Chapter Text
June 3rd. The beginning of Summer break. No more school, no more assignments to keep up with. Just pure, unbridled relaxation.
Well, not this year.
Due to your mom nagging you about getting a job, you unfortunately weren’t gonna get to sit on your ass all Summer. No, instead you got a job working at a comic book (and hobby) store in the sketchy part of town. Joe’s Fantasy World, which is aptly owned by… Joe. Joe is this weird, balding, man-child, who got his start in the business by exploiting an old grieving widow. He kind of looked like a pig, almost, and he acted like one, too.
It was a shitty gig, to say the least. Getting paid minimum wage to stand behind the counter in a stuffy store with no AC, while having to put up with the most vile cretins on this side of the Earth, wasn’t exactly like a picnic. It was really easy getting the job, at least. All you did was walk in, go up to the counter, ask politely, “Are you guys hiring?”, and Joe gave you the job on the spot. He said something about how having a girl cashier could boost sales.
Ever since you got hired, Joe stayed in the back of the store, jerking off and reading comics, since he literally lived in the place. The thought of living such a sad life almost made you feel sorry for the old bastard. Anyways, that left you to be the overseer for the store.
Most of the time you just really didn’t care. Sometimes you saw some kid stuff a comic down his pants, then walk out of the store with an evil look on his face, feeling like he was the damn Joker ‘cause he got away with it, not knowing that you saw him, and you just don’t get paid enough to deal with it. Too much effort for such a trivial thing. It’s not like it’s getting taken out of your almost nonexistent paycheck or anything.
Sometimes, you even gave out discounts, just for the heck of it. Well, not to everyone. It was just a thing between you and this other kid, who was a regular at the store. His name was Bill Dickey. He had a pimply, oily face—could really use some CeraVe, but other than that he actually wasn’t completely unfortunate-looking. He had these thin-rimmed glasses, and reddish-brown hair. And everyday, he came in wearing the same orange jacket. You wondered how often he washed that thing.
It started about two weeks ago, when you first started working at the store. You were at the counter, bored as hell and staring off into space, eavesdropping on these two guys talking about the latest issue of Whatever-Man. It was a slow day.
Then, you heard the shopkeeper’s bell go off, and you looked over at the door to see who it was. A pale, spindle-haired boy, who looked to be around your age, walked into the store. He kind of reminded you of this guy Joe warned you about. He told you that there were these four kids—you couldn’t exactly remember their names—who call themselves The Eltingville Club. He said that everytime they come in there, they cause a huge commotion, get into fights with each other, and even once ended up breaking a $250 figurine. He wasn’t very clear with describing them, though. All he said was, in his words, ”There’s a fat one, a blond one, a little guy, ‘n a basement dweller. All of ‘em look like freaks!”
You waved at the guy when he came in, as you do with all customers, but then he just started looking at you like you were Bigfoot or something. You nervously smiled, before he scoffed, looking away and muttering something under his breath which you didn’t quite hear. You kept on eye on him as he browsed. Eventually, he walked up to the counter, and begrudgingly placed an issue of Sandman on it.
“Where’s Joe?” He asked, as you rang up the item, crossing his arms and staring daggers at you.
“Oh, uh, he’s in the back.” You looked at the total. “That’ll be $4-“
“And he left you, a female, in charge?” He interrupted, his facial expression indicating that he found the idea amusing. “Joe wouldn’t do that! Who even are you? When did you get here?”
“Well, I just started yesterday…” You laughed nervously, since it was the only way you knew how to deal with situations like these.
He sneered, a sly little grin on his face. “You’re probably one of those fake fans. I bet you don’t even know the name of the ship from Star Wars.”
You scoffed at that. Of course, you’d gotten your fair share of misogyny before. But this is just ridiculous.
“‘Course I know what the Millennium Falcon is. I wasn’t born yesterday.”
The boy looked to the side. “Yeah, well, that was an intentionally easy question. You probably can’t name three kinds of kryptonite, or name the issue of Spiderman where The Punisher first appeared.”
He was grinning now. It just made you roll your eyes. Too many of these types of guys with superiority complexes hung around here. You wondered what the science was behind that.
“Geez, do you want an award for knowing so much trivia? A cookie? A discount?” you retorted, furrowing your eyebrows and cocking your hip sassily.
The word “discount” stuck out to him like a… girl in a comic book store. He got an evil grin on his face. He kind of had a permanent evil look to him.
He leaned over the counter and raised an eyebrow. “Discount, you say?” he said curiously.
It emits a loud sigh from you, and you rub your face. “If I give you a discount, will you go away?” you questioned, wearily.
The boy started fervently nodding, his fingers on the edge of the counter.
“Then so be it,” you announced. “10% off.”
You clicked some buttons on the register to put it in the system. “Your new total is $4.21.”
You wondered what was even the point of giving a discount for such a small purchase. The guy was only saving 40 cents. Well, not like he knew.
He fished in the pocket of his jacket before pulling out a crinkled $5 bill. “Here,” he grunted, placing it on the counter. “And I need my change.”
You were almost a little scared to touch it, given its previous owner. But dealing with gross guys is kind of part of the job description when you work in a place like this, so you decided to suck it up. You placed the dollar bill in the register, and counted out 79 cents for his change.
He had his hand cupped out. “There ya go,” you said, placing the coins in his hand, before putting his comic in a bag and handing it over the counter to him.
“Here.” You said as he took the bag out of your hands, “…now scram.”
He practically yanked it out of your hands. “Fine,” he squinted at you. He was turning away from the counter, heading towards the door, when he did a 180, going back up to you, and timidly asking:
“Uh… what’s your name?”
It somewhat caught you off guard, that all of a sudden, he wasn’t acting so arrogant and stuck-up. You looked to the side for a second, before looking back at him.
“Uh… it’s (Name)”
“Well, I’m Willia-“ He stopped himself, scratching his neck. “… I mean Bill.”
Bill! That was the name of one of those kids Joe warned you about. You were right; it is him!
There was an air of awkward silence for a moment, before he turned away towards the door again.
“Seeya!” He yelled at you, before he opened the door, and left the store, the little bell at the top letting out a ”ding!” to announce his departure.