I’m hoping Devin’ll take that as his cue to leave, but instead, he sits down, graciously about a foot and a half away from me. He starts picking at the lid of his cup, then says, “I really am sorry about yesterday. I didn’t think that would happen.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, neither did I. Ever the optimist.”

He looks up at that and smiles, but I don’t know what the hell he’s smiling at. “I was hoping we could start over. You know, because we’ll be working together for the summer.”

It does feel a little hypocritical to tell him to go fuck himself while I’m drinking the coffee he brought me, but I’m also not sure how else to make it clear that I didn’t come here to make friends.

Finally, I sigh, setting my coffee down and holding out a hand to him, saying, “Noah.”

He takes it and smiles. “Devin.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“You’re Brian’s brother, right?” he says.

I pause, an eyebrow raised. “Did he tell you about me?”

Devin shakes his head. “I just overheard some people in the office talking about it.”

We fall into silence, the only backdrop the sound of sneakers squeaking across the recently waxed floor. Maybe I should go find something to do. I feel kind of bad sitting around when I’m getting paid, but really, I just don’t want to sit with Devin anymore.

I stand up and turn back to him with a forced smile. “Well, I’d better be off.”

He looks up at me, eyebrows scrunched. “Where are you going?”

“You know, gotta get to work. Get those assignments or whatever.”

Devin blinks once and says, “I didn’t realize you’d be so eager.”

“Gotta carry my weight,” I say, just about to turn around and flee.

Then Devin says, “Okay, if you say so. We’re cleaning out the rehearsal room.”

I freeze. Did he just say “we?” “Um, what?”

“I mean, it’s been used all year to prep for shows, but that’s where the younger kids will be—”

“You’re sure that’s my assignment?” I say, hoping he’ll say something like Oh, no, I was just babbling ’cause I’m a fool! Go find your real assignment.

Instead, he shrugs and says, “I mean, I’m your supervisor, so—”

“You’re my what? You’re like twelve.”

He laughs, standing up. And yeah, he’s taller than me, which I didn’t realize before. “I’m actually seventeen,” he says, “but I’m part of the student board that hosts the camp. You ready?”

Of course I’m fucking not, but I nod anyway because now I know my paycheck lies in the palm of his hand.

Becca, I’m seething, and it’s not even directed at you. Text me back, please. I need to RANT.

Not Delivered