The Usurpation by Dan White
The Usurpation; Or: How the Honor of Store Location 1293 of the Ragin’ Raccoon Pizza House Franchise was Avenged and Restored to Its Once and Future Champion
—————
“I could’ve been a contender,” Tommy mutters, washing dishes and staring bullets towards the make line. He hears the common gossip around him, swirling in time with the increasingly brackish water, but pays it little mind. He’s focused on Dino—real name Devon Middlebrooks—who’s flipping dough to preposterous heights while managing simultaneously to smile at Carrie—probably on break from Clark’s, or is it Smith & Brown’s?—and making her laugh that sautéed little laugh of hers that used to make Tommy’s stomach flip, long ago when such trivial concerns as love held weight. ‘Dino’, as everyone goes along with, inexplicably, has thus managed the second great feat of his life, elbowing Tommy back to dishes so that he, that curly-haired and greasy-grinned imposter, can prepare for the pizza Olympics: district-wide, next month, all-encompassing, and where Tommy should rightfully be, if there were any justice left in the world. (The imposter and usurper known widely as Dino’s first great feat, of course, being convincing everyone of some ambiguous Italian heritage, which both lead to the ubiquitous nickname and played no small part, certainly, in securing for ‘Dino’ Tommy’s rightful place as champion, despite the fact that, as Tommy certainly knows, the dish that the Ragin’ Raccoon Pizza House takes its name from is, in fact, American. Steve, the indefatigably incompetent Assistant Manager, has at best a tenuous grasp of world geography). Tommy catches the lip of the pot he’s washing on his thumb, right at the intersection of flesh and nail, and only notices when a hint of red drifts in the brown. But! No matter—no time anymore for such trivialities. His destiny has been wrenched from him, stolen by a dull-witted playboy with greasy hair and limited vocabulary. This great offense to righteousness cannot stand.
And it won’t, because all is not lost, he shall carry the day. Devon and his lackey Steve shall know, before the week is up, the true force of Tommy’s being. He’s been practicing his pizza-making, refining that glorious art form in order to storm the ramparts and re-take his throne. Yes, Tommy says aloud as the water begins to spill over the edge of the sink, yes, there is still hope. The war is not lost.
———
“A bowling alley, can you even believe it? I was totally like, what’s your deal dude. I don’t know why I ever said yes anyway” Carrie had said that morning, on the phone while being totally harassed by her sister—does she ever let up?—until their mom, coming, like always, to rescue Sarah the golden child and kicking Carrie out of the bathroom.
“I told you…” was all Rachel had said; Rachel who’s supposedly her best friend but who’s now totally abandoned her, leaving early for college, despite the fact that everyone was staying for the whole summer, but Rachel of course would never tell anyone but really just is so nervous about going to school. It's just so like her to go early. Not even caring that now Carrie has no one at all to talk to about bad dates at a bowling alley, of all places.
And its not like she was going to spend that much longer in the bathroom anyway—even though she totally has the right to, whenever Sarah is getting ready for chess club or whatever it is she does, she takes all the time she wants—because Carrie had found out just last night that Dino was only working until 3 and she of course couldn’t just walk right over there, all obvious like.
And because Sarah was totally lame and whined to her mom, again, Carrie had absolutely no time at all to wear anything cute or stylish and so had to wear the hideous brown-orange uniform that her lame Smith & Brown manager makes everyone wear, and since the mall is so crowded already she won’t even have time to change if she wants to just kinda casually stop by the Raccoon before her shift starts, which is a total drag. Especially because Dino’s been super weird lately (as she tried to tell Rachel) but that’s whatever, he’s definitely into her and not that ex of his with the terrible split ends—whatever her name is, something with an E—as people have been saying, but just to be sure Carrie endured the bowling alley with Fred. Dino will have heard about that by now, definitely.
