Top Ten Clues You’re Clueless Read online

  Kris’s voice sounds strange and muffled through the walkie-talkie. “Give Chloe her lunch break. You can take yours when she’s back.”

  “Ten-four, good buddy,” Gabe says with a country twang. Then he grins at me. “So much for Produce!”

  “Procrastination wins again,” Tyson jokes.

  “You know it.” Gabe is already moving up the lane to take his position.

  “But I just got back,” I say.

  “And?” Gabe says.

  “I feel like all I’ve done today is hand over my register to you,” I say.

  “It’s not my fault you have such a lousy work ethic.”

  I roll my eyes at him. “Don’t screw up my totals.”

  “I’ll try.”

  Chapter 8

  THE FIVE PEOPLE YOU MEET IN THE BREAK ROOM DURING LUNCH

  1. The Phone-Obsessed. Can be observed standing in the corner, talking loudly on phone, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the rest of us can hear everything they’re saying about their sister’s “worthless, broke-ass husband.”

  2. The Oversharer. Similar to the Phone-Obsessed, this luncher will take any opportunity to share every detail of their personal lives with anyone who will listen, often sharing things that everyone in the room wishes they could bleach out of their brains.

  3. The Big Eater. There is no time for talking as far as this luncher is concerned. He packs his lunch in a full-size grocery bag or small cooler and puts down more food than most people eat in a week, all within fifteen minutes.

  4. The Dieter. Always picking at a large salad or heating up a Lean Cuisine in the microwave with a dejected expression. Often goes in search of something more filling and satisfying after the pitiful lunch she packed for herself. (See also: the Afternoon Candy Breaker.)

  5. The Reader. Never seen without a book or magazine, the Reader gives off a strong don’t-talk-to-me vibe that only The Oversharer is ignorant to.

  There aren’t many people left in the Break Room when I go in for my lunch, so I haul everything out of my locker to find the paperback book I left here for company. When I first started, I pictured myself having relaxing lunches with my coworkers. We’d laugh; we’d trade stories; we’d be friends. But it turns out everyone eats on a staggered schedule so the store can still run efficiently, and most of the time the people I do eat with are not exactly friend material. So, I started bringing a book to leave at work. At least there’s always something to read.

  I’m really working my way through my mom’s paperback mystery collection, so I guess that’s something. Something antisocial and vaguely depressing, maybe, but it’s something.

  Don’t get me wrong: I love reading. I always have. A good number of my lists are devoted to my favorite books, characters, and authors. But when reading yet another Sherlock Holmes mystery is all you have to look forward to at lunch, it’s time to reevaluate your social life.

  Nevertheless, Sherlock does his usual work of sucking me in, so I’m totally absorbed in my reading, and I don’t realize at first that I can hear someone talking on the phone in the Manager’s Office. I’m not even that close to the door, but whoever is talking is agitated. My ears perk up instinctively. Usually, this kind of eavesdropping would be duller than multiplication tables, but with the missing money on my mind I can’t help tilting my head for a better listen.

  I realize I might be able to hear even more if I were closer to the door. I bookmark my page and abandon the ubiquitous turkey sandwich my mom made me to slink closer and do some careful listening. There are a couple other people in the room, though, so I have to be casual. First step, find a plausible cover, which I do in the form of the large bulletin board mounted next to the office door. It’s got all manner of boring crap posted, but the important thing is that there are enough pieces of paper up there to give me legitimate browsing time.

  I can’t get every word without pressing my ear to the door, but I can at least tell that I’m listening to one side of a phone call. I squeeze my eyes shut, concentrating. “. . . security tapes show . . . certain as I can . . . sure the police . . . another employee suggested . . . yes, six of them . . . minors . . . might be working together . . .”

  My heart thumps against my chest. Minors? Does he think we had something to do with the money?

  The voice behind the door rises to a higher pitch as he ends his call, and suddenly the office door opens. I jump back, letting out a little involuntary shriek.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, young lady!” It’s Mr. Solomon, the district manager. He looks at me with renewed interest. “It’s Chloe, right?”

