Pickled

| two |

| Chapter Two |

The glass door swung shut behind the old lady, bell ringing loudly for the second time. Diana huffed angrily, filled with a deep desire to do something incredibly petty after dealing with so much sass. That woman had set her teeth on edge.

Digging through the drawer beneath the countertop, she produced a fresh roll of white receipt paper. Diana unraveled a foot long strip and, in thick capital letters, wrote "NO BREAD AND BUTTER" with black Sharpie. She placed it, front and center, on the top of the counter.

Satisfied but still annoyed, Diana plopped back down on the stool and picked at the bandages on her hand to distract herself. Her palm had begun to throb badly, and she winced as she turned over her hand to see a thin line of red seeping through the cotton. Perfect.

"Let me guess. I should see the other guy?"

Diana practically jumped from the sound of another voice, all at once remembering she wasn't alone in the store. A boy was standing in front of the cash register with both hands resting on the edge of the countertop, nodding to her bandaged hand and grinning crookedly.

Smoothly, she replied, "You wouldn't want to. He's missing three teeth, now."

The boy went to her high school: Alex Franklin. Or Alex Franco. He was a year older, a junior, so Diana had only passed him in the hallways. She'd never made eye contact with him before, let alone seen him in her family's store. Now, as he laughed aloud at her response, she took the time to notice his hair was more dark brown than it was black.

"I'll bet," Alex mused. "Could you point me in the direction of the garlic pickles?"

Diana nodded and slid off of the wooden stool, side-stepping the counter to lead him over to the correct shelf. She would have happily pointed toward the right corner of the store, by the entrance door – this place wasn't very big – but her Dad had insisted long ago that anyone working the register had to personally escort the customer to the right jars. It was a waste of energy, in Diana's opinion; the customers could often be annoying, but they weren't stupid.

"Ah, nice." Alex tucked the medium jar of garlic pickles under one arm and turned. "And do you have spicy ones?"

"Jalapeño?" Diana asked slowly. When he nodded, she had to physically hide her look of disgust. She detested that flavor of pickle, after spending countless hours coring out jalapeño peppers and practically burning her eyes out in the process. "Over here."

While he picked through the jars, finding the size he wanted, Diana slipped back behind the counter. Outside, the low-hung clouds had opened up and begun to spill thin drops of rain onto the grey sidewalks below. Diana watched a woman across the street struggle to pop open a blindingly yellow-colored umbrella.

"Thanks." The boy placed the two jars onto the countertop before the register, digging through the left pocket of his jean jacket. "Mom sent me on a hunt for pickles. I guess she comes here a lot."

Diana didn't really understand why she was supposed to care, but she nodded politely anyway as she clicked through the register's options for garlic, then jalapeño. "Would you like a bag?"

"Please." Then, as Diana was reaching for a brown paper bag beneath the counter, he commented, "I didn't know you guys sold bread here."

Slowly, because she was trying to process what he'd said, Diana peeled open the bag. Why the hell would they sell bread alongside pickles? She stared at him, reaching across the top of the register to grab the two jars and wondering if maybe he was a bit stupid.