Hat Check

The uniform hat was ridiculous. Bright yellow with 'SANDWICH SQUAD' embroidered across the front, it sat three inches above my actual head like a neon sign announcing my social demise.

'You look like a traffic cone,' my best friend Riley had observed helpfully earlier that morning.

'I need this job,' I'd muttered, staring at my reflection. 'My mom's been on my case about saving for a car.'

Now, standing behind the concession counter at Beach Point, my palms were sweating through my latex gloves. The lunch rush was about to hit, and the ancient television mounted in the corner—which was supposed to be playing surfing videos to attract customers—had decided this was its moment to retire. The coaxial **cable** dangling uselessly from the wall mocked me.

'Hey, sandwich kid.'

I looked up. It was Jordan from my English class, the one who sat in the back row and never spoke, but somehow managed to make everything look effortless. They were wearing a faded **hat** pulled low over their eyes, and I felt a weird pang of jealousy.

'The TV's broken,' Jordan said, sliding onto a stool at the counter. 'You need help?'

'I don't know anything about TVs,' I admitted. 'I was hoping nobody would notice.'

Jordan hopped off the stool. 'My dad's an electrician. I've been rewiring stuff since I could walk.'

They climbed onto the counter with surprising grace, and I watched, slightly terrified, as they fiddled with the **cable** connection. I stood frozen below, my **palm**s suddenly very interested in the counter's edge. What if Jordan fell? What if they made it worse? What if—

The TV flickered to life.

'See?' Jordan jumped down, dusting off their hands. 'Easy.'

'Thanks,' I said, genuinely surprised. 'I thought I was going to get fired on my first day.'

'Nah.' Jordan adjusted their **hat**, grinning. 'By the way, cool uniform. Really commits to the bit.'

I laughed before I could stop myself. 'My mom says the yellow brings out my eyes.'

'Your mom knows what's up.' Jordan leaned closer. 'Hey, I'm supposed to be studying at the café later if you want to join. I could use a break from my dad's lecture notes.'

My **palm**s were sweating again, but for a completely different reason. 'I get off at four.'

'Cool. See you then, Sandwich Squad.' Jordan headed toward the water, and I watched them go, something warm and unfamiliar blooming in my chest.

The lunch rush hit five minutes later, and I spent three hours taking orders and trying not to think about Jordan's smile. But when my shift finally ended and I pulled off that ridiculous yellow **hat**, I caught my reflection in the café window as I walked past.

I didn't look ridiculous anymore. I looked like someone who'd survived their first day, made a new connection, and maybe—just maybe—was figuring out who they wanted to be.

The **cable** dangled from the TV behind me, still holding it all together. My **palm**s were dry. And somewhere down the beach, Jordan was waiting.

I quickened my pace.