At the Raccoon Carrie pops her hair up a bit and just kinda lingers and half-smiles towards Dino—he looks positively awesome flipping those disgusting pizzas up towards the ceiling—just close enough to cause distraction, and can see from the corner of her eye the weird kid watching her from the back, the one who was at Fred’s house when they had to stop back there after he’d forgotten his wallet last night. Must be his brother or something. Dino says something that honestly doesn’t make a whole lot of sense but Carrie laughs anyway just enough for Dino to think about her the rest of the day before she leaves to the total bore of working the sales counter.
———
Dino smiles to himself and grins to Carrie and grabs another chuck of dough, all at the same time and all smoothly. She’s totally into him. That’s obvious. Gonna make Emily jealous for sure…and then boom!, she’ll get back with him. Dino’s hands are all grey, like usual, but he doesn’t care cause he’s totally gonna win first prize in the pizza thing Steve was talking about. The whole time he was telling Dino about it, the other day, Tommy was muttering some weird nonsense under his breath or whatever and walking back and forth pretending he was stocking the back. He’s always staring at him, Tommy is. Dino’s pretty sure the kid’s got a crush on Carrie, even though his brother went on a date with her, a date which was definitely just to make Dino jealous. Man these chicks are easy to figure out. Dino keeps telling this to Ryan, his best friend and fellow infielder on the baseball team—Dino at third, Ryan at short, since the fifth grade—but he doesn’t know anything about girls, Ryan, thinks the best way to talk to them is to just come right out and tell them you’re like, into them. Which is totally dumb.
Another tray is flipped and Dino relaxes a second, smiling. Only a few more months of this stupid job before he and his right-hand-man Ryan will be hitting homers for the Central Valley Community College Dragons, only for a year or two, then they’re gonna transfer to State probably, maybe just enter the draft instead, see how it goes. No way Emily’s gonna stay mad, or whatever her deal is, after that. There’s only a few people working this shift, Tommy going at the dishes like a weirdo, glaring at Dino whenever he walks back to take a smoke break. The only good things about working at the Raccoon—besides being the pizza champ—is where it’s at, right at the front so Dino can see all the girls who come in the mall. And they can see him. Plus its got its own exit out to the parking lot, so Dino and Steve can smoke American Spirits—Dino hates em, old man squares, but Steve lets him bum whenever he wants, so it’s whatever—and still be technically on the clock. Dino shakes his head at imaginary Emily. All this focusing on college she’s been on lately is just to get him to get his act together, or whatever it is her mom always says. Yeah, he probably shouldn’t have kissed Carrie Townsend, but hey him and Emily aren’t like engaged yet. Plus she kissed him. Plus he totally stopped it pretty quick.
Dino tosses the square in a puddle and goes back to the front, trying to give a what’s up look to Tommy, just to be cool, but Tommy just glares at him—man that kid is weird—and smacks a pan in the sink. Dino shakes his head and reaches for a new dough tray.
Emily is totally gonna take him back.
———
The ball hits the line, maybe, skimming off and into rusted chain link twenty feet beyond. Fred blinks a nasty little bead of sweat from his eye and thinks it looked close enough to call it in, whatever. Even though it’s only mid-June it’s already August hot, and if the ball was out then it would be just too hot to stay out any longer. The Central Valley tennis team is good, one of the best in the whole West Lakes Region, and Fred’s gotta keep at it before tryouts in the fall. His dad even let him quit his job at the mall in order to have more practice time, even though he’s making Tommy work all summer and Tommy’s only going into Sophomore year. Fred carefully steps over the net and starts gathering balls from the deserted court to feed them back to the machine.
He probably shouldn’t have taken Carrie bowling, Fred realized this morning, but his mom insisted that doing something fun and different would set him apart from the other guys. Guys like that idiot Dino—who, somehow, Carrie probably has a crush on, what with how much she mentioned him the other night. So what, so maybe Ryan was right, Ryan who’d told Fred a week ago that Carrie was ‘only going out with you to get with Dino’. When Fred had wondered—suspiciously—why Ryan would tell him this, Ryan’d said ‘well Dino is really a prick man, if you get to know him’. It was probably worth it just to go on a date with her anyway, although he probably shouldn’t have picked a bowling alley. And, yeah, probably at least should have practiced enough to crack 100.