  “Yes.” My voice fails, so I clear my throat and try again. “Yes.”

  “You know, it’s a funny thing. I need to speak with you, and here you are!” He seems pleased with this happy coincidence.

  I am not.

  “I’m on my lunch break,” I manage to say, one hand wavering vaguely toward the table where I left my food.

  He smiles. “Perfect timing, then.”

  No. No, Solomon, this is not perfect timing. “Okay,” I croak, and follow him into the Manager’s Office.

  I haven’t been in here since the end of my orientation. It’s a small, windowless room with a big metal desk and half a dozen corkboards on the walls. There are various binders lined up on a low bookshelf. I remember having to find some of those binders during my orientation scavenger hunt: the Emergency Preparedness Binder, the Hazmat Binder, and the Vacation Request Binder.

  Solomon sits in the rolling chair behind the desk. It squeaks beneath him, sounding alarmingly like a guinea pig, and I can’t help picturing a little furry creature trapped inside the cushion. He gestures for me to take the blue plastic chair at the desk’s side. I do, and find myself looking at a series of posters about hand washing, ergonomics, and preventing back injuries. They all feature a little black figure like the one on a men’s-room door.

  That guy gets around. And he doesn’t know much about safety.

  Solomon folds his hands on the desk and leans toward me slightly. I fight the instinct to pull back. “Chloe, thank you for coming in,” he says.

  “You’re welcome.” Like I had a choice in the matter.

  “I want to start by thanking you in advance for your cooperation. Mr. Lincoln tells me you’re a model employee.”

  It takes me a minute to realize he means Kris. I’m also thrown by the conversational way Solomon is talking to me, considering he most likely suspects me of stealing.

  “Do you like working here?” he asks.

  “Yes. Very much,” I whisper. Okay, that last part might be a bit of an exaggeration, but I don’t think he’s looking for honesty on the subject. Who really likes their job that much?

  Maybe Agnes.

  “You know how we value our customers here, don’t you, Chloe?” he asks.

  I wish he would stop saying my name so much. “Yes,” I agree.

  “And you know they put their trust in us as an organization. People have a lot of choices when it comes to food shopping. They come to GoodFoods Market because they like what we have to offer. Isn’t that right?”

  “And the deli is awesome,” I blurt out. What? I want to cover my hot face with my hands. What is wrong with me?

  Solomon just smiles and leans even closer, like we’re sharing a secret. “It is good, isn’t it?”

  I nod, but only a little.

  Solomon continues, “Our customers put their trust in us. They trust us to maintain standards of cleanliness in our food-prep areas. They trust us to keep the floors free from spills, and parking lots free of ice that could put them in danger. They trust us to give them the best possible prices—”

  My mom would definitely have something to say about that. She thinks this place is overpriced.

  Solomon is still talking. “And they trust the company. They trust in our mission.”

  “Okay,” I say.

  “As I’m sure you know, that trust has been violated. In a terrible, saddening way.”<
br />
  I hate the way he’s drawing this out. He’s making me feel nervous even though I know exactly what he’s getting at. My palms are starting to sweat, and I rub them on my thighs.

  “Do you know what I’m talking about?” he asks.

  I do. But I can’t help thinking of the cart incident, and a little bit of guilt comes back to nip at me. Focus, Chloe. Great, now he’s got me overusing my own name. I sit up as best I can. “I—I—” I stammer.

  “Chloe, is there something you’d like to tell me?” he says in a hard tone.

  “No.”

  Which goes over about as well as a chocolate-broccoli pie.

  “No?” His tone of voice says it all. He thinks I’m guilty. And I am, but not of what he thinks I am.

  “You’re sure there’s nothing you want to tell me?” he asks.

  “I’m sure.”

  Solomon sighs. “Chloe, I have to say I’m a little disappointed. I was expecting honesty from you.”

  I look at my feet, noticing the water stain on my shoes from stepping in one of the slush puddles earlier. “I am being honest.”

