Page 24 of It's a Brewtiful Day

“Over what?”

“I don’t know. A sweatshirt. A dead mouse.” My voice pitched unbelievably high and fast.

“Then I landed on a box. Maybe? I can’t tell because it’s pitch black.” I didn’t mean for it to be laced with anger, but there it was. Unexpectedly, my agitation with the situation reared its head.

“A sweatshirt? A box? Who’s leaving their crap in the staff room on the floor.” Another low and frustrated growl.

A whoosh and a solid thunk filled the air. A box had been painfully kicked directly into my ankle.

I howled in surprise.

Elliot was right by my side, his hands wildly feeling around my body until he grabbed my shoulders and the tops of my arms. “Oh beans, oh beans. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have kicked that box without knowing where you were. I am so so sorry.”

The sincerity was so real that I believed him. “It’s okay.” I slouched down and rubbed my ankle through my still-damp-from-the-rain skinny jeans. “I’ll live.”

A frustrated growl roared out. “I’m just angry. I don’t want to be trapped.”

“Agreed,” I said with a snort. “So go back to your locker and let’s get out of here.”

I continued to moan in pain while listening tohim shuffle back across the space. If it was ten feet or five, I couldn’t tell the difference.

He tapped along, moving the locks around until they stopped. “Think this is mine. Let me try it again. You still standing in the same spot?”

“Haven’t moved.” Aside from resting my back against the lockers and lifting my now-sore ankle to rotate it and listen to the bones grinding against each other.

“Is that you?”

“What?” I asked.

“With that weird sound?”

“This?” I twisted my ankle again.

“Yeah.”

“I have bony ankles and things like to pop and click within my foot.”

“Because of the box?”

“No, because it’s just how I’m built.” I sighed, just wanting to get out of this space. “Keep focused on the task at hand.”

“Okay, it’s just very distracting. The clicks from your ankle sound like they could be clicks within the lock itself.”

“Oh. Sorry. Never thought that.” I set my foot down and crossed my arms over my chest. My head was starting to ache.

“I’m twisting the dial again. Clockwise. Counterclockwise. Clockwise and pull.”

I heard the catch in his breath and the rush out when the lock didn’t open.

“Dang it.”

“It’s okay. Try again. You’ve got this.”

Once. Twice. Three more times. On the third time, something hit against the metal. The lock perhaps?

The panic was next level in my voice, and I moved closer. “What are you doing?”

“It’s not working.” His breath was punctuating the air.