“You two are looking at those old people?” Sasha asked and I nodded. “They sure don’t look happy.”
Sharika looked Sasha up and down as if she’d intruded on some private conversation. And, in Sharika’s mind, Sasha was. Sometimes Sharika read about drama; other times, she created her own. She was either an actress or the ringmaster.
“So, what do you think, Dawn,” Sharika asked. “I think they look angry about something.”
“I guess so,” I said. “But how is that an emergency?”
“Well, after what happened in the bathroom the other day, I don’t want any drama up in here,” Sharika said. “Lord only knows what those two have going down.”
I watched as the pair exchanged angry glances again. A teenager sitting directly in the line of fire got nervous and moved to a different table.
“What, you think she slept with one of his friends? He stole her money? Come on, they’re old. It’ll pass,” I said.
“But I don’t want it to pass in her
e,” Sharika said. “The county already thinks we’re a joke. The last thing we need is another fight. And I was reading this book like last month about an old couple who got into a fight in an animal hospital and—”
“I don’t think we have anything to worry about,” I offered. “And if you really think it’ll be a big deal, I’ll speak to Mrs. Harris on my way out. How about that?”
“I guess that’ll work,” Sharika said and I turned in time to see her cutting her eyes at Sasha again.
“Wonderful. Hey, Sasha, why don’t you go and wait in the car for me.” I handed Sasha the car keys. “I need to check something on my computer really quickly before we go.”
“That’s fine.” Sasha took the keys and smiled at Sharika. “Great meeting you.”
“Yeah, the pleasure was all mine,” Sharika said vacantly.
After Sasha walked out, I pulled Sharika by the arm into the back room.
“What was this about?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“What I mean is that I call in to take a personal day and you say there’s an emergency and it’s just Mr. Lawrence and Mrs. Harris giving crazy eyes across the room? That’s not an emergency.” I held up my hand signaling to a girl who’d just walked up to the counter to wait a minute until we came out. “And then, what was all of that with Sasha?”
“What did I do to Ms. Thang?”
“You weren’t exactly nice to her, Sharika,” I said.
She looked away.
“What? What’s going on with you?” I asked.
Sharika cowered in a way I’d never expect from her. Her hands fell to her sides.
“Is something wrong?”
“It’s nothing,” she mumbled. “I just wanted your opinion was all. . . . I know it’s probably stupid and I—”
“What is it? Spit it out!”
She looked at me and reached into her pocket.
“Here,” she said, handing me a sheet of thick, white paper.
“What’s this?”
The letterhead announced that the letter was from the University of Illinois.