Thirteen
The rest of the week is a slog. The interns work on their presentation tasks, but don’t speak to me much, except for Elijah. Carlos is polite but distant, like he’s put up an invisible wall between us.
On Friday, we’ve barely settled in after lunch when Mr. Mantoni marches into the sky box, a determined look on his face, and we all freeze, hands poised over our keyboards.
“I’d like a status update on your team project.”
We sneak furtive glances at each other, and mine lingers on Trish, wondering if she told her dad everyone’s mad that I assigned Carlos to presenter duty.
He gestures to the table and we all slink toward it like we’re headed to a guillotine. I sit at one end and everyone else clusters at the other end. The Manicotti’s gaze sweeps around the table and I’m sure he notices the odd seating arrangement.
“Everything going okay? Duties equitably assigned?”
Trish rolls her eyes, Jason snorts, and Ashley tosses her hair over shoulder, but doesn’t make eye contact with him. Elijah runs a hand over his face while Carlos stares stonily into space.
Fantastic. I open my mouth, ready to confess this is all my fault, but I don’t get the chance.
“Unacceptable,” Mr. Mantoni says. “You all have to learn to work as a team. It’s one of the skills you’ll be rated on at the end of summer. Based on your attitudes, you’re all looking at goose eggs.”
Trish drums her fingers on the table and pins me with her scary stare. I try to telegraph a silent apology with my eyes, but her expression doesn’t change.
“Since you can’t seem to figure out teamwork voluntarily, I’m going to make sure it happens.” The Manicotti folds his arms over his chest and trepidation creeps up my spine. “We’ve got a basement full of old files that need to be scanned. The files are a mess and need to be organized.”
No. No no no.
He hooks a thumb toward me. “Laurel got a start on it last summer but left a lot unfinished.”
What is he talking about? Dad had told me I’d finished what he needed, that it was just a short-term job. Had he lied to me? Had I complained so much he’d decided it was easier to leave me at home? Humiliation burns through me as I absorb the heat of everyone’s glares.
“As of now, you’re all on file duty. Follow me.”
My body is wound tight as a rubber band stretched to its limit. I wait until everyone leaves, then I follow, dragging way behind. How has my idea of a fun job, a way to spend time with my dad and help out the interns, turned into this?
We take the stairs down three flights to a steel door marked “Basement.” Mr. Mantoni punches a code into an electronic keypad mounted on the wall, then grunts as he opens the heavy, windowless door.
As we trudge down a steel staircase, our footsteps clang like hammers on pipes. The basement is dingy, with peeling brick walls. A damp, moldy smell fills my nose.
Two hallways fan out from the bottom of the stairs in an L shape. The Manicotti leads us down the shorter one, lit only by a couple of dim wall-mounted bulbs. He pushes open the door of a storeroom and flicks a switch. Two fluorescent light fixtures overhead flicker to life as we file in behind him. He’s right. It’s a disorganized mess. Last summer, the file boxes were delivered to my cube; I hadn’t even seen the basement. He can’t possibly mean for us to stay and work in this hellhole. This must violate OSHA or humane working conditions laws or something.
“See all these boxes?” He points to leaning stacks of boxes lined along one wall, piled nearly to the ceiling. “The five of you ought to be able to get through these, even if it takes all day and all night. I want them alphabetized by client and organized by date.”
“What?” Trish yelps. “Dad, you can’t. You’re violating a ton of labor laws. You can’t make us—”
“You all are a team, whether you want to be or not,” Mr. Mantoni interrupts, ignoring Trish. “I assume you’ve all had experience on teams—sports, debate club, whatever. But the work world is different. The consequences are bigger. Often there’s no end in sight—no final game or match. You have to figure out how to work with people you don’t necessarily like or have anything in common with. Indefinitely.”
He pins Trish with a dark look. “And in the real world sometimes you have to work overtime. I’ve pulled all-nighters for clients before. It won’t kill you.” He nods and steps toward the door. “How you handle this is up to you.”
And then he’s gone, the door banging shut behind him, echoing off the brick walls. No one speaks for at least a full minute.
“I’ll do it,” I say softly. “This is my fault, my problem. You guys can leave.” I hate that my voice is wobbly, but I’m not letting everyone else pay for my mistake.
