Trent Bolger had the largest nostrils of anyone I had ever seen.
Nonetheless, Trent was disproportionately popular among Chapel Hill High School’s sophomore class.
Chip Cusumano was taller, better-looking, and cooler. His hair was long and swoopy on top, with the sides shaved. He had the elegant sort of curved nose you saw in statues and paintings, and his nostrils were perfectly proportioned.
He was also nicer than Trent (to most people if not to me), which of course meant he was far less popular.
Also, his real name was Cyprian, which was an even more unusual name than Darius.
Trent Bolger shared his last name with Fredegar “Fatty” Bolger, a Hobbit from The Lord of the Rings. He’s the one that stays home in the Shire while Frodo and company go on their adventure.
Fatty Bolger is pretty much the most boring Hobbit ever.
I never called Trent “Fatty” to his face.
* * *
It was a Level Five Disaster.
I had avoided letting anyone at Chapel Hill High School know where I worked, specifically to keep that knowledge from falling into the hands of Trent and the Soulless Minions of Orthodoxy.
Chip Cusumano nodded at me from the doorway and began to examine our line of brightly colored steeper mugs. But Trent Bolger headed straight for my station. He was wearing gray swishy shorts and his Chapel Hill High School Wrestling Team sweatshirt.
Trent and Chip both wrestled in the winter. Trent was junior varsity, but Chip had managed a spot on the varsity roster, the only sophomore to do so.
Chip had on his team sweatshirt too, but he wore it with his usual black joggers, the kind with stripes down the sides that taper around the ankles. I never saw Chip in swishy shorts outside of gym class, which I assumed was for the same reason I avoided them.
It was the only thing we had in common.
Trent Bolger stood in front of me, grinning. He knew I couldn’t escape him at work.
“Welcome to Tea Haven,” I said, which was the Corporate Mandated Greeting. “Would you like to sample one of our fine teas today?”
Technically, I was also supposed to produce a Corporate Mandated Smile, but I was not a miracle worker.
“Do you guys sell tea bags?”
Across the store, Chip smirked and shook his head.
“Uh.”
I knew what Trent was trying to do. This was not Chapel Hill High School, and the Tea Haven at the Shoppes at Fairview Court did not have a Zero Tolerance Policy toward bullying.
“No. We only sell mesh strainers and biodegradable sachets.”
“That’s a shame. I bet you really like tea bags.” Trent’s grin crept up one side of his face. He only ever smiled with half his mouth. “You just seem like the type of guy who would really enjoy them.”
“Um.”
“You must get tea-bagged a lot, right?”
“I’m trying to work, Trent,” I said. Then, because I had the tingly feeling that Mr. Apatan was somewhere close by, carefully watching and critiquing my customer service, I cleared my throat and asked, “Would you like to try our Orange Blossom Awesome Herbal Tisane?”
I refused to call it tea when it did not contain any actual tea leaves.
“What’s it taste like?”
I pulled a sample cup out of the stack, filled it with a pump of Orange Blossom Awesome, and offered it to Trent, using my flat palm as a sort of saucer.
He downed it in one swallow. “Ugh. This tastes like orange juice and balls.”
Chip Cusumano laughed into the empty tea tin he was examining. It was one of our new spring-patterned ones, with cherry blossoms on it.
“Did you brew it right, Darius?” Mr. Apatan asked behind me.
Mr. Apatan was even shorter than Fatty Bolger, but somehow he managed to take up more space as he stepped between us to fill a sample cup of his own.
Fatty winked at me. “Catch you later. D-Bag.”
D-Bag.
My newest suggestive nickname.
It was only a matter of time.
Trent nodded at Chip, who grinned and waved innocently at me, as if he hadn’t just played accomplice to my humiliation. They jostled each other out the door, laughing.
“Thank you for visiting Tea Haven,” I said. “Come again soon.”
The Corporate Mandated Farewell.
“Did he just call you tea bag?” Mr. Apatan asked.
“No.”
“Did you tell him about our mesh baskets?”
I nodded.
“Hmm.” He slurped his sample. “Well, this is right. Good job, Darius.”
“Thanks.”
I had done nothing worthy of praise. Anyone could brew Orange Blossom Awesome.
That was the whole point and purpose of Tea Haven.
“Was that a friend of yours from school?”
Clearly the nuances of my interaction with Fatty Bolger, the World’s Most Boring Hobbit, were lost on Charles Apatan.
“Next time, have him try the Blueberry Bliss.”
“Okay.”
TRUCK NUTS
The bike rack for the Shoppes at Fairview Court was located at the far end of the shopping center, right outside one of those clothing stores that catered to Soulless Minions of Orthodoxy like Fatty Bolger and Chip Cusumano. The kind that had pictures of shirtless guys with abdomens that could only be expressed in integers.
Five different kinds of overpowering cologne waged war in my sinuses as I passed the store. When I made it out into the parking lot, the sun was still up, barely, but the mercury lights had come on. The air smelled dry and vacant after weeks of rain.
I had been riding my bike from Chapel Hill High School to the Tea Haven at the Shoppes at Fairview Court ever since I got the job. It was easier than getting a ride from either of my parents.
But when I got to the bike rack, my bicycle was gone.
Upon closer inspection, that was not technically true—only part of my bike was gone. The frame was there, but the wheels were missing. The bike slumped against the post, held on by my lock.
The seat was missing too, and whoever had taken it had left some sort of blue blob in its place.
Well, it was not a blue blob. It was a pair of blue rubber testicles.
I had never seen blue rubber testicles before, but I knew right away where they had come from.
Like I said, there was no Zero Tolerance Policy toward bullying at the Shoppes at Fairview Court. There was one toward stealing, but apparently that didn’t cover bicycle seats.