  “Okay, then. I’ll just ask you a couple more questions and we’ll be through here. Did you observe anything unusual today?”

  I blink at him. “It’s Christmas Eve, Mr. Solomon. There’s been some weird stuff happening.”

  “Such as?”

  “Well, at least three different Santas came in for lunch, and we sold out of anchovies, which is weird because I never even knew we sold anchovies, and it’s not like that’s one of those foods you really think of when you think of Christmas, but all of a sudden everyone was buying them today and we ran out. That’s pretty weird, don’t you think? Is that what you’re asking for?” I could go on. It’s been a weird day, even by GoodFoods standards.

  He shakes his head. “No. Did you see anyone near the donation box?”

  “I honestly wasn’t paying attention to it before you came in. But I’ve seen people put money in if that’s what you mean.”

  “Any employees?” he asks.

  “Zaina puts some in every time she works.”

  Solomon’s face brightens. “Zaina Malak?”

  Nodding, I wonder how many Zainas he thinks work at the store.

  “Is there anything else you’d like to tell me?”

  This wouldn’t be a bad time to tell him that Micah estimated how much money is missing. But I just shake my head.

  “Thank you, Chloe.”

  I leave the room slowly. The door isn’t quite shut behind me when I hear Solomon click on his walkie-talkie. “Kris, would you send Zaina Malak in here?” he says.

  I have to tell the others what I heard.

  Chapter 9

  FIVE THINGS THAT MIGHT DESCRIBE YOU IF YOU START CREEPING AROUND LISTENING TO OTHER PEOPLE’S PHONE CALLS AT WORK

  1. Bored

  2. Nosy

  3. Anxious

  4. Paranoid

  5. Actually being accused of a crime you didn’t commit

  Tyson and Gabe are right where I left them, and Zaina is still at her register, too.

  “I have to tell you guys something!”

  “What’s up?” Tyson asks.

  “I was just in the Break Room and I overheard Mr. Solomon on the phone. He thinks one of us stole the money.”

  “What?” Gabe asks.

  I know I shouldn’t be talking about this where customers can hear, but Solomon has Kris coming for Zaina now. I don’t have much choice.

  “Why would he think that?” she asks. “I’m the one who gave money.”

  “I don’t know. I just know what I heard, and when he found me outside the office he took me inside to ask me a bunch of questions.”

  “Did he actually accuse you of taking it?” Tyson asks.

  “No. But I know he thinks we did it!”

  “Who, exactly?” Gabe wants to know.

  “I heard something about six minors. I think he means the Younglings.”

  “I’m not a minor,” Gabe says. He never misses an opportunity to remind us that he’s already eighteen.

  “Does Solomon know that?”

  He looks at me like I’m crazy. “How should I know?”

  Kris’s voice interrupts us. “What is going on over here?” he demands. “Gabe, there is a customer right in front of you! Tyson, bag. Chloe, what are you supposed to be doing?”

  “I just got off my lunch break.”

  He points to where Gabe is standing. “Then get back to work. Come on, you guys. I hate it when you make me be a hard-ass.”

  “Kris, Mr. Solomon just pulled me into his office to ask me about the missing money.”

  He shrugs. “He’s talking to everybody.”

  “I think he thinks one of us did it.” I gesture to include the others. “Sammi and Micah, too.”

  Kris cocks his head. “Well, did you?”

  “No!”

  “Then you don’t have anything to worry about. Get. To. Work.”

  It’s the harshest he’s ever spoken to me, and reactionary tears prickle the back of my eyes. Shoot. I blink rapidly and squeeze past a cart to take my place back at the register.

  Kris sighs and adds, “Please,” before he heads off to his next task.

  Amazing how one little word can change everything.

  “You can go now,” I say softly to Gabe.

  He steps out of my way, but pauses just off the black mat beneath my feet. “I’m sure Kris is right. Solomon’s probably talking to everyone.”

  I shake my head. “I’m serious, Gabe. He thinks one of us did it.”