“Nice try at playing the martyr card, princess, but it won’t work. We all have to do this.” Trish shakes her head, clearly disgusted. “They’re the ones who need the scholarship, not you, Laurel, so they’re screwed if they don’t pull this off.” She kicks at the floor with her boot. “I’m sorry, guys. My dad can be a righteous prick sometimes.”
Her words land like a volley of punches and I feel bruised, not to mention ashamed, because she’s right—the interns need the scholarship money and I don’t. They risk a lot by walking out.
“It’s a waste of time to blame Laurel or your dad,” Carlos says to Trish, his words clipped. He shoves his hands in his pockets and tosses his head like a prize horse ready to race. “We need to jam through this crap. I’ve got to work my other job tonight. I can’t stay here all day and night.” As he speaks, he looks at everyone but me, and that hurts even more than what Trish said.
“Maybe this was the real reason they hired us,” Ashley says, “to clean up this mess. Maybe the scholarship is just a front.”
I can’t tell if she’s joking, but Jason huffs a laugh, so maybe she is.
“Don’t be stupid, Ash,” Elijah says. “Of course there’s a scholarship. We just screwed up today and he heard about it.”
“How did he find out about our argument?” I ask Trish. “Did you tell him?”
Not the best way to get everyone’s attention, but it works since they all turn to me, eyes wide. Trish’s shoulders stiffen as she stares me down.
“No, I didn’t. I don’t go running to my dad over every little thing.”
“Like I do? Come on, Trish, that’s not fair. I haven’t complained to my dad about anything.” My breathing is short and fast. I hate confrontation, but it seems to be the only way to get through to her.
“You don’t have to. He gives you everything you want, doesn’t he? Private school, whatever college you want to go to, a cake summer job that you don’t even—”
“Catfight!” Jason grins as he says it and Trish turns her ire on him.
“Are you kidding me, dude? You really wanna throw out that sexist demeaning bullshit just because two girls are having a healthy disagreement?”
Healthy disagreement? I wonder what level of attack she considers a real argument?
“Knock it off. All of you.” Carlos’s eyes are stormy, going even darker as they skim over me. “Just get to work, all right?” He stalks toward the boxes and glares at the looming stacks like he wants to knock them down.
“Here.” Elijah appears at his side with a ladder that was leaning against another wall. “You climb, I’ll take stuff from you.” Ashley rushes over to hold the ladder while Carlos climbs.
As they snap into action, the rest of us watch. Whether they meant to or not, they got us to stop arguing. Trish, Jason, and I give each other sheepish looks.
“Come on,” Trish says with a sigh. “Let’s do this.”
Jason and I follow her, and he leans in to whisper in my ear. “I didn’t know catfight was a bad thing. I thought it was funny. I was trying to make you guys chill out.” His green eyes are full of sincerity and I believe him.
“It’s okay. Just, uh, maybe be more careful next time.”
He nods vigorously, darting a wide-eyed, fake scared look at Trish’s back that makes me giggle. From the top of the ladder, Carlos glances at me, box in his hands, and my stomach twists because he looks pissed, like I think this is all a big joke. All the donuts in the world can’t make up for the predicament I’ve put him in.
Chagrined, I move quickly, clearing off a long table stacked with random junk. “Let’s put the boxes here.” I try to sound all business. “I can sort through them while you and Jason keep passing them over to us.”
“Hold on.” Trish raises her hand. “Let’s be logical about this. How about we empty some of the boxes first so we can use them to alphabetize the files?”
“Good idea,” Carlos says from his pedestal. I nod at Trish, because he’s right. It’s a good idea.
We make an assembly line to deliver the boxes from the stacks to the table. After we’ve emptied about a dozen boxes, Trish unearths a Sharpie from somewhere and labels the boxes: A, B, C, etc.
“We need twenty-six empty boxes,” Elijah says.
“Probably more than that,” Ashley points out. “We’ll have a lot more M files than Z files, for instance.”
I work silently, but I’m keenly aware that we’re working as a team. Everyone has helpful ideas, and eventually we find a rhythm. It’s like we’re allies in a battle, working together for a greater good, even if that good seems like pointless busywork.
