Clothes are folded into neat piles, everyone’s shoes are lined up, and Hayden’s bed is made. The water bottles are all filled and placed in a neat row by the sink. The phone is back in its box and set carefully on the end of my bed.
“Did you do this?” I ask him as I look around.
He smiles proudly, and I smile too.
“Good job, buddy.”
A little voice from deep inside says, He probably stole shit . . . No, I won’t think like that. Just because he has less than me doesn’t mean he is less than me.
I’m trusting my gut with him. It tells me he’s a good kid.
“I have to get ready.” I walk out to my locker, and he follows me. I take my backpack out and begin to go through it. “What will I wear?” I ask him.
“Clothes.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” I mutter. “What are you doing now?” I ask him.
“I’ll hang around until I start at four.”
I glance up at him. “You won’t go home in between?”
“No.”
“What does your grandma say about you being out so much?”
He shrugs. “She’s busy.”
“Hmm, okay.”
Poor fucking kid . . .
“I can do your washing if you want while you work?” he offers.
I smile. He’s trying to get his phone as quickly as he can. “Okay, that would be great.” I take out the plastic bag with my dirty clothes from San Sebastián in it and pass it over to him. “Thank you.”
“Miss Hazen have washing? I’ll do hers too.”
I consider it and then wince. “Women have weird stuff in their dirty washing . . . best to ask her for permission to do that.”
He nods.
I throw on my clothes and brush my hair. “Wish me luck.” I smile.
“Good luck.”
“Thanks for getting me this job.” I mess up his hair, and he swats my hand away.
“Don’t get fired,” he says casually.
“Ha . . . me, get fired? They’ll love me.”
Half an hour later I walk into the reception area of the fun park. “Hello, I’m starting work here today. I was told to be here at eleven.”
The bored guy on the front desk looks me up and down. “Just a minute.” He gets on the radio and then says something in Spanish. Someone says something back to him, and he laughs and hangs up. “Have a seat. Someone will be right out.”
I sit down in the lounge area and look around. This looks all right, actually.
A lady comes walking out. She’s older and tough looking. A take-no-shit kind of woman. “Hello. You must be Christo?”
“Yes.” I smile and stand. I hold my hand out to shake hers, and she frowns at it.
Oh . . . I tuck it away. “I’m Christo.”
“Hello, Christo,” she says in a sarcastic voice. “This way.” She walks off and through a double set of doors.
I roll my lips. I don’t like her already. I follow her out into the park. The sounds of kids’ screams as they come down the waterslides are deafening. There are rides and roller coasters and animals and a million fucking people. Balloons and food stalls. Flashing lights and bells sounding.
Everything is magnified in IMAX.
Ugh . . . this place is my worst nightmare. I hope the gift shop is soundproof.