The Yearbook Committee Read Free Page A

mumble.
    â€˜Yes, well, we pay a company to do that,’ he says.
    â€˜How am I supposed to —’
    â€˜You’ll have help,’ he says, as if that’s an assurance. ‘Mrs Hendershott will see to it. But if you want to be here, Mr Fullerton, you must prove it.’
    I shake my head in frustration. He looks at me for a moment then gestures to the door.
    â€˜You may leave now.’
    I rush out of there and run out of the school grounds just as the end-of-day bell sounds. I had begged for the earlier shift, and now I’m going to be late for it.

    I arrive to work at the juice bar an hour late, and find my colleague Dionne in a bad mood.
    â€˜I’m so sorry,’ I say, flustered. ‘I got in trouble.’
    â€˜Matty,’ she says, exasperated, ‘you shouldn’t ask for more shifts if you can’t do them.’
    â€˜I can,’ I say, putting on my apron. ‘But sometimes things get in the way. Like school.’
    â€˜School’s more important,’ she points out. ‘Are you that desperate for money?’
    I ignore the look of concern on her face and shake my head.
    â€˜I’ll be right,’ I mumble. ‘I’ll work something out.’
    She sighs and goes off to take her afternoon break.
    â€˜Where’s all the fruit?’ I ask her when she returns.
    â€˜Don’t get me started,’ she says, waving a hand in my face. ‘The delivery was wrong. All morning I’ve been getting people to change their orders.’
    â€˜Again? It’s the second time this month on late-night shopping day. Have you told head office?’
    â€˜I’ll call ’em tomorrow,’ she says. ‘As you can probably tell, I’ve had a crazy day . . . working on my own and all.’
    â€˜I know,’ I say. ‘I’ll make it up to you.’
    â€˜Well, I do need a favour,’ she says. ‘I’m going to the movies with a cute guy from uni tonight, and my legs are in dire need of a little waxing. Can I sneak out at, like, 8.30?’
    I shrug. ‘Just go whenever we get quiet.’
    â€˜Thanks so much,’ she says. ‘Let me ring the lady upstairs and see if she can squeeze me in. Otherwise I’ll just have to shave in the bathroom.’
    I shake my hand at her dismissively.
    â€˜OK, I know. Too much information.’
    It’s an hour before closing when Sammy, one of our regulars, comes up to the counter with seven dollars in assorted coins. I’ve known him long enough to know it’s the entire contents of his moneybox, and I smile.
    â€˜One Berry Bravo?’ I ask him.
    He nods excitedly and I print the order for Dionne, placing it in front of her.
    â€˜Sammy, where’s Elliott?’ I ask him. Sammy has Down’s syndrome and always comes in on Tuesday and Thursday mornings with his carer, but tonight the bloke’s nowhere in sight. ‘Are you alone?’
    â€˜Elliott’s on holiday. Dad said to skip my juices this week, but I don’t want to.’
    â€˜OK, we’re making your drink,’ I tell him, aware that any change in his day-to-day could cause a temper tantrum.
    â€˜We are out of strawberries,’ Dionne whispers into my ear.
    I turn around, eyes wide. This happened once before and the tantrum wasn’t pretty. Though I’m less concerned about the attention than I am about upsetting him. The kid cried last time.
    â€˜What do I do?’ she presses.
    I look over to Sammy, who’s smiling politely across the counter.
    â€˜He’d notice if we made it without,’ I tell her, biting my lip. ‘Go get some?’
    She rushes out of the store while I try to distract him with his other favourite topic: rugby league.
    A minute later, a woman comes over, looking flustered.
    â€˜Oh, thank God,’ she says. ‘You were supposed to stay outside the change room and not move.’
    â€˜Sorry, Mummy,’ he says, looking