Traitor (Phan) - ON HIATUS

6

-Dan-

Friday rolled around, and our band director was out of town, meaning the band was not to play at the game. Even so, we were playing Redford, and I planned on attending anyway to see how it would go.

My mum knew a woman who worked in the concession stand, and so I contacted her to see if I could volunteer. I needed volunteer hours for my humanities class, anyway.

The woman, Marie, requested I visit the booth on Friday after school so she could train me on what was what and how everything worked.

Friday afternoon came around and I put on my black skinny jeans, as well as my green sweatshirt I got at a football tournament where we played Redford. It had my name on the back and everything. Then, I started off towards the field.

However, as I opened the door, I was greeted by not only Marie, but also a boy with a black fringe and blue eyes. To make things worse, my enemy was wearing the same sweatshirt as me, although most likely with his name on the back.

"Hi Dan! I'm glad you could make it. Phillip, this is Dan. Dan, have you met Phil? He'll be working tonight as well, I hope you don't mind if I tour you both at once." Marie rambled.

"Hey, Marie. That's fine, yes," I said through a forced smile, trying my best not to growl at Phil.

"Great! Let's get started."

Marie showed us where everything was located - plates, napkins, cups, candy, and the lot. She detailed to us how to collect money and where it went, as well as the prices of every item.

Finally, she took us into the backroom. This room was full of ovens, grills, popcorn makers, and refrigerators; it was a proper kitchen.

"This is the kitchen," Marie said, "Hopefully you won't be spending too much time in here, but it's worth it to show it to you, at least."

As she began to show us how all the food was prepared, Phil hipbumped the door ever so slightly, causing it to glide shut and click. It was locked.

"Oh shit," Marie cursed. "Pardon my French, but we're locked in here now. I've never understood that door. And I left the key out there. Oh no, oh no, oh no..."

"I'm sorry," Phil whimpered.

"It was only an accident," Marie reassured him, "it's fine."

"How do we get out?" Phil asked worriedly.

"Here," Marie started, "I'll climb out of that window and go get the key. You two stay in here and watch the food. I don't want any fires in here. We don't get new shipments of food until next Wednesday."

Before we could protest, she was out the window and into the daylight. "Fifteen minutes!" she called.

So, there I was. Alone. With Phil. My mortal enemy. In a room. Cooking.

"Bloody hell, Phil, what was that for?" I practically yelled.

"Well sor-fucking-ry, Mr. Perfect. As we all know, you never do dumb shit."

"Like what?"

"Well, you're a huge faggot, for one. I can't stand fags."

"Huh?"

"I saw you making out with that man-whore behind the bleachers last week."

"Whatever."

For a time, there was a silence, the only sound being the sizzling of the cooking meat and our utensils scraping across the pans. Soon, the room began to heat up rather quickly, and after a few seconds it was near sweltering from the heat from the pans. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Phil step back, and I looked over to him just in time for him to remove not only his sweatshirt, but also the plaid shirt he was wearing underneath.

I must have stared too long, though, because he covered his pale, bare chest with his hands and shot a deathly look at me.

"Quit looking, queer."

"Sorry."

After a time, I began to get hot too, so I did the same, peeling the sweatshirt and my Muse shirt off of my sweaty body and flinging them to opposite corners of the room. Phil shot me another filthy look, but didn't say anything.

I figured that since we would be coworkers for the night, I might as well make an attempt to be friendly. However much I didn't want to, it was the rational thing to do.

"What are you in college for?" I asked.

He was silent for a moment, taken aback by my sudden friendliness, but eventually he replied. "Photography," he said carefully and confusedly, "why?"

"Just curious."

"Oh. What about you?"

"Law."

"I see."

"What are your favourite bands?"

"Muse and My Chemical Romance."

"Same."

"Cool."

We continued talking for a while longer, finding out loads of things we had in common. I almost felt a connection to the boy, like we were meant to be friends.

Soon, though, a rattling at the doorknob was heard, and Marie's voice shouted "I'm here!"

We were rushing around, putting on our shirts and sweatshirts, almost giggling in the process. Marie opened the door to two sweaty, red-faced boys, leaving her confused. We made eye contact and smiled ever so slightly at each other.

When I returned to my dorm to clean up before the game, I discovered that the sweatshirt I previously thought was mine had, in black letters across the bottom, the name "Lester" printed on it.