After a long stretch of quiet, ant-like assembly work, Elijah takes a break from helping Carlos and balances his phone on a file cabinet. Dance music sounds through the tinny phone speakers and Ashley spins in a circle.
“Dance break!” she calls out with a laugh and Elijah joins her, followed by Jason. I smile as I watch them but I’m too shy to join in. I glance up at Carlos, still on top of the ladder. A hint of a dimple appears on his face as he watches the frenetic dancing.
“Omigod,” Trish groans. “It’s the freaking Breakfast Club.”
I laugh at her reference to the iconic dance scene. “Not even close.” I point at Carlos. “He’s no Judd Nelson dancing on top of the statue.”
Trish flashes a grin. “You’re obviously the Molly Ringwald. Shouldn’t you be showing off your moves?”
“If I’m the Molly, then you’re Ally Sheedy.” I gesture to her all-black outfit. “Obviously.”
Her grin widens. “Except I’m the smart one, not the crazy one.” Her gaze slides to Carlos, then back to me. “Too bad he doesn’t have a pierced ear. You could give him a diamond stud like Molly did to Judd at the end of the movie.”
That makes me blush and want to laugh and shove her all at once. “Not gonna happen.”
“Only because he doesn’t wear an earring. Otherwise we’re looking at the same basic dynamic. Dude from the other side of the tracks. Pretty rich girl. Yada yada.”
“Except he’s not a troublemaker. Not even close.” I sneak a glance, only to find him watching us from his perch on the ladder. Well, watching me. Even though I know he can’t hear us over the music, my cheeks burn and I focus on Trish, wondering if I dare say what I’m thinking. I decide to go for it. “You know, if we follow this analogy all the way through…”
“My dad is the dick principal. Believe me, I know.” She does a great imitation of her dad’s scowl and tosses out a quote from the movie. “‘Don’t mess with the bull, young man, you’ll get the horns.’”
We laugh with each other, stupidly, genuinely, neither of us noticing Carlos until he clears his throat. He’s climbed down the ladder and is now within sniffing distance.
“You two aren’t dancing?” he asks, then he takes a slug from a water bottle. I wish I’d thought to bring one with me. I also wish I could stop staring at his mouth.
“Nope.” Trish turns and yells, “Dance break’s over, people. Back to work!”
Somehow, between the working together and the dance music, the mood has shifted. We’re chattering now, joking about some of the faded photos and ads in the old files, and mocking each other about music choices as Elijah cycles through his playlists.
It’s hard to tell how much time has passed since we’re in a windowless basement, but eventually my stomach tells me it must be close to five o’clock. I check my phone and I’m right, it’s 4:55 p.m. I wonder if I can convince the Manicotti to let us go home at our normal time since we’ve done such a good job, even though we’re only about halfway finished.
“I’m going to go find your dad,” I tell Trish. “To see if he’ll release us from prison.” I brace for impact, but she doesn’t freak out.
“Want me to come with you?”
“No. I still feel like this whole mess started because of me, so I’ll go.” I flash her a quick grin. “If I’m not back in ten minutes, send a rescue crew.”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s almost smiling.
In the dimly lit hallway, I blink to adjust my eyesight. It’s sort of creepy out here by myself. When I hear a rustling noise around the corner, I freeze, terrified it’s a rat, or worse. The rustling starts up again and I realize it’s footsteps.
Chill out, I tell myself. Maybe it’s the Manicotti coming to release us. Cautiously, I creep forward, grateful my shoes aren’t heavy boots like Trish’s. I peek around the corner and spot a tall, hefty figure at the far end of the deserted hallway. This longer hallway has only one dim bulb to light it, and it’s only firing at about twenty watts. A creepy haunted house noise wails as a door creaks open, and the silhouetted figure disappears into a room.
Holy crapoli. What’s going on? Who is that? And just like a dumb TSTL character in a horror movie, I start to tiptoe down the hall toward the creaky door, telling myself it has to be the Manicotti. I take only a few steps before an arm wraps around my waist from behind and a hand covers my mouth.
I start to scream, in spite of the hand on my mouth, but I’m pulled against a tall, solid body and a voice whispers in my ear.
“Quiet, Laurel. It’s just me.”
