Brighter Than the Sun, page 4
When we show up at our usual table carrying our trays, Camila and Olivia are already sitting there. They both have salads and bottles of water in front of them, but it doesn’t look like they’ve started eating yet.
“We were starting to think you weren’t coming,” Olivia says as we sit down across from them.
“Just had to run out to my car,” Ari answers. “Where’s everyone else?”
Camila shrugs, as if to say that she has no idea.
“So, is it true?” Olivia asks, leaning over the table toward me.
“Uh… is what true?” I ask.
“That you’re moving into Ari’s house?”
I sneak a quick glance at Ari, who smiles vaguely at me.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m gonna start working at Wallen’s, so—”
“What’s it like working there, Ari?” Camila interrupts me. “Do you like it?”
“Yeah,” she answers. “They’re pretty decent.” Ari began working at the store last spring, right around the time when the career counselor at our school started spreading panic about college applications, and scholarships, and tuition costs. She doesn’t talk much about it, but I know every penny she makes is going into her college fund.
“Maybe I should apply for a job there,” Olivia says with a long sigh. “I’m sick of working at the café.”
Camila turns sharply toward her. “I thought you liked the café.”
“I’ve never liked the café,” Olivia says. “Are you kidding me? I’m only in it cause the tips are good.”
“Well, if you want a sales position, you’re gonna have to wait until the holidays,” says Ari. “They’re only hiring for the warehouse right now.”
“You’re working in the warehouse, then?” Camila asks me.
“Yeah. I applied for a million other jobs, but in the end this was the only offer I got.”
Olivia purses her lips. “I kinda envy you, actually. Customer service sucks. Like, sucks. So at least you won’t have to deal with annoying customers.”
“Yeah,” I say. “That’s true.”
Before any of us can say anything else, Ana María, Tony, and Simon—Tony’s best friend—approach our table, and we all turn toward them.
“What are we talking about?” Tony asks as he sits down on Ari’s other side.
“After-school jobs.”
“Oh.” His face turns into a grimace. “I don’t know how you guys do it. I can barely find time to do homework.”
Ana María rolls her eyes at him. “Well, maybe if you didn’t play video games all afternoon, you’d have time for homework and a job.”
“Nah, not worth it.”
“Maybe I should get a job,” Camila says. “You know, make some extra money for going out and stuff.”
Olivia nods quickly. “My life changed when I stopped having to ask my parents for money to get my nails done.”
I don’t have to say anything else, because soon enough everyone is talking loudly, and the conversation quickly shifts to the house party they all went to on Saturday.
“So,” Ari whispers to me after a while. “How was your weekend?”
“Weird,” I reply. I can’t bring myself to say any more than that—can’t bring myself to tell Ari about the look on Diego’s face when I broke the news to him that I was leaving, the bitterness in Luis’s voice during dinner on Friday, or the conversation I had with Papi this morning.
Somehow, though, Ari seems to understand. Even without saying a single word, I know that she can see right through me.
“It’ll all be okay, you know?” she says.
I try to smile at her, but my smile won’t come out. The truth is, I can’t stop thinking about the conversation we were all having barely a few minutes ago. I can’t stop thinking about the fact that, even though Ari and I aren’t the only ones who have after-school jobs, no one here is working to support their family. No one’s had to leave home in order to start a job, and somehow, realizing that makes me feel just a little more alone than usual, a little more separated from the rest of the table.
When the last bell of the day finally rings, I walk out of school to find Ari waiting for me right outside the front doors.
“Ready to go?” she asks me.
I nod, even as a wave of anxiety sweeps through me. There’s something about meeting Ari out here that reminds me of the day she drove me to my interview at Wallen’s a couple of weeks ago, back when I was terrified that I would wreck my chance at getting this job.
“How are you feeling?” she asks me once we get onto the highway and everything starts flashing past us as we speed up toward San Diego.
“Pretty nervous.”
“That’s how I felt before I started,” she says. “But don’t worry, you’ll be great.”
The drive doesn’t take too long. Even with a bit of traffic, we make it downtown in less than thirty minutes, and Ari finds a spot in the underground parking lot.
“Will you be okay on your own?” she asks me as we step out into the soft afternoon sunshine.
“Of course,” I say. “I’ll just do homework.”
“Maybe you could go to a coffee shop, or something.”
Ari has afternoon shifts, but my training won’t start until seven. Still, when she suggested driving up to San Diego together after school, I agreed right away, thinking I’d find a useful way to kill time before heading into the store.
“Yeah,” I answer. “Maybe I will.”
Ari leans in to wrap her arms around me. “Good luck,” she whispers into my ear.
For a moment, I’m frozen, but then I hug her back with all my strength. With my nose buried in her hair, my mind flashes back to when we were younger—to a time when it felt like Ari and I could conquer the world together, when nothing and no one could’ve torn us apart.
“Thank you, Ari,” I say. “For everything.”
“I’ll see you tonight, okay?”
