When Love Clocked In

Spencer’s weekend was spent lying in bed trying to dwindle off of the pain medication they had given him. It was late Sunday night when he had two visitors come and see him. It started with a ring of the doorbell, then the sound of the front door opening, then a clatter of sneakers up the stairs, and finally a sudden burst of energy through his bedroom door.

Spencer turned over in his bed to try and see who it could be. It was Brendon and Ryan. Their faces were slightly fuzzy but he knew it was them because he saw Brendon’s silly red readers and Ryan’s skeletal frame. “Hey guys! What are you doing here?” his voice was breathy and light.

“We came to see you, of course!” Brendon ran over to sit on the edge of his bed while Ryan sauntered next to him.

“Yeah, how are you feeling?” Ryan asked.

“Uh Right now? Like shit, but I will be feeling better soon. I’ll be back at school tomorrow a little dreary but okay,” Spencer smiled.

“Glad to hear it, chum,” Brendon smiled.

“But we brought something to ease the pain,” Ryan produced a plastic bag from behind his back.

“Tacos? Awe, Ry, you know me toooo well,” Spencer greedily sat up and grabbed the warm bag. It felt so good against his cold hands.

“We got to go cause Ryan’s got work, but we’ll see you tomorrow,” Brendon slapped his buddy’s back.

“mmk,” Spencer’s mouth was already filled hit hot gooey goodness (that’s what she said), “I’ll thee yoo thmarrow, gause.”

They exited his room and Spencer sat back on his bed, taking another bite from his present. He couldn’t help but think what great friends he had.

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The last bell rang and Spencer walked quickly down the hallway, pushing through all the extra students that polluted the busy intersections. He turned sharply to the bathroom and ran to the last stall. He leaned against the door and tried to breathe deep and calm himself. It didn’t work. Unconsciously, he bent over the porcelain bowl and puked. He was throwing up from… nervousness? Even the idea was foreign to Spencer. It was like it was no one had told him about the phenomena. He wiped his mouth before reaching down and grabbing the end of his shirt. He lifted it over his head and stuffed it into the confines of his bag. He took out a fresh one and pulled it on. It was white and clear of any imperfections. Maybe his shirt’s flawlessness could drown out his defect, today. He liberally applied his deodorant and brushed his teeth till he couldn’t taste the bitter vomit anymore. He was beginning to feel normal again. He grabbed his bag and left to the halls.

“Spencer!” called a voice from behind him. He turned to see who it was. It was Mr. Devins, the European/American History teacher. “How are you?” he asked, “your mom told me you had a nasty accident on Friday.” He smiled a sympathetic smile with his freshly bleached white teeth.

Mr. Smith was such a suck up to Spencer. He knew that it was cause he wanted to get into Spencer’s mom’s pants. But he was never one to be anti-social, usually, “Oh yeah,” he laughed a sake laugh and looked down with a forced embarrassment. “I’m okay. Just a little broken wrist is all.” He pulled the cast from behind his back. It already bore Brendon and Ryan’s messy signatures.

“Oh well. Glad to see you’re okay! See you later,” he waved and turned back towards the teacher copy room.

Spencer continued down the hall. He pulled out his phone and checked the time, “3:34.” He cursed, relazing he was late. He ran down the hall towards the school entrance. He busted through the doors and was suddenly center stage of his own production. He tried not to act out of breath, he tried to walk with addaquate posture, he tried to hide his hideious cast. He walked down the steps and there is was. The shiny black Mazda that Spencer had seen in the front parking space of Starbucks for a week now. Jon was causually leaning on the driver’s door. Trendy sunglasses across his face, dark denim, a black t-shirt, and those damn flip-flops. Spencer smiled as he walked down the remaining steps. He was practically skipping. He approached the car and Jon greeted him with a sincere smile. “Hey, man,” he said, taking his sunglasses off to reveal his mahogany eyes. “How you doing?”

Spencer shrugged his shoulders, “I’m okay. Just a little broken is all.” He spat out his cookie cutter andswe of the say.

“You look like a twelve year old that rode the big ramp,” Jon laughed.

“Funny thing is, I kinda feel like one, too,” Spencer rubbed the back of his head nervously and lifted his heavy cast to eyelevel.

“Come on, let’s get going,” Jon said opening the door and getting in.

Spencer had to remind himself not to run to the other side of the car. He sat down and closed the door. The leather was still cool, so he couldn’t have been waiting that long. Jon started the car and pulled out of the parking lot, turning onto the main road. Spencer estimated the drive at five minutes, but wasn’t sure if he could last that long in silence. He urged himself to say something, anything, but his mouth was sewn shut with anxiety.

“Are those your boyfriend’s names?” Jon said out of no where.

Spencer was taken aback, “What?”

“Brendon and Ryan.”

Spencer looked down remembering the signatures on his cast. “Haha, good one. No, their my friends,” he felt a blush creep over his face.

“What? You couldn’t get the girls to sign it without paying?” Jon sneaked a look at Spencer before making a right turn.

“No, I didn’t know they had to,” Spencer Jon’s awkward talents coming to the foreground of the conversation. He had to steer it some how.

Jon thought in silence for a second. “I bet …you couldn’t get twenty girls to sign that thing,” Jon challenged.

Spencer almost laughed aloud, “I bet I could get fifty by tomorrow.”

Jon shook his head, “Fifty? No way.”

“Way,” Spencer nodded. “Deal?” he held out his unbroken, right hand.

“Wait. What are the conditions? We got to have conditions.”

Spencer pulled back his hand, “ Okay. Fine.” He thought for a second. “Fifty individual signatures by tomorrow at four. To be counted by our own Morgan Caledonia down at the lovely downtown Starbucks Coffee Beanery. If I fail to complete the task then…”

“You have to stay late and mop the floors,” Jon shouted out.

“Except for the fact you’re my ride home and I’m gonna have to mop the floors anyway,” Spencer pointed out.

“Okay,” Jon said brightly, ”I tried to make it easy, but no. If you lose, have to give me your nametag and wear that old one on the wall in the backroom that says Handsome. Aannddd you have to introduce yourself as so for… mmmm….. a week.”

“What?” Spencer exclaimed. “No, you couldn’t make me do that.”

“I am your boss, Spencer,” Jon pointed out. “I own you.”

Spencer shook his head, “Fine. And if I win?”

“If you win… I’ll take you out to dinner on Friday after work,” Jon turned into the Starbucks parking lot.

Spencer starred in awe, “Okay. Sounds good.” He held out his right hand again, “Deal?”

Jon pulled the car into park and grabbed Spencer’s hand, “Deal.”

They walked in together and Morgan was already busy getting ready for the five o’clock rush. “Hey, Morgan?” Spencer asked. “You want to sign my cast.”

“No!” Jon shouted out, “You can’t use her! She’s the counter.”

“What are you talking about?” Morgan looked very confused.

“Jon bet me I couldn’t get fifty girls to sign my cast by tomorrow. I AM gonna get those signatures and you, Morgan, are gonna count them,” Spencer smiled and tapped Morgan’s nose with his index finger. “Jon, we never agreed that Morgan couldn’t sign.”

Morgan wiggled the nose and grabbed a sharpie from the register. She grabbed Spencer’s arm and signed her name, making a heart out of her M. “There. A masterpiece!” she laughed.

“Thanks. One down, forty-nine to go,” Spencer smiled to himself.

“Whatever,” Jon rolled his eyes, “get to work, you two.”

Spencer clocked in and went to his register. He had to get those signatures. He had to get that dinner with Jon. He wouldn’t allow himself to let this pass.