Fred checks his watch. He’s gotta pick up Tommy again from the Raccoon later, and should leave enough time to shower, because Carrie’s always hanging around there taking hour-long breaks from work. A few weeks ago in the car Tommy was particularly moody, when pressed only saying something about ‘that which is rightfully his being taken by a usurper’, a word Fred had to look up later in his room. Tommy also insisted they stop by the bookstore across the mall from the Raccoon, where he bought something or other—a book, Fred figured—and squirreled it away. Of course Tommy doesn’t know that Fred’s been able to sneak into his bedroom ever since it was his bedroom, Fred’s, back when they were kids—after all, it had been Fred who’d figured out how to jimmy the handle in the first place.
One of his white tube socks keeps slipping down his lower calf, the same way it did last night with Carrie, which wouldn’t have been an issue except that Fred didn’t think not to wear his bowling shorts, and she seemed to especially notice them, in a way that somehow didn’t seem good. Carrie’s really something, but to be honest Fred really wanted to ask out Emily. Emily who, besides still being Dino’s girl—according to Dino, anyway—is so far outta his league that Fred couldn’t even think about it. Ah well. He loads up the automatic ball machine and sets the timer, hustling back to the opposite baseline.
Tommy’s book, Fred eventually found out, is called The Prince, which Fred had only vaguely heard of and which seemed odd for a 15-year old dishwasher to buy. Fred lets a few balls go by and then re-focuses, hitting two before the racket flies out of his hand and the next ball catches him flush in the gut. That’s probably enough for today.
———
One’s own mind is the hardest to penetrate. This has never been clearer to Emily than it is now, reflecting on her utterly absurd ‘relationship’ with that ignoramus and his perpetually dough-caked fingernails. It’s simply inconceivable—looking back as she folds indecipherable garments designed for the top-heavy youth she now no longer shares a school with—that she was ever his main babe as Dino so lovingly liked to put it. A teenage heart, Emily knows, is a fickle and naive beast, and this rationalization is her only solace. Her parents seemed to have known the whole time, in fact Emily herself knew, more or less, that it was a fruitless endeavor, but she went along with it, with him. But no more—Dino and his many underachievements can stay in that middling community college; Emily has a prestigious university across the country to look forward to, an oasis of nineteenth century poetry and men in possession of both sophistication and collared shirts. A welcome change indeed.
Smith & Brown’s is busy, the summer releasing all her restless peers, and everyone who has an off day from their jobs at the mall go to the mall to spend it. She folds on, stoic and ignoring the freshman staring at her. And to think! he actually made out with that…that harlot Carrie Townsend. Emily only found out through that most unsavory of channels, mall gossip. Always chasing every girl’s boyfriend around the halls of their school, mobilizing her group of plastic, overly make-up’ed friends to harass anyone they so hilariously looked down upon. Pitiful, really.
Emily’d seen Fred outside the Raccoon, been able to spot him despite her quickened pace to avoid Dino, when she’d arrived to start her shift. Undoubtedly there to pickup that rambunctious younger brother of his, Tommy, the one who’d been going on to Emily the other day in the bookstore about some organized pizza games. Children are so amusing at that age. It was sweet of Fred to look out for his brother like that—Dino certainly never would, even if the Middlebrooks had been brave enough to have another after birthing such spawn as Devon—and Emily thinks, folding away, what a shame it was that he, Fred, had never asked her out. She was sure he was interested, it was so obvious, they all were, but of course she could never make a first move, it simply wasn’t done.
Only another couple of months to go, two more months of the tepid small talk and perfumed clothing that made up this resume-filler of a job and Emily would be free, off to sample esoteric wines and play the coquette with charming upperclassmen. She sighs pleasantly to herself and folds anew—soon all this sophomoric melodrama would be but a teenage memory.