I watch as she turns around and disappears through the front doors of the store, and then I’m left standing all alone in the middle of the sidewalk. There’s a coffee shop just across the street from Wallen’s, but if I’ll be making fifteen dollars an hour, I really shouldn’t waste five of those dollars on a mediocre cappuccino.
I start walking down the street instead, trying to think of somewhere I could wait for a few hours that won’t require spending much money. Back home, I’d be able to find an heladería or a cafetería where I could grab an ice cream or a coffee for less than ten pesos, but one thing is for sure: This place is nothing like Tijuana.
Even though there’s traffic and there are dozens of people walking quickly along the sidewalk, everything feels a little artificial—almost as if I were standing in the middle of a movie set. The sky is too blue, the facades of the buildings along the street too perfectly in harmony. In the back of my mind, I can’t help but feel as though I’m the only thing that’s out of place—the only person here who doesn’t quite belong.
When I reach the corner, I see a park on the opposite side of the street—Horton Plaza Park. I’ve never been here before, but Camila and Olivia used it as the backdrop for a ton of TikTok videos last summer. I recognize the palm trees, the tall sculptures made of silver metal, the amphitheater-like stairs that lead down to an open area where there’s a jet fountain that shoots water up from the ground.
I walk to the park and make my way down the steps. There are a few tables beneath bright green umbrellas, so I go sit at one of them and take out some of my books, eager to get started on all the schoolwork I avoided over the weekend.
The thing is, as hard as I try to focus, it’s almost impossible. I attempt to solve a few problems for trigonometry, but I’m pretty sure all my answers are wrong. I try to read a few pages from the book we’ve been assigned for English this month, but I can’t keep my mind off the anticipation of my first shift. After a while, a group of guys my age comes to sit on the steps behind me, smoking cigarettes and blasting loud music from a speaker, which doesn’t help at all.
By the time 6:50 comes, the sunlight is already dimmer and the air a little chillier. I pack up my schoolbooks and make my way back across the street, toward the entrance of the store.
The woman who interviewed me gave me pretty clear instructions on what to do: Take the escalator down to the basement, turn left, walk past the kitchen appliances department, and wait by the white door that says EMPLOYEES ONLY. She didn’t specify what would happen after I followed all those steps, but I suppose she’s gonna meet me out here.
Sure enough, the instant the time on my phone changes from 6:59 to 7:00, the door swings open, and Helen appears.
“María,” she says. “You’re right on time. Come on in.”
She holds the door open for me to walk through. I hesitate for a second, wondering if this would be a good time to say that my name is actually Sol, but it’s probably too late. She’s been calling me María ever since I sat down for my job interview a couple of weeks ago, and I can’t find the confidence in me to correct her at this point.
Moving my heavy legs forward one at a time, I follow Helen and find myself inside a big room with tall walls that are painted a dull shade of gray. Stark white lights hang from cables in the ceiling, shining down on shelves upon shelves of clothes, each of which is stacked two levels high. Right in front of us is a massive table, around which at least a dozen people are working.
I can’t help but be reminded of the school cafeteria—the bright lights, the open space. The same old dread settles in the deepest part of my stomach, but as I look at the employees gathered around the table, I notice that none of them have even looked up since Helen and I walked in. They’re all just moving their hands quickly, shoving clothes onto hangers, as if we weren’t even here.
“Let me introduce you to Bill, the stockroom manager,” Helen says, leading the way toward a well-built man who has his back to us.
“Make sure you put them in the A spot, but don’t remove the long-sleeved shirts. Those are meant to stay up for another week, so—” He’s speaking so quickly that I have no idea how anyone could keep up with what he’s saying.
“Bill,” Helen says firmly, and he and the two employees he was talking to turn sharply toward us. “This is María, the new hire.”
Bill doesn’t even look at me, but he does let his breath out in a loud sigh, as though he doesn’t want there to be any doubt about how annoyed he is at this interruption. “Get her over to Nick.”
He turns his back on us again and resumes his monologue right where he left off.
Nick turns out to be around my age—maybe just a year older than me. He’s a full head taller than I am, with shaggy blond hair, broad shoulders, and what I can only describe as puppy eyes: big, brown, and kind.
“Nick, this is María,” Helen says.
“Actually, my name is—”
“Nick has been with us for… how long has it been now?”
He smiles. His front teeth are a little cramped, in a way that tells me he never had braces as a kid. “Almost six months.”
“Yes, very well. He knows exactly what needs to be done,” Helen says offhandedly. “I’ll leave you two to get started.”
She walks away, and I’m left standing here awkwardly while Nick gives me an up-and-down stare, as though he’s sizing me up.
“Have you clocked in yet?” is the first thing he asks me.
I rearrange my bag over my shoulder. “Uh… no.”
“Let’s do that first, then. You’ll also need to leave your bag in a locker.”
He turns around and leads the way out the door, across the kitchen appliances section, and toward the elevators.
“I, uh… I should mention something,” I say as I follow him, trying to keep up with his long steps. “My name is not actually María. I go by Sol.”
Nick turns over his shoulder to look at me with narrowed eyes. “Why did Helen call you María, then?”