  Gabe’s walkie-talkie squawks, then Kris’s voice is a doubled blur as he talks through the speaker from the end of the lane. “Gabe. Go help the stockers in Frozen Foods. Now.”

  Gabe makes a face. “Well, I’m definitely being punished.”

  Then Kris calls up to Zaina. “Turn off your light, and total out, Z. You need to go see Mr. Solomon in the office.”

  Zaina doesn’t respond, or even turn to look at him, but her hand goes up to flip the switch on her lighted lane number.

  I look desperately at Tyson. I need one of them to believe me. He’s watching Zaina, though, and doesn’t meet my eyes for a second. When he does, all I get is a little half smile.

  “You’ll be fine,” he says. “We’re almost done for the day.”

  There is something going down here; I’m sure of it. How can I have so many bits of information and still be so clueless?

  Chapter 10

  GREAT MOMENTS OF CLUELESSNESS IN HISTORY

  1. On July 4, 1776, King George VI of England writes in his diary, Nothing important happened today.

  2. The string quartet continues playing while the Titanic sinks.

  3. In 1963, President John F. Kennedy declares, “Ich bin ein Berliner” to a roaring crowd in Berlin, Germany. Translation: “I am a jelly donut.”

  4. During a visit to a school, Vice President Dan Quayle corrects a student’s spelling of potato as P-O-T-A-T-O-E.

  5. When Pepsi expands to the Chinese market, their slogan “Pepsi brings you back to life” translates to “Pepsi brings your ancestors back from the grave.”

  6. Chloe Novak tries to convince her coworkers they are being accused of a crime, but no one believes her, erasing all her (possible) progress toward making actual friends at work.

  Zaina doesn’t come back. I don’t worry about it at first, but the longer she’s gone it’s kind of hard not to. What could be the holdup?

  “Where is she?” I ask Tyson when he comes back from cart duty yet again.

  “Who?” He uses the back of his arm to blot water from his hairline.

  “Zaina. She still hasn’t come back.”

  He shrugs. “Maybe they had her do some special job.” Occasionally, we get assigned to strange one-time duties, like unfolding crepe-paper turkeys for holiday displays, or taping up giant paper sneakers for some local charity fund drive.

  I bite my lip. It’s hard t
o imagine she’s been asked to do something special when we know for a fact that Solomon wanted to talk to her in his office. “Do you really think so?”

  “I don’t know what to think.” He licks one fingertip and uses it to get a stubborn plastic bag to open. “I’ve been too busy to worry about it.”

  Blood warms my cheeks. “Right. Sorry.”

  He sighs. “Sorry, that came out wrong.”

  “No, you’re right. I’m obsessing.” I try on a smile.

  He returns one that puts mine to shame. A brilliant display of perfect white teeth, accented perfectly by his warm brown skin. My heart flutters.

  I decide to go for a change of subject. “So . . . you getting anything good for Christmas?” I ask.

  “Same thing I always get,” he says. “College money.”

  “That’s it?” I ask.

  He nods. “Pretty much. It’s all I ask for. My granny will give me something, I guess. She thinks she can knit.”

  “Thinks?” I echo.

  “She’s not real good.” He grins. “I got a hat last year about this big.” He hovers his hands about two inches from each side of his head.

  “It’s the thought that counts?” I suggest, laughing.

  “She told me it’s ‘’Cause your brains are so big.’” His slight accent gets thicker when he imitates her, and my insides melt.

  “Aww. At least she appreciates that you’re smart, right?”

  He laughs. “That’s one way to look at it.”

  “What’d you do with the hat?”

  “My sister’s dog tore it up.” He shakes his head.

  Kris returns before I can get any further into this story.

  “Chloe. Light off and total up when you finish your customers.”

  I look at the long lines at every register. “Really? I’m scheduled until close.”

  “We’re taking you off the floor. You too, Tyson.”

  “Why?” he asks.

  “Just reshuffling things a bit,” he says. “Head to the Break Room when you’re done here.” He moves on.

  I look at Tyson.

  “This is . . . different,” he says.

  “See? They think we did it,” I say.