Carlos.
My heart races, but not from fear; it’s because Carlos is pressed up against my back like, well, like we’re way more than coworkers. I wonder if he can hear my pulse thudding through my skin, because I sure can.
And why is he still holding me?
“Don’t move,” he whispers, his breath hot on my neck, and I shiver. The hand that was on my mouth now rests on my shoulder, and his other arm is still wrapped around my waist.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he whispers in my ear. “Spying?”
“What are you doing?” I hiss, annoyed and yet also secretly thrilled at our full body contact.
“Watching out for you.” He loosens his grip on my waist and puts some space between us, much to my disappointment. “Let’s get out of here.”
“No.” I turn to face him, swallowing hard as I look up at him. It’s so dark I can’t make out his facial expression. Since my face is burning hot, I’m relieved he can’t see me clearly, either. “I think it’s Mr. Mantoni and I need to talk to him.”
“It’s not.” Carlos’s response is quick and frustrated. “And we don’t—”
The wail of the creaky door snakes down the hallway and Carlos grabs me again, tugging me around the corner. He reaches up to pull the lightbulb string, shrouding us in darkness. We flatten our backs against the wall, breathing heavily. He grasps my hand, his warm and strong; mine, sweaty and shaky.
The footsteps grow louder. I hold my breath as the figure lumbers around the corner toward the staircase. Whoever it is doesn’t even glance our way. It’s a big guy, bigger than the Manicotti. He’s carrying something, but I can’t tell what it is. His heavy footfalls clang as he trudges up the metal stairs. The door opens, then slams shut behind him.
Carlos and I blow out relieved breaths and he lets go of my hand.
“What just happened?” I whisper, then wonder why I’m bothering to whisper.
“I don’t know,” Carlos whispers back.
“Why did you think I was in danger?”
“I’m not sure.” He yanks the lightbulb string, bathing us in dim yellow light.
“I wanted to go upstairs to get cell service. But when I saw you creeping around the corner I got a weird vibe.”
Bolstered by the concern I hear in his voice, I seize my chance to apologize.
“Look, I’m so sorry about this stupid punishment. I shouldn’t have decided you should be the presenter.” I glance at the concrete floor. “I didn’t know it would kick up such a storm.”
He shrugs. “It’s a done deal now, and it ended up all right. Nobody wants to kill each other. At least not at the moment.”
“I probably owe you more donuts to make up for all this.”
He leans against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. “I bet you can come up with something better than donuts.” His eyes are definitely back into melty territory. My pulse hums.
“Let’s, uh, go upstairs.” No time for melting. “You can make your call and I’ll track down Mr. Mantoni to ask if we can be released from captivity.”
We take the metal stairs two at a time, but when we push the door, it doesn’t open. We try again, but the door is locked, trapping us inside.
“Damn,” Carlos mutters under his breath. “Now what?”
Panicked, I stare at my cell, which still shows “no service.”
Carlos pounds on the door, making me jump.
“What are you doing?”
“Maybe whoever that guy was will hear us, if he’s still out there.”
We wait, but nothing happens.
“Hey! What’s going on out here?” Trish’s booming voice shoots down the hallway and up the stairs.
“Come on. Maybe somebody else has a better idea.” I rush down the stairs, Carlos at my heels. My panic is rising. If we can’t get cell service, and nobody can hear us pounding on the door, then what? But the Manicotti has to come back, doesn’t he? He’s not going to leave us down here to rot, right?
Trish meets us halfway down the hall, and when she catches sight of Carlos, she raises her eyebrows at me.
“Should’ve known I’d find you two together.”
I ignore her insinuation. We’ve got more important things to worry about.
“We’re locked in here.” Frustration deepens Carlos’s voice. He brushes past her into the file room. Trish runs down the hallway and up the stairs. I hear her struggling to open the door, then the sound of her stomping back down stairs.
“This sucks.” Her face contorts with more worry than anger. “I can’t believe my dad did this.”
Back in the file room, Carlos issues commands.
“Turn off your music,” Carlos orders Elijah, who’s pitching crumpled paper balls to Jason, who’s swinging at them with a ruler.
“Come on, guys.” Carlos’s words snap like firecracker poppers. “Now.”