———
“I shall not require dinner,” Tommy says, thundering in through the living room to purge from his being the unseemly method by which he arrived home—once again borne along by his passionless, scatterbrained brother in a car ill-suited for the purpose—as quickly as possible. He hears his mother laugh, as if he were joking. Unfortunately, his well-meaning but feeble-minded parents have no conception of the great task that lay before him.
For Tommy has decided upon his destiny, that he shall take it, just as his heroes have done before him—Alexander, Napoleon, Caesar, and, above all, Rick ‘Rocky’ Rococo, the legendary founder of the Ragin’ Raccoon Pizza House and, it is said, the fastest pizza-maker of all time. Tommy swiftly closes the door and switches on the boombox he inherited from milquetoast Fred, again choosing Beethoven’s Seventh, both to cover the sounds of his preparation and to provide him with further inspiration.
Tommy carefully slides the bookstore shopping bag out from under his bed with a terrible crunch of cheap plastic. He removes his book—it almost appears to have been tampered with, but Tommy’s been prone to slight bouts of paranoia during the crafting of great schemes—and thumbs through it. The words of Machiavelli reach out to him, that great statesman to whom Ms. Anderson, his suitably fetching third period World History teacher, introduced him. Tommy shall soon cement his own titles; Prince of his own dominion—Store Location 1293 of the Ragin’ Raccoon Pizza House franchise—champion pizza maker and true Olympian.
Tommy retrieves from his impenetrable hiding place his copy of The Prince, rapidly thumbing the supple pages like fresh dough, and sets it aside. From inside his pillowcase he takes the supply of dish rags he’s gradually, with great and skilled clandestinity, purloined from the general and inscrutable affairs of his mother’s kitchen in order to practice his dough-flipping technique. The ceiling bears the noble scuffs of occasional flips of great vigor. His wrists, expert in their machinations, snap furiously as Tommy ponders immense subjects; his Olympian future, a possible physical resemblance, in both carriage and visage, between Ms. Anderson and Carrie the Smith & Brown’s sales girl, and, most of all, his surefire and majestic plan of vengeance.
After a full year building up the strength of his position at the Ragin’ Raccoon Pizza House—a year which has seen him matriculate into that den of myopathy and vice, Central High School, crawling with seemingly endless clones of the thick-skulled Devon, feebly attempting to harass him at every turn—Tommy knows the time has come to finally and truly assert himself. For if not now, when? Devon, Usurper and Fool, enjoys carrying on to any dullard who’ll listen of his ‘plans’ to attend the Central Valley Community College, on some dubious athletic venture no less, but it is of course clear that no credible institution of higher learning would have him, regardless of whatever supposed merit he may bring to the baseball diamond. No, it is all too clear that Tommy must take back his spot on the Pizza Olympic Team, for if he fails, Devon Middlebrooks shall be a continuous thorn in his side. For the good of the Ragin’ Raccoon, as well as for Tommy’s own honor, he must be stopped.
Devon, that impostor and usurper both, has taken his temporary crown only through vile machinations stemming from his dubious friendship with Steve, who himself has been Assistant Managing without proper oversight ever since the noble General Manager Mrs. Jackson was ‘transferred’ a month ago—an obvious ploy to remove one of Tommy’s powerful allies from the field. But Tommy’s had all week to think, and is certain of his next move. He’ll challenge Devon and take what is his. Finally, after several unsuccessful shifts, he’s received new information—Mr. Vickers himself, the esteemed and fearsome District Manager, will be in the store for his monthly check-in. Although this information came at great personal risk, it was worth it. With a swell of pride as he secures the handle of his bedroom door using the trick only he knows, Tommy once more thinks over his glorious espionage. In an operation of which Machiavelli would surely have approved, Tommy snuck into the back office that is temporarily the domain of Steve, as the rogue Assistant Manager was foolishly distracted by yet another visit from Carrie. A quick moment to deduce his juvenile, mildly licentious password, and Tommy was privy to all the emails he could read in a minute and a half. So there is now no doubt, destiny is at hand. Steve may be in the pocket of that duplicitous baseball buffoon, but tomorrow, oh glorious day, tomorrow, in front of Mr. Vickers and the Fates themselves, Tommy shall strike.
