“What crawled up your ass and died?”

Ben pulls up a chair next to mine in the breakroom and tosses his lunch bag onto the table. He unpacks a couple of squished sandwiches and a bag stuffed full of Oreos.

“That's your lunch?” I ignore his rude comment, because seriously, after the gaming party last night, I’m fully within my rights to be a little pissy. “What are you, seven? Where's your juice box?”

Ben flips me the bird with one hand while cramming half of the first sandwich into his mouth. “Don't try to change the subject,” he says with a mouthful of pb&j, and I hold up a hand to try to block the view.

“Ugh, and you eat like a seven-year-old too,” I say.

Laura, one of our other co-workers and the unfortunate one who worked the party with me last night, arrives for her shift and puts her things in her locker. “That's an insult to seven-year-olds,” she says. “How are you doing, Craig? Has he said anything?”

Gaming parties are part of what has made Game Over so successful compared to other game stores. There’s a large room off to the side of the main store where tables and monitors line the walls, with several couches and beanbags tossed in the center of the room for good measure, and outlets everywhere. The room is always open and can be used for a small fee, but for parties, people can rent the whole room for themselves and their friends.

I used to consider the parties to be the best part of my job, especially when the party is a bunch of college kids who know what they're doing and let you play too. Even the teenagers are usually entertaining, if for nothing more than the cursing that they come up with and usually fail miserably at. I have no idea what a douche ferret or a spack waffle is, but I'm fairly certain none of them do, either. Last night’s party was for a twelve-year-old kid and a bunch of his friends, led by an overindulgent mother. It didn’t go well.

I shake my head. “He’s not here yet.” And my stomach is a bundle of nerves to prove it.

“Hey, how come you get all snippy with me when I show concern, but with Laura you’re all,” Ben waves his hands in my direction, “mild and gentle and shit.”

“Asking what crawled up my ass is not showing concern.”

“It totally is.” Ben looks from me to Laura, who has the whole concerned mom face going, and back to me. “What am I missing? What happened?”

“They were the worst-behaved group of kids I’ve ever seen and their mom should be ashamed, that’s what,” Laura says, nodding at me with barely contained fury in her eyes. “Let’s see, first they refused to let me help them, because I’m a girl and obviously couldn’t possibly know what I’m doing.”

Ben’s mouth falls open, whereas mine gets so tight I can’t even feel my lips anymore. I really don’t want to replay last night, but I’m going to have to with Ted anyway, once he gets here.

“But you’re the best techie we’ve got here,” he says.

Laura rolls her eyes like, I know.

“The whole time this kid is being a total dick to Laura,” I have to jump in because she should have never had to deal with that, “and the mom doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t pull him aside and tell him to stop being a misogynistic asshat.”

“Probably wouldn’t know what that means,” Laura interrupts.

“True. He kept trying to sound all scientific and talk about girls’ brains processing speeds or something.”

“And then,” Laura interrupts again, her voice getting louder each time, “he refuses to work with Craig.”

“Why?” Ben looks baffled.

“Because he refused to treat me like an object and talk bad about me too.”

I appreciate Laura’s attempt at discretion, but I wouldn’t hide this, even if Ben didn’t already know.

“Because I’m gay.”

Laura’s sympathetic look lasts only for a second, which I think is silly because she got it just as bad as I did, really. It’s replaced with fury just as fast. “Oh, but this, the mother did hear. And instead of smacking her son upside his ignorant head, she insisted that Craig be removed from the party. And threatened to call Ted and demand a refund.”

“Dude.”

It’s the only other thing Ben says, and it hangs in the air as we finish our lunch in shocked and sullen silence.

Ted calls me into his office as soon as he arrives after lunch.

“Close the door,” Ted says, already sitting behind his desk and the mass of paperwork that he never seems to be able to organize.

The knots in my stomach tighten until there’s no way they’ll ever get loose. I linger by the door instead of taking the plastic chair in front of his desk. If I’m getting fired, I’d like to get away as quickly as possible.

“Did you get our application in by the deadline yesterday?”

My leg gives out just a little, and I catch myself on the wall. “What?”

Ted looks up from his chaotic desk to study me. “Are you okay? Did you hurt your leg?”

“No.” He motions to the chair, so I sit, and it scrapes metal on concrete in a grating noise. Better than collapsing in a heap onto the floor, I guess. “I’m okay.”

His eyes narrow, but he continues, “So, the New West Fest application? Did you get it in on time?”

“Yes, I put in the application, along with a cashier’s check for the fee and a copy of our insurance.” I guess he wants to make sure that everything has been completed before he gets rid of me, so I give him status updates on all of it. I’ve been recording everything in an app on my phone, so I pull it out. “Everything official for the vendor spot is done. The tent is ordered, and I emailed you a copy of the receipt. I’ll also send you a copy of the shipping info. It’s scheduled to arrive on July 24th. The buttons and stickers are scheduled to be picked up over at Smitty’s on August 7th, which doesn’t give us much time if anything goes wrong. But I guess it’s a busy time of year for this kind of stuff.”

“Wow, you’ve really done a great job with this, Craig,” Ted says, and I look up from my app in shock. I try to search his face for a clue as to what’s coming, but other than a hint of what I think are nerves, Ted’s expression is as placid as Horsetooth Reservoir. “Have you decided about college yet?”

I’d forgotten I’d even told him about that, but no, I haven’t decided. Zach has proven to be a nice distraction from the things I need to do, like make a decision about the rest of my life. I shake my head.

Ted stands from his desk, but then paces from his corner filing cabinet back to his chair. “Here’s the thing.”

My hands grip my thighs, and I’m glad he made me sit, because I’m feeling a little dizzy. I don’t want to lose this job. I like it here. I have no idea what I’d do instead.

“I need a manager. Things have really picked up lately, and I’m starting to feel like I’m running myself ragged between the business side of things and the day-to-day management of things.” Ted fidgets with the back of the chair, then finally sits back down. “You’ve really proven yourself lately, and I’d like to offer you the job.”

Wait, what? My mouth drops open, but before I can even collect my thoughts enough to speak, he rushes forward.

“Only I don’t want to be the one to keep you from your goals, so if you want to go to school and get a degree, you should do it. But unfortunately, you can’t do both. I need someone full-time, and I know I said I’d be good with working around your schedule, and I definitely will be, but only if you’re at your current job. If you take the promotion, then I’ll need to dictate your hours a little more rigidly.”

He looks so guilty at this, and I’m still really lost. “I’m not fired?”

“Why would you be fired?” His voice changes from unsure to steady in a blink.

“I just thought after last night …”

“If you’re referring to Mrs. Acreback and her son, they have been informed their intolerance and business is not welcome here.”

Another grating sound erupts from underneath my chair. I accidentally pushed it back when my limbs went limp with relief.

“You and Laura conducted yourselves with more … control than I would have last night,” Ted continues, and the certainty radiates from him until I can’t help but believe him too. “If either of you were worried about that, you needn’t be. In fact, it’s one of the things that made up my mind about offering you the job.”

“Right. The job.”

My brain is spinning in too many directions at once, and Ted seems to sense it. “Take some time and think about it. The job is yours if you want it. But let me know before the end of summer, yeah? I was hoping to squeeze in a vacation at some point.”

Ted laughs as if he’s told some funny joke, but I can only nod in return. I spend the rest of my work day on autopilot, while my brain hangs out in some other dimension, trying not to freak out about the future and the now much more complicated decisions I have to make.