Standing around with so many people in here makes you feel a little anxious. You hesitate, then step forwards towards Doctor Fitzgerald’s office.
You make your way to his office and knock gently on his door. It takes a moment, but eventually, you hear his tired voice coming from inside; “Come in.” Pushing the door open, you step inside his office and stand there nervously.
He looks up at you, blinking slightly, as though he’s surprised to see you. You quickly shove your hands behind your back where he can’t see them, so he doesn’t see the way your hands ball up out of nerves. “Hi,” you say quietly. “Sorry I’m late. I got held up a little.”
He shakes his head, but looks a little concerned. “Don’t worry about it,” he replies. His voice is hoarse, as though he’s been speaking too often, or maybe yelling a lot. “I didn’t expect you to come in today. Is everything going okay?”
You nod. “Everything is fine,” you say quietly. This feels much more awkward than you had anticipated. “I, um. I didn’t know if I should just go and clean up the storeroom, or if you wanted me to do something else.”
“Ah.” The doctor gives you a searching look. A few seconds later, he settles back against his chair, giving you a considering look. “Our storeroom was reinventoried yesterday. Do you have much experience with filling out forms, Taylor?”
“Filling out forms?” You stall for a moment. “Um, I haven’t done it much, but they’re usually pretty simple.”
“Hm.” He looks down at his desk for a moment, then scoots his chair close to his computer and begins clicking on something. “Well,” he says after a moment, “I’m sure you would prefer something a little more stimulating than cleaning windows.” He gives you a small grin that you can’t help but return. “I’ll print you off the inventory from yesterday. I’d appreciate it if you could fill out some purchase order forms for us.”
“Um, if you’re sure,” you reply hesitantly. “Are you sure you want me to do this kind of thing, though? I am only a volunteer.”
He gives you another small smile. “I’ve been told you’re a reliable young girl,” he says, a hint of faint amusement in his voice. “Give it a try. We’ll see how you do.”
“Okay.” You’re not sure how you feel about this. Getting involved in this kind of thing feels—not illegal, but it feels like more responsibility than you thought places like this would generally entrust to a volunteer who’s only been here a few times. Sure, you work for his friend too, but…
A couple of minutes later, he rises from his chair and moves over to a printer. You look over, startled to find that the printer is quietly whirring away. Wow, that is a very quiet printer. From the top of it, he withdraws a small sheaf of papers, probably twenty or thirty sheets. “Here you are,” he says, moving over to hold them out to you. You accept them, glancing down at them—arranged as they are, you can see that there are price listings from at least three different companies. “You can work on them in the break room, if you want,” he adds with another smile. “Just make sure to wipe down the tables first.”
“Okay!” You give him a smile that’s half anxious and half reassuring, then turn and quickly make your way to the break room, studiously avoiding the waiting room as you go.
It’s empty when you arrive. You set the papers Doctor Fitzgerald had given you aside, moving over to the sink and grabbing out a washcloth. There’s only four small tables in here, so you give each a quick wipe over, and the one you’re planning to sit at a more thorough cleaning before grabbing some paper towel and drying it off. Only once it’s dry do you grab your papers again and move to sit down.
Before you get to work filling the papers in, you pull out your phone and send Amy a quick text— “I’m here. Do you want to come and have a coffee?””— then pull a pen out from your schoolbag and get to work.
Luckily, it’s not very complicated work. There’s a handful of purchase order forms—exactly five, you soon find. One form for each of the five catalogues you have. Five catalogues, and two inventory listings—one showing, as far as you can tell, what the clinic should have, while the other shows what the clinic does have.
The purchase order forms just have a handful of cells for you to fill in. Item name, item number, price, and quantity to order. If you had to guess, you would guess that there’s a separate sheet that Doctor Fitzgerald or one of the administration staff will fill out, with this just being one of them. It’s enough to keep you occupied, though.
About ten minutes later, you hear the sounds of shoes scuffling over the break room’s linoleum floor. Looking up, you see Amy approaching you, holding two Styrofoam cups. Her hair is frizzled, and there are bags under her eyes.
She passes one of the cups to you, and you accept it with a murmured thanks. You wait for her to take a seat before you say, “Are you feeling alright?”
She waves you off, taking a long, slow draught from her own cup. Once she’s finished, she sets it down with a sigh. “Yeah, I’m doing fine,” she mutters, slumping forwards on the table. “I’m tired. There was, uh, I’ve been at work since six. I’ve been on my feet all day.”
You lean over and pat her arm sympathetically. “At least you’re getting paid for it?” you offer.
Looking up, she gives you a little glare that soon fades into a resigned roll of her eyes. “Yeah, I guess that’s true,” she concedes. “I do like being able to save.”
“Mm,” you reply, a little thread of guilt worming its way into your voice. Yes. Save. Mhm. “What are you saving for?”
“Dunno.” She shrugs. “I don’t have much to spend my money on, so I’m setting it aside. Maybe I’ll buy a car soon. Mom’s paying for me to go to college, so I dunno…”
A sulky pout grows on your face at that. You don’t say anything out loud, though. It’d be nice to earn enough money to save some… although, you don’t think Amy has as many girls to spend her money on as you do. And her job does pay better, if only by virtue of the fact that she works more than a handful of hours a week. “A car might be nice,” you allow. “You could go anywhere you want then.”
She shrugs half-heartedly. “Where could I even go, though?” she asks tiredly.
You consider it for a moment. She looks… not just tired. Lost, maybe. Something else, something you can’t pin down, but it leaves a sour taste in your mouth when you notice it in her expression. You don’t want Amy feeling like that.
Hm.
“There’s lots of places you could go.” You reach up so you can rub your chin in a parody of Sherlock Holmes. “There’s a sauna some ways outside the city—actually, I think it’s a whole resort, but I’ve only ever been to the sauna,” you admit sheepishly. “But it’s a really nice place, and it’s very warm. You could go there for a day. They even do massages!”