He performs a final toss of great rotational speed and returns the rag to the pillowcase. On his bed, as the Seventh’s Allegretto begins, swelling his breast with pride and conviction, Tommy spots The Prince from where he’d tossed it. The spine has been deeply worn in the weeks he’s had it, and the righteous tome falls open to his favorite page, a sure sign from the Fates. Reading the lines at the steady processional pace of the orchestra, Tommy drinks deeply the most portentous passage.
“I say at once there are fewer difficulties in holding hereditary states, and those long accustomed to the family of their prince, than new ones; for it is sufficient only not to transgress the customs of his ancestors, and to deal prudently with circumstances as they arise, for a prince of average powers to maintain himself in his state, unless he be deprived of it by some extraordinary excessive force; and if he should be so deprived of it, whenever anything sister happens to the usurper, he will regain it.”
He softly closes the book and turns to the window. The sun has almost fully gone down in the western sky, and Tommy, locking eyes with its amber residue, knows that by the time it sets once more, he, and the worthy Raccoon, shall be avenged.
———
At Smith & Brown’s the next morning, Carrie, dragged into the opening shift by her awful manager, drinks a mocha and stares across the mall towards the Raccoon. It is so ridiculous that she had to be up at ten just to go in and help with inventory. She’s definitely never doing this again. Yawning, Carrie flips some lame shirt into a good-enough fold and decides Emily is just, like, weird. That’s what it is. It’s kinda hard to tell sometimes cuz she’s always talking like a teacher or whatever (total putoff) but that’s what it is. People have been saying that Dino is, like, still into her or something but that’s nuts. At lunch, even tho Carrie was only wearing her lame Smith & Brown outfit Dino was just staring at her like, dude hello. Kinda the same way that Fred stared at her in his car, except Dino was even more obvious and way hotter. Emily is definitely just jealous.
Carrie checks her watch and sighs. The watch is the one her dad got her for graduation, and it was totally cool of him until he took her mom’s side in saying that Carrie should still work over the summer. And on top of that she’s got this totally lame Emily getting in her way of Dino.
She still can’t believe she actually went out with Fred. He was just so awkward the whole time (and what was the deal with those socks! Looked like something a grandpa would wear), and if it doesn’t even get back to Dino then what’s the point? Plus, he didn’t say anything, but Carrie knows it was totally his mom’s car that he picked her up in—unless a Senior guy would buy a puke green minivan, which would even be worse.
Emily’s alright looking, Carrie supposes, but it's hard to figure what all the fuss is about—guys are idiots, like Rachel says, and just like whatever looks at them. So Carrie’ll just have to look at Dino a bit more.
Dino is such a good baseball player too, which is way cooler than tennis or whatever it was Fred was droning on and on about. Plus Dino’ll be at the Valley next year too—gooo Dragons!—where Carrie has already made the cheer team, which is pretty much totally unheard of for someone who’s like not even at the school yet. Once he goes pro Carrie definitely won’t have to work at Smith & Brown anymore, that’s for sure.
Carrie smiles to her creepy manager Phil, who will definitely let her off early again if she bums a cigarette off him, and takes a Diet Coke from the cooler. Who would ever wanna date that lame Emily anyway, all she ever does is talk about like books and stuff and talks like she’s so much smarter than everyone. Dino was only with her cuz all the other girls at their high school were totally lame, except for Carrie and Rachel of course. But that’s not a problem anymore, cuz Carrie is totally interested and Dino is totally down.
———
But why shouldn’t she, if she wants? There’d really be nothing to it, Emily tells herself, barely audible over NPR as she drives home. Fred, that delightful (if a bit clumsy) young man, has been on her mind for far longer than she’d have thought. Of course it's naturally foolish, to form any sort of attraction for anyone, really, this close to leaving for college, but then so what? Emily’s never given in to those foolhardily impulses that her peers seem to substitute for oxygen, in fact has never done anything foolish at all, really, save for dating that enormous brute and his obsession with baseball. But of course even Emily is prone to lapses of judgment, on occasion.
