Little Miss Babysitter

-- 25 --

I hated Saturdays anyway. Especially the 31st of October, and coincidentally, that fell right on a Saturday, this year.

I was determind now than ever to tell Nate my feelings, and nothing was going to keep me from that. Not even my mom.

But apparently, she thought otherwise, as I was currently browsing the electrical circuit's unit of the local handyware store whilst looking for a strange watt of lightbulb that she supposedly needed.

"Are you sure it's here? I'm not finding it." I scratched the patch above my eyebrow, eyeing the rack I had been looking at for the past 20 minutes. The numbers were a foreign language to me, 7's and 8's scattered in places I didn't think they should be.

"Yes! It's very important." She whined. I heard muted whispers on the other end, and I strained myself to hear them. "Wait, hold on.-- Ela? What was that?"

"What?" I blinked, my vision hurting me. The lights were too bright and my sneakers were too squeaky, and honestly, the group of chatty fourteen year old girls at the front counter were starting to get on my nerves.

"No. Only that. She doesn't eat anything else!" Mom shouted through a whisper, and I intentionally grunted to grab her attention.

"Mom? Who's home?"

"Huh? Oh. No one." She shined happily, her tone intoxicating. I sighed through my teeth, and switched the phone to my other cheek. "Can you bring home some duct tape?"

"Is that all you need?" I questioned, my patience wearing thin. If she thinks she can use me for all of the useless errands that she, herself, could do, she has another thing coming.

"Yes. Wait. No! I need a hammer. With the both sides sharpened to a point."

"Mom, I think you're thinking of a pick-axe. And you can find those at the local Roman History exhibit under the 'torture' section. I'll be home soon. Bye."

Waddling up to the front counter with most of the rack of light bulbs in hand, I hauled them onto the counter. They clinked against each other as they settled, and I blew my bangs away. I flashed a smile at the man behind the desk, a bewildered glint in his chocolate eyes.

He had a jiggling bulge in his shirt, the buttons willing to pop at any moment. His demin flavored tunic was smeared with grease and grime. A thick rectangular square was nestled tightly inside one of his pockets, and I quickly averted my eyes to meet his. He caught me staring at his front, and barked a laugh.

"Sorry. I don't got time to clean up after comin' here from 'nother job. I'm a mechanic." He smiled, his mustache tickling his lips. He scanned the light bulbs with a gun that shot red neon lights, and placed them all in a cheap plastic bag.

"You run a car shop? That's cool." I smiled, fishing for my wallet. "Before I forget, do you have duct tape?"

He smirked, putting a few rolls on the counter. "Who do you take me for? How would we fix the broken sink, bathroom, table, chair, television, or various pets if we didn't have duct tape?"

"Good point." I hid a chuckle, shifting my weight between my feet. I waited in a stiff silence as he placed the items in the bag, carefully planning my words before I spoke. "So.. You know cars? That's cool. I know someone that has the biggest picture of a Buggati Veyron in his room."

His eyes flicked up at this, his eyebrows hitched far above his eyes. "Is that so? Well, I just happen to know someone actually with one. They're monsters."

"Sure are."

"Anyways, your total comes to 24.97. Debit or credit?" He shook our conversation from his head, hoping to remain professional. I gave him my card, and he swiped it eagerly. Shuffling for the door, I heard him call out to me. "It was nice talking to you! Come again soon."