Ashley, perched on a step stool to watch the impromptu baseball game, jumps up and rushes to Elijah’s phone, silencing the music.
“What the hell, man?” Elijah hurls a crumpled paper at Carlos, who catches it, then chucks it into a trashcan.
“Bad news. We’re locked in. And no cell service.”
Everyone gapes at him, then grabs their phones to confirm.
“Damn,” Jason grumbles. “I can’t stay here all night.” He glances at Trish. “Your dad wasn’t serious about that, was he? He didn’t lock us in here on purpose, right?”
Trish bites her lip, looking unsure. I wish I could hug her, but I don’t want to lose an arm.
“Maybe there’s a landline,” I suggest. “Let’s look.”
Everyone launches into search mode, checking out all the walls and dark corners of the room, but no luck.
“I’ll check the hallway.” Footsteps trail behind me and I expect it to be Carlos, but when I glance over my shoulder, it’s Trish.
“You okay?” I ask. She looks worried and angry.
“Hell no. I can’t believe my dad did this. What if there was a fire down here? We’d all die.”
“Way to go to the dark side, girl.”
She scowls at me, then her lips quirk. “Whatever.” She shoulder-bumps me and I wonder if this is how she shows affection. We round the corner, heading down the long, dark hallway, and my heart rate picks up even though I know the mystery man is gone.
“Do you know what’s in these rooms?” I ask as we try a couple of locked doors.
“Dead bodies?”
I laugh nervously as my hand jiggles another door handle and almost stumble when the door swings open. The room is dark and musty, and I shriek when sticky cobwebs attack my face. Leia and Rey would be so disgusted with me.
“Relax, princess.” Trish pushes past me and runs her hand along the wall, looking for a light switch, I assume. She finds one, but nothing happens when she flips it up and down. “Crap.” She pulls out her phone and turns on the flashlight feature, sweeping the light around the room, which is even more cluttered than the file room.
“What is all this stuff?” I pick my way through a maze of boxes and unidentifiable objects covered with blankets. “Point that light over here.” I yank a blanket off the closest object, which stands taller than Carlos.
We both scream, then gape at each other, then back at the…thing…that was under the blanket.
“Don’t touch it,” I warn her, though I step closer to get a better look.
“What the actual f—” Trish begins, but the thud of pounding footsteps stops us in our tracks.
Carlos bursts through the door first. Trish flashes her phone light on him, blinding him and making him swear.
“What the frack?” Elijah steps around Carlos.
“Are you guys okay?” Carlos asks, but his eyes are on me, not Trish.
“Yeah, just freaked out. Show them,” I tell Trish. She shines the light on the object and Elijah gasps, then dissolves into hysterical laughter.
Carlos steps closer, brushing my arm with his. “Wow.” His laughter is soft and rumbly.
“This isn’t funny. It’s creepy.” No matter how good he smells or how close he’s standing to me, I’m still freaked out. “This thing is going to give me nightmares.”
Elijah has stopped laughing and leans in close to the mannequin, wrapping his arm around her like she’s his inanimate date. “Somebody take my picture. This is going on my Instagram.”
Carlos starts to comply but I bat his hand down. “Are you crazy? This is super weird! We don’t want it on social media.”
“She’s got a point,” Trish says. “People will think you’re deranged, Elijah.” She trains her phone light on the mannequin again.
I take a backward step, but Carlos stops me, putting his hand on my back and sending hot tingles rocketing through me.
“It’s not real,” he whispers. “It can’t hurt you.”
“Do you see that knife? Whoever did this is nuts.”
I watch his lovely brown eyes go wide and I’d bet money he just remembered the guy we saw in this hallway earlier.
“Crap,” he mutters. “You don’t think…” He runs a hand through that messy, thick hair I desperately want to touch.
“I don’t know what to think.” I let myself lean into him because he feels safe and I’m seriously creeped out by this thing. Also, it’s a good excuse to get closer to him. His hand slides across my back and squeezes my waist. His touch does more than reassure. It sends inappropriate images rocketing through my mental camera as we face down this mutant mannequin.