And while it would certainly be short-term only—Fred is staying to go to the same middling community college that Devon is, after all—it might be good for her, she reasons as she pulls through the half-moon driveway, to have some dating experience that isn’t with a marinara-stained fool before she leaves for university. She walks through the double doors into the foyer and up the stairs to her room. No one is home yet, of course, and so she has plenty of time to get a bit of writing done in her journal before supper.
Fred is nice, if a bit bashful, and he certainly would offer a bit more sophistication than Devon and his preferred date night, cheap burgers and juvenile films at the decrepit, discount cinema. In her younger years, of course, Emily never would have dreamed of asking a guy out herself, but she’s beginning to suspect that her mother may in fact be correct when she says that Emily should develop a bit more assertiveness before leaving for school. Truly, what better way to start? She folds her uniform neatly and places it on the divan, smiling at the mere thought.
The familiar car pulls up in the drive and Emily is suddenly resolved; she’ll go downstairs and tell her mother what she’s decided. Tomorrow, after her shift, Emily will step firmly over to the Raccoon when Fred is so sweetly picking up his younger brother from work, and she’ll ask him to dinner. With any luck, Devon will be there, greasy and unkept, to watch his past walk away.
———
These chicks, man, they’re all sorts of crazy. Both, like, generally and about Dino, Dino thinks to himself as he gets in his totally sick sky blue 2005 Pontiac G6 GT and the music kicks right back up. Carrie stopped to chat him up or whatever again at the end of his shift today and Dino was totally cool about it but she was just kinda goin’ nuts, asking about Emily and whatnot. She must think they’re like together or something, even though it was pretty obvious that they were just havin’ a good time. But whatever, all he needs is to keep her interested a bit longer and then boom! Emily is gonna be right back in the awesome grey fabric passenger seat helping him switch lanes on account of the mirror that Ryan knocked off with a foul ball last semester.
Tommy’s so weird man, the type of kid who probably has some nun chucks or some stuff. Gotta watch out for him. Dino’s gotta keep his rocket right arm clean for the Dragons’ third base, after all.
The G6’s still warming up, so Dino just grins out the window at whatever extra nice ladies happen to walk by—just to make their day, of course—Emily’s still his main girl, even if she’s been goin’ on with that nonsense about them breaking up. But man that Carrie was one fine kisser.
Steve’s Grand Prix rolls through the little mini stop sign across the parking lot—that’s another thing they got in common, besides the squares and the affinity for the ladies, Pontiacs rule—and Dino gives him a little half wave. Steve was saying something about the big boss man coming’ tomorrow, but whatever, ain’t no skin off Dino’s back, he’s just the pizza champ. Steve can deal with that.
The G6 is ready to rock so Dino turns the volume up again and rolls over the first speed bump. Any day now, Emily is gonna walk back down all hot to the Raccoon to talk to Dino. He grins and peels out of the parking lot. Any day now.
———
It's really not fair that Fred is the one who has to sit through dinner with his parents while Tommy gets to hang out in his room alone. His mom has spent the whole time bugging him about his brother and why he hasn’t come to dinner the whole week, which who knows? Today in the car Tommy slammed the sliding door open and barely said anything the whole ride. Dad thinks it's about a girl, but Fred’s never heard Tommy talk about a girl, not like that anyway. He does stare at Dino a lot, Fred’s noticed, but he’s pretty sure Tommy likes girls, and besides the way he stares at Dino is more of a weird hate way than a crush-having way. Fred would never stare at Carrie that way, for sure.
He clears the plates and sets them in the sink. He can hear that music coming from Tommy’s room again, that classical stuff that Fred’s never really listened to before. His mom says it's all just a phase, but Fred was never in a phase like Tommy. His dad thinks Tommy’s crazy, but that’s not it, either. Well, Fred thinks as he sprays Aquamarine Dawn wildly around the sink, the suds making little bubbles in front of him, he’ll probably find out tomorrow. Of course Tommy was going on about how tomorrow would be ‘a day of great reckoning’, whatever that means, so who knows.