She scoffs lightly, but looks over at you, a small smile making its way unbidden over her face. “I don’t think a sauna would be my thing,” she replies. “Maybe if there was a spa.”
You frown. “There’s no spa,” you say sadly. “Well, then, maybe a nature hike! I know there’s a good one through some woodlands a few hours away-“
“Do I look like the kind of person who enjoys nature hikes?” she interrupts you, her voice flat.
“Yes,” you lie boldly. She snorts, shaking her head, but you don’t think she’s actually offended. “Well, fine, okay, no nature hikes then. What else…” You think for a second, trying to remember some place that she might enjoy visiting. Then inspiration strikes you. “Oh! Okay, there’s a bookstore in Boston.” Amy rolls her eyes in that, opening her mouth, but you push on before she can say anything. “But it’s not just a normal bookstore. It’s huge. I’m pretty sure it’s bigger than a football field.”
The best part is, you’re not exaggerating. You’re pretty sure the store is actually that big.
She pauses at that, the objection dying on her tongue as she gives you a considering look. “… That’s pretty big,” she allows.
You nod furiously. “It’s huge,” you say earnestly. “I went there when I was a little kid. There’s got to be hundreds of thousands of books there. Maybe millions. Imagine how peaceful it would be, surrounded by that many books.” You close your eyes, trying to imagine it yourself. Being surrounded by the dusty smell of books, the sound of rustling paper, shelf after shelf of books— you’re pretty sure that would actually be heaven.
She gives you an odd look. A smile, one that’s strained but warm, and somehow wistful. You’re tempted to reach out with your power and see what she’s feeling, but—no. Not to Amy.
“That does sound nice,” she says wistfully. “But Boston’s a long way away, and I don’t think I could convince Mom to drive up there just to visit a bookstore.”
You don’t know what kind of mother wouldn’t want to go visit a bookstore like that, but okay. You search through your memory again, trying for something. And then— oh. Yes. You bite your lip as you consider how to say this.
“Well,” you say carefully, “I guess you could always do something closer to town, then.” You inconspicuously avoid looking at her face, ducking your head to look at your inventory sheets. “Did you know there’s a museum here in town?”
There’s a soft exhale from where Amy is sitting. You can’t help but glance up, taking in the soft smile on her face as she looks at you, before you hurriedly glance back down. “Yes, Taylor,” she says. “Everybody knows that.”
“Right.” That’s fair. Even at Winslow, you’ve had to go there twice for school. “But did you know that they’ve been working on a new exhibit recently? An exhibit on old British culture.” From what you’ve been able to gather, it’s mostly a token gesture made since the US and Britain had recently renegotiated shipping agreements, but either way it suits your purpose.
Amy drums her fingers on the table. “Really,” she murmurs. “Is that right?”
You nod your head, still refusing to look up at her. You don’t want her to see your red cheeks. “Yeah,” you reply. “I’ve been, uh, thinking of going myself. And if you need something to do, well, um. It wouldn’t cost as much for me to buy you a ticket too.”
There’s silence for a few moments from the other end of the table. You don’t dare look up until Amy finally speaks. “Yeah,” she says, her tone lilting and teasing. “I know the ticket deal you’re talking about. For couples, right?”
Your head rockets up, and you can’t help the way your eyes widen in alarm until you see the smirk on her face. “It’s not for couples! It’s just a ticket for two!” You’re not sure why you’re being so defensive about it, considering that you do want it to be a date.
“I know, I know.” She pokes her tongue out at you briefly, blinking long and slow. “Sorry. That sounds nice, Taylor. I wouldn’t mind going to see that exhibit.”
“Okay.” You let out a quick sigh of relief, drawing another smirk from Amy. “Well, u-um. Would Saturday or Sunday work better for you?”
“Saturday afternoon would work best,” she says calmly. “I’m working on Saturday morning, and it’s Dad’s birthday on Sunday.”
You nod eagerly. “Okay! Saturday afternoon then.”
You do end up getting the paperwork for Doctor Fitzgerald done with plenty of time to spare. It’s not complicated, although you do end up having to draw your notebook out of your bag and do some multiplication there to figure out the purchase prices of some of the items. Amy, unfortunately, only has a couple more minutes to spare; you barely have enough time to ask her about her week before a nurse is hurrying into the room, calling for Amy with an exasperated voice.
At least Doctor Fitzgerald seems pleased when you hand the forms to him at seven. He quickly scans one of them as you stand there, mouth moving as he mouths the words to himself. When he doesn’t find any readily identifiable problems with it, he gives you a big smile. “Thank you, Taylor,” he says gratefully.
You just fob him off with an awkward little wave. After having actually done the paperwork, it doesn’t feel as awkward as it did before—it wasn’t complicated, and it definitely didn’t require you to know any confidential information. It just still feels weird, but what do you know? Maybe their accountant quit recently and they’re struggling to keep up with their paperwork, or something.
Either way, you’re rather glad that Dad has cooked dinner by the time you get home. It’s not a fancy dinner—it never is—but it feels good to be able to just eat and stumble up to your bedroom.
You don’t fall asleep immediately, but you don’t bother heading over to your desk and getting your textbooks out to study, either. Instead, you just grab Victoria’s copy of Harry Potter and get to reading.
School the next day is… odd. You’re not quite sure what you were expecting out of the day, but whatever it was, it wasn’t Madison dragging herself in looking half dead.
She makes her way over to you, standing by your locker, and collapses limply into your arms as soon as you stretch them out for her. She lets out an appreciative little moan that makes you glad nobody else is around to hear it as you tighten your arms around her and pull her into a more proper hug.
