits of working in an overly perky place filled with whiny kids and snobbish parents, I sigh as I glance at my new customer.

I've been working here for about three years - three years of living hell. I can't stand places like these, with loud people and walls so cheerily bright they could make a blind person cry. And it's not like I need the money: my parents are rich. It's that, although this place looks like a rainbow did a shit here, the pay is very generous, my coworkers are somewhat decent, and the customers are usually entertaining. That is, when they don't try to bite your head off.

No rest for the wicked, I say.

A girl my age with purple hair in space buns and aesthetic glasses blinks back at me with an unimpressed look. As she opens her mouth, I prepare for a shitstorm of stupid questions or teasing which I usually get from people under the age of eighteen.

"Do you usually greet your customers with that amount of enthusiasm?" the purple-haired girl asks as she raises her eyebrows, which are sharp enough to slit my throat. Oh, that doesn't sound too bad. Anything to get me away from this oncoming fray. Lord, please help me.

I don't bother plastering a smile on my face. "Yes," I reply in a dead tone, wondering why my heavy eyeliner and dark aura isn't scaring her off. "If you have a problem, take it up with the manager, please and thank you."

Purple Girl taps her short nails on the counter in front of me, a sly grin on her face. "I think I actually will." Ooh, boo-hoo. The most Paul, the manager, will do is scold me. He needs me here. Nobody else can quickly complete orders like I can.

I put a lid on my irritation, inhaling, "Well, in the meantime, is there anything you'd like to order?" Damn this place for always being deserted on a Sunday morning. There's almost nobody here, except for Terry, the homeless guy who always has the exact change for a Blue Bubblegum Bear. He pretty much spends his day in the corner of the shop, coloring.

I don't like to question things like these.

The teen opposite me rolls her eyes, a mocking smile on her lips. "No, I came here to watch people eat and annoy the shit out of you," she drawls, sarcasm dripping from her tone. She looks like a strip club sign; all neon and flashy.

"Well, you're doing a damn good job." Muttering profanities under my breath, I turn and point to the glowing screens showcasing ice-cream flavors. "Okay, so these are the main flavors,  we have a few on special, and they're shown on this screen here—"

"Yeah, I can read." I don't hesitate to throw the girl a glare. It's nine in the morning, way too early to be dealing with this sort of attitude. Especially from some girl who thinks it's her life mission to bug me.

"Okay, then, good for you. Read, and then come back to me when you actually know what you want to order, Troll," I say in an equally bitchy tone. Two can play this bloody game.

She narrows her eyes in a glare at the creative - if I do say so myself - nickname, pursing her lipsticked lips together. "Bitch," she hisses before storming out of the ice cream parlor, her floral perfume floating in the air after the door slams shut.

Well. That went well.

I sigh, pushing aside my messy hair. Aisha, a fellow co-worker of mine whom I've grown to not detest, comes out from the back of the storeroom, humming.

"Hey, Aisha, cover for me? There's something I've got to do real quick." The brunette smiles, bobbing her head enthusiastically.

"Sure!"

When I started working here, I found it annoying how most sentences Aisha said - or, says - ends with an exclamation mark, but now I just go with it. She's a naturally happy person, content with her crappy job and parents who disowned her because she's engaged to a white guy, which apparently is unacceptable seeing as they've been keeping their African-American blood 'pure' throughout the generations.

I grab my jacket, shrugging it on over my employee's tee and remove the stupid purple cap from my head. I try to fix my hat-hair. "Thanks. I'll be back in about an hour."

"Oh, just take the rest of the day off!" I look up - or actually down because I'm three inches taller - at her, my eyebrows raised.

"It's fine, A, I'll be back before you kno—"

Aisha plants her hands on her hips, her eyes narrowing to slits. "Ev, go! You work too hard, anyway; and this place is pretty much deserted! You know how empty this place is on Sundays."

That could be the first ever sentence I've heard come out of her mouth without a (!) attached to it.

"Thanks so much." I give her a quick hug before grabbing my knapsack and hoisting it over my shoulder. "See you tomorrow!"

I speed out of there, barely hearing her call back a farewell, and haul a taxi. I give the bearded taxi driver a street name, and once we hit the road, I lean back in my seat and watch the world blur.

∞

WARNING

In case you didn't read the foreword, this book deals with sensitive issues such as mental illnesses and death. If you are easily triggered by these themes then STOP HERE.