And tomorrow, Fred has decided, he’s going to ask out Carrie again, if she comes to the Raccoon, which she will. For a second date. His mom’s right, after all—if she was interested enough to go on the first date, which she was, and they had a nice enough time, which they did, there’s no reason to think she wouldn’t be interested in a second date as well.
And screw Dino, who’s been hinting that he’ll beat Fred up if he tries anything with Carrie. They’re not in high school anymore, and Fred isn’t afraid of Dino or his idiot baseball pals. Fred graduated and he’s his own man now, and if Carrie’s interested then he’s gonna give it a shot. Tomorrow will be a great day indeed.
———
A feeble yawn tries to take his throat but Tommy doesn’t relinquish an inch, even though he’s been up since well before the dawn. He shall yield to nothing, not biology and not the evil scheming of the Imposter and Usurper Devon. Now is not the time for blurry minds or timid hearts, now is the winter of his discontent, and now is the time for Tommy to take back what is his.
The whole shift has been totally dragging, and Carrie needs to get outta here, like, yesterday. She only saw Dino for like a second yesterday but she knows he’ll be around when she gets off, cuz his shift ends an hour after hers. Just enough time to get totally cute before she heads over.
Emily’s funny little car was in the parking lot and Dino totally parked right next to it, so she’s definitely working today. Today feels like an awesome one, and Dino’s pretty sure Emily’s gonna come by later. Plus Steve’s been off his case even more than usual cuz that District dude is coming in, so Dino can probably even split early. Probably with Emily, Dino thinks, grinning as his shift winds down.
Dino is such a plebeian. Emily took lunch in her car, to avoid the gossip of course, and that disgusting car of his was parked right next to her own. He’s so absurd it’s ridiculous. That settles it, Emily is certainly going to ask Fred out later. Dino can suffer a bit, too.
It rains, thank heaven, so Fred can’t practice tennis. That’s good because he’s been super nervous all day about talking to Carrie later and what if she’s not there and he has no idea what to wear. Gotta look cool, but also like he’s not trying. Fred glances up and realizes on top of everything else, he’s now late.
———
Stately, plump Mr. Vickers has descended from his lofty District headquarters and made the requisite inspections of Store Location 1293, as Tommy has watched, scrubbing dishes and biding time. The moment draws upon him, and The Prince runs through his mind as his hands, steady amidst the suds, work carefully to avoid a tragic injury. Steve, obsequious and bumbling as he is, nonetheless manages to hurl a few insults Tommy’s way. No matter, that is of little import now. Tommy strides boldly up to Mr. Vickers, announcing his presence and pushing Dino aside.
Emily clocks off efficiently and walks collectedly across the mall. She can see Carrie Townsend, the harlot, ahead of her, and sighs in pity and disgust. It’s so blithely obvious, and even a touch sad, the way she hangs on every monosyllabic word Dino manages to grunt out. Even now, in front of the crowd that’s seemed to gather around the front of the Raccoon, she’s painfully transparent. No matter, Emily assures herself as she comes to the front of the store, no reason to bother with either of them. After all, Fred should be stopping by to pick up that rambunctious brother of his.
He nearly trips over the entrance but Fred manages to make it to the Raccoon, only to hear his brother, unmistakably, almost shouting at what Fred’s pretty sure is his boss. As he walks up he sees Emily, of all people, standing around by the Raccoon. Fred was definitely not really ready to be seen by her. And of course Carrie is hanging out, too, with Dino. Fred safely stands at a distance.
Carrie tosses her hair and smiles. There’s Dino, so hot, laughing at that weirdo kid. He’s actually trying to challenge Dino to some lame contest which is so dumb but Dino is totally gone win anyway. And Emily, stuck up as ever, can just deal. Carrie smiles at Dino. He’s all hers.
That Tommy man, what is his deal, total freak. A pizza challenge! But hey, it's all copacetic. Emily finally showed up—was only a matter of time. Dino will totally do it. Plus maybe her and Carrie will get in a fight over him too. That’d really be something to stick it to the guys with.
