Hold Me Closer, Necromancer - Lish McBride [3]
I didn’t have any brothers who played lacrosse. Hell, I didn’t have any brothers, period, though I’m pretty sure my little sister, Haley, could’ve given Brooke a run for her money. My lack of skill meant that my shot had force behind it but little aim.
The potato flew so far to the right that Brooke didn’t even try to go for the block. I got the point, and Classic Shiny got a broken taillight.
Brooke picked what was left of the potato off the ground, walked over to me, and threw it in the bin. “Game over,” she said.
I stood, stuck to the spot. “In retrospect, the choice of goals might have been poor.”
Brooke grabbed a wad of my shirt up by the neck and pulled me to the door. I felt the leather cord holding my pouch snap. Brooke let go with a “sorry” so I could snag it. “They shouldn’t have parked there,” she said, motioning toward the car. “Besides, that’s what you get for being Texas.”
I kicked the doorstop out and held the door open for Brooke. “I hear Austin’s nice.” I shoved my broken pouch into my hoodie pocket as we walked back in.
We were slammed for the next hour as the dinner rush invaded Plumpy’s. We were busy enough that the Lesser of Two Kevins actually popped out of his office for a moment to tell us he was too busy to help. Not a useful gesture, but his concern was noted by all. I supposed we were lucky. Lesser Kevin usually only surfaced for Armageddon-level events. Actual Kevin never surfaced at all.
Finally, the people trickled out, and the place became ours again. I wandered toward the grill while Brooke made Frank mop out the newly puke-spattered Plumpy’s Fun Zone. Brooke leaned against the counter, watching Frank and keeping an eye on the few straggling customers. Ramon and I started a rousing game of “Guess What I Put in the Fryer.”
I closed my eyes and leaned against the back of the shake machine. There was a fairly large plop and a hiss from the fryer. “Pickle,” I said.
“That’s uncanny, Sam,” Ramon said.
“Not really. I just helped Frank get the bucket out of the walk-in.”
“Damn,” he said.
After the pickle, a bun, one set of tongs, a spoonful of mayonnaise, and a hat, Ramon ran out of ideas, and I decided not to eat the fries here anymore. I stared at Ramon’s spatula.
“Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s spatula, Sammy.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s not in the Bible,” I said.
“How do you know? Have you ever read it?” He slapped a chicken burger on the grill.
“Not really, but I’m still pretty sure that’s not in there.”
“Trust me,” he said.
“Fine,” I said, “what version, then?”
“The King Ramon version. Spatulas are considered very sacred in the King Ramon version.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “Well, I’m not Christian, so I can covet. I can covet like a fiend.”
“Won’t get you back on grill, flame-boy,” he said.
So I’d caught the grill on fire a few times. Okay, more than a few. Lesser Kevin had to remove the smoke alarms when I cooked. “I can’t help it if grease is flammable. Besides, it’s not like it hurts the grill.”
“And what about last time?” Ramon asked, flipping the chicken burger onto a bun and placing it on a tray.
I handed the tray up to Brooke. “You’re referring to the Plumpy’s kids’ meal incident? A lot of crap over a few boxes. Water under many bridges.”
“Sam, the toys ignited and exploded melted plastic onto your apron, which also burst into flame.”
“That’s what fire extinguishers are for.”
“The little girl at the counter started to cry because she thought you were going to immolate.”
“Immolate?”
“You looked like the Human Torch, man.” Ramon made an explosion-like noise and scraped something off the grill. “Flame on, Sam. Flame on.”
I waved him off. “Psh.” And since my arm hair had totally grown back, no permanent damage had been done.
“Besides,” he said, pulling out a hotel pan full of precooked bacon, “can I help it if the grill responds to my raw Latin heat? You skinny white