The mannequin is a she, based on its curves. Its face is garishly made up with black-and-white clown makeup. A spiky silver wig perches on its head, and the torso wears an Insane Clown Posse T-shirt. Someone has taped a knife to its hand and drawn blood dripping down the arm.
“What the hell is that?” Elijah asks, pointing to the mouth.
Trish moves in close and puts her phone up to shine on the mannequin’s face.
“Eek!” I scream like a terrified, locked-in-the-basement-in-the-dark girl. What kind of freak tapes a dead mouse to a mannequin’s mouth?
“I’m surprised they let you out of the suburbs, princess.” Trish knocks the dead mouse to the ground and Elijah kicks it across the room.
“Hey, cut her some slack.” Carlos’s hand squeezes my waist again. “I’m freaked out by this, too.”
Trish side-eyes him. “Liar. You’re just trying to make her feel better.” She shines her phone light on us. “Or maybe cop a feel.”
Carlos drops his hand from my waist. I wish I were brave enough to throw the mouse at Trish.
“I say we get the hell out of here,” Elijah says. “This feels like a bad horror movie.” He deepens his voice and makes it wobble, like a creepy Vincent Price. “Trapped in a basement! With an armed mannequin.” He spins and points to the mannequin. “That’s really…ALIVE!” He screeches the last word and lurches toward me with his hands curled in the air like a zombie. I stumble backward, but Carlos’s warm hand returns to my back, so I don’t fall.
“Dude,” Carlos warns. “Don’t make me hurt you.”
A scuffle sounds in the doorway. Jason and Ashley join us, rumpled and flustered. What exactly have they been doing?
“Hey, we told you guys to stay put.” Elijah attempts a bossy scowl, but Trish pulls it off much better.
“We were worried,” Ashley says in her breathy voice. “All that screaming, then quiet, then another scream.”
Trish slants me a mocking smirk. So I screamed, so what?
“What the heck is that?” Jason asks, aiming his flashlight at the mannequin. Ashley lets out a tiny shriek when the light illuminates the creepy face, and I feel vindicated. If I didn’t want to stay in the warm cocoon of Carlos, whose arm is now wrapped around my shoulders, I’d fist-bump her.
Jason examines the mannequin. “Twisted.” He glances at me. “I can see why you screamed.”
“How do you know it was me?”
He tilts his head toward Trish. “She wouldn’t scream.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Trish crosses her arms over her chest, grinning.
“Let’s get out of here,” Carlos says. “We’ve got to get out of this basement. I’m already late for my other job.”
His words sober us and we quickly exit the room. I tug the door closed behind us. Carlos reaches around me to mess with the latch.
“Someone broke the lock.” Our eyes meet in the dim light of the hallway. A shiver runs up my spine. “Let’s go.” Carlos takes my hand, leading me back to the file room. I’m not sure what is happening between us. Maybe he’d do this for anyone who was scared. He does have little sisters, after all.
Back in the file room, we all frantically try to use our phones without success.
“My dad’s not going to forget us,” Trish declares, but I hear a thread of anxiety underneath the defiance.
“I’m sure he won’t.” I hope my voice doesn’t betray my own anxiety.
“Even if Mr. Mantoni forgets, your dad will come looking for you, right Laurel?” Ashley says. “Because you carpool to work?”
Ugh. Way to reactivate the dad feud, Ashley.
“Um, no. He went to the Rockies game this afternoon. I’m taking the light rail home.” If I get out of this dungeon.
“Great.” Carlos groans and runs a hand through his hair.
“What about security?” Jason asks. “Isn’t there a security guard who checks stuff after hours?”
Everyone looks at me, like I know everything about this business.
“Yeah,” Trish pipes up. Everyone swivels their head toward her. “I saw a guard one night when I stayed late waiting for my dad.”
“Do you remember how late?” Carlos asks.
Trish shakes her head. “Not sure. Maybe seven or eight?”
Carlos blows out a frustrated breath and mutters something under his breath in Spanish.
“Truth or dare,” Elijah says.
We all stare at him like he’s crazy, but he shrugs and gives us his most disarming smile.
“Might as well entertain ourselves while we’re waiting. But we need music.”
He fires up a new playlist on his phone, then sits cross-legged on the floor, leaning against a filing cabinet.
“Hit me with your best dare.”