Mr. Vickers seems confused, but, great man that he is, only for a moment. Tommy nonetheless reiterates, in a forceful yet solemn tone that doubtless carries clear across the Ragin’ Raccoon Pizza House threshold to the ears of the assembled populous, including for some reason his tedious brother. He locks eyes with District Manager Vickers. “I repeat, Sir, I hereby challenge Devon Middlebrooks—you may know him by the preposterous pseudonym of ‘Dino’—to a formal pizza-making duel.” He looks at Devon, grinning stupidly. “Winner take all.” Tommy throws his shoulders back and awaits.
Fred’s little brother really is quite odd, Emily thinks, as Fred himself comes up and stands a conspicuous distance away from her. He’s so amusing, even if his timidity can be a bit much. Hopefully this amusing little tyrant defeats Devon in whatever it is they’re doing.
Carrie can’t stop laughing at the little weirdo yelling at Dino and their boss about some pizza challenge thing.
Right honorable Mr. Vickers, naturally steeped in the customs of The Ragin’ Raccoon Pizza House, indicates that Tommy, as the challenger, should go first. He steps to the line and selects the choicest mound of dough, casting a swift glance at his brother. The moment has arrived, and Tommy, focusing at a Machiavellian level, moves with a grace that will surely be talked about for years to come, setting a nearly impossible time of 3:29 for five large pepperonis. He can see his imbecile brother, not even aware of the momentousness of what has just occurred, staring like a goat at that girl Emily in the large crowd. Tommy steps back from the line to make room for Devon’s folly as the Fates smile.
Dino totally could’ve crushed this little dude’s time, and totally would’ve but man, it’s tough to concentrate with Emily standing right there. He slaps his way through the line, but this is no baseball. And as he rushes the last pizza and spills a jug of red sauce all over Carrie it occurs to Dino that maybe this pizza games nonsense isn’t all that cool, anyway. Whatever, he’s still the man. Emily’s definitely gonna take him back still.
How wonderfully poetic everything has turned out, Emily smiles and thinks to herself, as Carrie begins her screaming and Dino the fool, apparently impressed with himself, nods nonsensically. Perhaps it is a bit uncouth to enjoy seeing Dino and his tawdry girlfriend in such a state, but Emily does nonetheless. She steps towards Fred. This is surely a proper time to offer congratulations by way of a tasteful dinner offer. His little brother laughs mischievously in the center of the store. How amusing children are at that age!
Fred, so embarrassed that Emily seems to be coming over to him that he can barley breathe, instead just kinda stares at Carrie, shrieking at the marinara dripping from her hair, screaming for a bathroom. It’s hard to remember why he wanted to go out with her in the first place.
Tommy surveys the spattered scene with the steady countenance of a righteous Prince. Eyes somber, he graciously accepts Mr. Vickers’ official reinstatement of him to the Pizza Olympic Team, a certain outcome after his immense skills—and Devon’s total idiocy—become so clear to all. The make line is calm once more, the hungry subjects forming their queue. Tommy’s shift over, he shakes the firm leadership of Mr. Vickers’ hand and walks towards his brother, astoundingly ignorant of the interest this Emily has in him. In a gesture of magnanimity befitting the greatest of Princes, Tommy invites Emily to join them in their ride home. Fred, stumbling over his very nature, seems pleased. Tommy lets them get a few paces ahead and turns back for a final look at the scene of his glorious return. He shall be back tomorrow, but for now, the Ragin’ Raccoon Pizza House Store Location 1293 can rest easy, back under the benevolent hand of the one true champion.
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Dan White is a recent graduate of the M.F.A. Creative Writing program at Otis College in Los Angeles and is at work on his first novel. He is currently a Fellow at Stony Brook University's BookEnds program for the 2020-2021 year. He has one previous publication, a short story featured in the Spring 2019 issue of the Tulane Review. A Chicago ex-pat, he has lived in Long Beach, California for six years, where he frequents the beach to hide from writer’s block.