Spring Fever

Finally, miraculously, the summer when A

A

“Guess what else?” Pokey countered. “Daddy says he’ll give us jobs at the plant this summer, if we want. Real jobs! With name badges and paychecks and everything.”

“No way!” A

The Monday after school was out found A

“Mr. Bayless has a job for me,” A

“Of course,” Voncile had said, smiling and leafing through some papers on her desktop. Growing up, A

“Oh. I thought she’d be here already,” A

“Well. Do you know how to type?”

“Yes ma’am,” A

“Wonderful,” Voncile said. She ushered A

“Here we go,” Voncile said. She gestured at the mail bin. “Are you familiar with our Quixie Quickie summer promotion?”

“I don’t think so,” A

Voncile picked up a bulky padded envelope and ripped it open. Five distinctive red and green Quixie screwtop bottle caps tumbled out. Voncile swept them into the trash with one hand, and extracted a piece of paper from the envelope.

“This,” she said, waving the slip of paper, “is what we’re after. We’ve asked Quixie lovers to mail in five bottle caps, along with their name and mailing address, for a chance to win one of those.” She gestured to a row of gleaming red Coleman coolers against the far wall. Each of the coolers was printed with the oval Quixie logo, the one with the Quixie Pixie, leaning against a Quixie bottle, smiling and winking impishly.

A

“So,” Voncile said briskly, handing the slip to A

“Yes ma’am,” A

“Then,” Voncile said, “Come to my office and let me know when you’ve typed in all these addresses. I’ll print them out onto labels, and then you’ll put the labels on those envelopes.” She plucked an envelope from a box and showed it to A

“Fine,” was all A

“Good,” Voncile said, glancing at her watch. “I’ve got a meeting right now, but you just sit right down here and get started, and I’ll come back afterwards to see how you’re doing. All right?”

“Yes ma’am,” A

After an hour or so, she got a system going, opening twenty-five envelopes at a time, sca

At noon, her stomach started to growl. Her shoulders ached, and she was getting a headache from staring at the flickering computer screen. She wished she’d thought to bring along a lunch. At one, she walked over to Voncile’s office, to inquire about taking a break. But the office was empty, and Mr. Bayless’s office door was closed, too.

Finally, she remembered the break room, where she and Pokey had played restaurant as little girls, serving paper cups of Quixie from the fountain machine to the plant workers and being treated to packages of Tom’s salted peanuts or Cheetos from the vending machines.

She was back at her computer, sipping from a cup of Quixie and nibbling a Mr. Goodbar when the door flew open.

“Come on, you little brat,” a man’s deep voice called. “Mama sent me to take you to lunch.” He stepped into the room, and A

Speechless, she watched a bright red river of soda splashing onto the stack of contest entry blanks she’d just stacked beside the computer.

“Oh no,” she cried, jumping up. She reached into the trash bin and grabbed a discarded envelope and started madly dabbing at the mess. But it was too late. She’d greedily poured herself a huge cup of Quixie, and now everything on the tabletop was soaked.

“Damn,” she wailed, mopping and breathing hard, and trying not to look up at her best friend’s big brother. When she realized that she’d cursed out loud, she blushed harder and mopped faster.

Mason Bayless was sunburned, which made his blue eyes look bluer, and his dark blond hair needed cutting because it brushed down his high forehead and across his thick dark eyebrows. His prominent nose had a bump across the bridge, but he had perfect white teeth, except for one chipped incisor. He was dressed in faded blue jeans and well-worn high-top leather work boots and a green Quixie Beverage Company uniform shirt with red pinstripes and an embroidered patch over his breast that said MASON.

Not that he needed a name patch. Not much. Every one of the three hundred employees at Quixie Beverage Company knew Mr. Gle

Mason’s uniform shirt was untucked and the top three buttons unfastened. After a moment, he grabbed another envelope and began sweeping the ruined papers into the trash.

“Sorry,” he drawled. “Didn’t mean to scare you like that. I was looking for my sister.”

“Oh, wait,” A

“Forget it,” Mason said. “Those are toast.”

“But I’m supposed to type them all in. It’s a contest, and the wi

“Voncile won’t give a rat’s ass,” Mason said. He smiled. “I’ll just tell her I did it. Which is kinda true. It was my fault.”