Cracks

002 | maroon shirts

M A R O O N

—

        As Avery wove his way around the bustling masses, he did so carefully, not wanting to slip on the water-slickened street. The rain had mostly come to a stop; barely a drizzle of which speckled the soaked concrete below. Early July humidity weighed heavy in the air and trash littered the street, though admittedly less than in south Chicago, swept to the sides by feet and the occasional gust of strong wind.

         It was crowded.

         Moreso than usual. A mother and two daughters walk by, carrying silver shopping bags and he absent-mindedly noticed the familiar landscape of glass buildings packed together like sardines, sparkling against the light and displaying his refracting reflection upon their walls. Avery reluctantly dodged the affluent in practiced precision, careful not to lay his eyes on any for too long.

        The street light turned green, and he transversed the crosswalk, passing a blonde woman walking a small dog and a group of teenagers chattering vociferously. One of them carried a tote labeled Primark Test Prep, holding their phone out as a thumb scrolled across the screen.

        When Avery's foot hit the sidewalk, his mind was still flippantly on the tote. People like that—who went to test prep and ended up at tier schools and white collar jobs—they made up 4% of the population yet they literally held 80% of the wealth.

        He slowed his brisk walk to a stroll, eyes landing on a huge glass window with various muffins and scones. DeLune Café and Bakery. The couple who owned the place were longtime friends of Yu Na's and had always been supportive of her kids, frequently dolling out the unsold goods at the end of the day. Their loyal customer base made a clear indication that they had grown lax in their practice of rampant capitalism, tending to care more for the person than the profit. Still, it wasn't like they were hurting for money in the first place. As he heard the familiar chime of the bell, air conditioning blasted, ridding Avery of the hot, abnormally-muggy air.

         Mr. D'amico, a middle-aged Italian-American with salt and pepper hair looked up from the cash register and smiled, happy to see the familiar face, though slightly-worried at obvious exhaustion his face expressed through the mask of restful ness. "Right on time as always." Avery let out an easy chuckle, shrugging at the comment as he found no easier way of responding. He felt a particular urgency about being on time, though he didn't believe there was anything excessive about the matter. It was just practical, and necessary, order in the chaos. He walked behind the counter and put on a pair of latex gloves, briefly checking his watch.

        8:59 am.

        As Mr. D'Amico switched the sign to open, Avery pulled out a clean pair of metal tongs, setting them aside on the counter near the display window of baked goods. He had just finished turning on the payment system when a group of kids walked through the door.

         "Mikah." A girl with strawberry blond hair whispered to a blond boy in a bomber jacket and designer sneakers, pointing at the display. She pulled lightly on his shirt in an attempt to grab his attention. Blondie, looking apparently annoyed, removed her hands from the shirt, straightening it out in the reflection of the glass.

         "Sabrina, this was just pressed this morning."

The girl—Sabrina—scrunched her eyebrows and frowned, turning to friend and whispering something. Her friend smiled, her gaze moving to the display case and then Avery, eyes crinkling at the corners. Her dark brown hair complimented her slightly tanned skin, and her hazel eyes popping with humor.

        "One Blueberry Muffin, please." Another smile followed the first. Avery wondered if it was out of habit. A lot of people tended to do that after ordering.

       Nevertheless, he returned it, picking up the tongs but accidentally fumbling, and letting them clatter back onto the tray. He noticed Blondie smile in the corner of his eye, feeling the burn of his judgmental stare. Shame almost heated his cheeks but he shoved it down as well as he could, seamlessly placing the muffin in a bag.

        "Two more, bakery boy."

        Avery bit his lip at the comment, feeling overly-aware of his slightly-scruffy hair, and of the faded red of his T-shirt for some reason. Placing two muffins into a separate bag and onto the counter, Avery rang up all of them together.

        "That'll be $15.73."

The boy — Micah — was staring at Avery as if he was just the silliest, little thing.

"Um, these were all separate." Though there had been no indication that they were, anxiety still lurched in Avery's stomach at the mistake.

"Oh. Uh, let me fix that real quick." Avery started tapping into the tablet, now stressed and trying his best not to let it show. Micah, stealing a glance in Avery's direction leant towards the Sabrina girl, something about "people like that" making it back to Avery's ears.