“Well, my name is María de la Soledad.” Even as I say the word—Soledad—I become aware of an instinct deep down that’s telling me not to say the wrong thing, not to draw too much attention to myself, not to let my guard down.
“Fair enough.” He stops as soon as we reach the elevators and presses the button. The one farthest from us opens right away. “Have you ever worked in a stockroom before?” he asks as the doors close and we start going up.
“I haven’t. But I have waitressing experience.”
“Have you ever worked in retail?” There’s no judgment in his voice. He sounds genuinely curious, and he listens to me intently while I reply, as though what I’m saying is actually interesting.
“Well, no,” I say, remembering the advice Ari gave me before my interview—to always give my answers a positive spin. “But they’re kinda similar, in a way. I… I mean, both jobs require being organized.” I’m sure there were other, smarter things I said to Helen during the interview, but I just can’t remember them right now.
“You already got the job, you know?” Nick says.
“I—I know.”
“So you don’t have to be nervous. I had no idea what I was doing when I first started, and I caught on pretty quickly. Besides,” he says, “I’m your friend. I’m here to help you out.”
He smiles at me, and all of a sudden my shoulders feel a lot looser. The fear in my stomach goes away, and for the first time since I stepped into the warehouse, I’m able to think a little clearer.
“Okay, then,” I say, smiling back. “Friends it is.”
When we get off the elevator on the fourth floor, Nick leads me into the staff room, and he helps me find an empty locker for my bag. Once it’s stowed away, he teaches me how to enter my employee number into a small machine that’s anchored on the wall.
“Rule number one: Never forget to clock in, and never forget to clock out,” he says to me.
“Got it.”
We leave the staff room and start making our way back down to the stockroom.
“What’s rule number two?” I ask.
He purses his lips thoughtfully for a moment. “I haven’t decided yet.”
I let out a small laugh, and he laughs as well, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly. I’m not sure what it is, but there is something comforting about Nick—something that makes me feel as though I’ve known him for a long time, even though we’ve barely just met.
Once we’re back downstairs, his face turns serious again. “We’re a high-volume store, so we get two shipments every day: one in the early morning, and one in the evening,” he says as he keys in a code on the stockroom door and lets us in. “The evening one comes around six. There are people whose job it is to unload the trucks and bring everything in here.” He points at a stack of plastic crates in the corner of the room, which is so big and tall I have a hard time understanding why the store could possibly need two of these deliveries every day. “The morning one comes at four a.m.”
“Is that why I have shifts scheduled at five in the morning?”
“That is exactly it,” Nick says, nodding once. “Now, our job begins by opening the crates. Each one of them is labeled by department. This one, for example, is men’s sportswear.”
He pops the lid open and waves me closer so I can look inside. There are clothes in it—more clothes than I can fit in my closet at home, probably. Nick sticks his arms deep into the crate, hugs the clothes tight against his chest, and carries them over to a corner of the large table where everyone is working—which, I now notice, is in fact made up of a bunch of smaller tables pushed together.
“First thing you gotta do is check the price tag,” Nick says. “If the item’s over twenty dollars—which most things are—you insert a security tag. Then, you place a size sticker on the bottom left corner, put it on a hanger, and sort it in the right rack. You got it?”
“I… I think so?” I hope he doesn’t expect me to try doing all that right away, because I can barely even remember what he just said.
Nick laughs. “Let’s do this crate together. You’ll see what I mean soon enough.”
I watch as he does all the steps, but his hands are moving too quickly for me to fully understand how it’s done. It’s not until after he’s tagged, stickered, hung, and sorted a few items that I start to understand how the process works.
“Try with this shirt,” he says. “Remember to put the tag near the lower hem.”
While I follow his instructions, I sneak a glance up. There are about ten of us gathered around the table, and everyone else’s hands are moving quickly, getting through two or three pieces of clothing in the time that it takes me to insert a single security tag. A few people are also talking animatedly while they work, which makes me wonder how long they’ve known each other, and how friendly they tend to be toward newcomers.
“Perfect! Now grab one of those,” Nick says to me, pointing at a huge pile of hangers that’s sitting at the center of the table.
In the end, the three hours go by more quickly than I expected. Nick is a patient teacher, and soon enough I start to get used to the repetitiveness—check price, insert security tag, hang, sort—even though I’m still hopelessly slow. We finish the first men’s sportswear crate and have barely started on a second one when he tells me that we’re done with training for the night.
“So?” he asks me after I’ve clocked out. “Have I scared you away, or will you be back again tomorrow?”
“Don’t worry,” I tell him. “I’ll be back.”
CHAPTER FOUR
ARI OFFERED TO STICK AROUND AFTER HER SHIFT ended so we could drive to her house together, but I insisted that she didn’t need to. Abuela has always said: Cuando alguien te da la mano, no le cojas el brazo—or, if someone offers a hand, don’t grab them by the arm—and I’m hoping to avoid that with Ari and her mom. They’re already doing plenty by letting me stay at their house, so after I leave the store, I walk alone through the city streets and head straight to the MTS stop at Civic Center to hop on the blue line.
