I nudged Rosa. "You ask him."

She nudged me back so fast that I stumbled to the side. "No, you ask him."

Nudge. "He's more scared of you."

Nudge. "So? You had more shifts with him."

"So?"

"So? You go ask him!"

"No!"

We glared at each other, even though the customer in front of us was staring at us in bewilderment.

"But I'm so curious," I whined, slumping a bit. 

Rosa was made out of pure steel. She tossed her head and crossed her arms. "Well, deal with it."

We both turned to look at the sandy-haired man taking a customer's order, as polite and reserved as he always was. Paul.

Paul hadn't come back to the shop after the Watermelon Incident, even though we'd needed full staff at the restaurant and had been flooded with townspeople. As I'd expected, they had all swarmed to the most public, most gossip-filled place in town: our bar, the famed Winking Pig.

What made the whole thing surrounding Paul even more mysterious was that he called in sick for the next two days. He'd been perfectly healthy the day we'd seen him run off (unless, of course, he was allergic to watermelon skin; if so, I'd totally understand), so it was obviously a lie. Then Rosa and I hadn't had overlapping shifts with him ever since. If I had the afternoon shift, he had the night shift. If I had the night shift, he had the afternoon. Rosa almost had a shift with him, but then Roly (and so Poly) got so sick they barfed all over their floor, so she wasn't able to go in. 

Well, now, we were a week past the whole happening, and if there is anything about me that people need to know, it's that I am a true gossip. To say I was itching to know what in the world that had been about would be a horrible understatement, and an underestimation of my power as a gossip. I needed information, and I needed it now.

And now was the time all three of us were finally on the night shift together, the perfect chance to go and ask him, all casually, all calm-- like it was something not so important that I would lay awake in bed thinking about it. No no, definitely not.

"I can't go ask him, Ro," I sighed, looking his way wistfully. "You don't understand. I'm like a half-rabid dog in sight of a beautiful piece of meat."

She wrinkled her nose. "Okay?"

"If you set me on that poor, fearful Paul, I might scare him away, and where would that put us?" I turned my shining eyes on her. "In the darkness!"

"Don't include me in your shenanigans," Rosa said, backing away. 

I frowned. "What're those?"

"What?"

"That thing you just said. Sheningans?"

"Shenanigans?"

I nodded. "What does that mean?"

"Like, your schemes. Your plans. Your, you know, dastardly deeds."

I made her repeat it for me five more times before I nodded. "Thanks Ro. You know you will never not be part of my shenanigans."

She sputtered. "Is that why you wanted to learn that word?! To use it against me?"

"That's, like, half of my life's goal," I shrugged, grinning. "Besides, admit it. You're curious too, aren't you?"

"Nope, not at all." Rosa shooed me away. "Now go and help that uncle out. You know how he can be."

I looked over to the other side and saw the elderly man who seemed to come every other weekday. If we didn't serve him his jug of beer immediately, he would get hopping mad sometimes that he'd actually and physically go on top of the table and hop around for a good ten minutes. 

A strange sight to see, every single time. Which was quite often, actually-- he did that just last week, when Paul accidentally handed him a less-than-full cup of beer.

"Hey, uncle!" I called cheerily. "Will it be the same for you today?"

He grunted in response.

"Great! Coming right up!"

I poured the beer at just the right angle to keep it from fizzing over the top. I threw a spoon out of my apron pocket with a flick of the wrist, caught it with the same hand, then spun it on my fingers before slamming it down into the cup of beer to make it fizz just the right amount. 

"That good enough for you, uncle?"

Grunt.

"Aww shucks, you don't have to be so flattering," I joked, then laughed at his disgruntled face. "Okay, okay, I'll leave you alone. Just give me a hand if you want anything more, sound good?"

He nodded, and I breezed right back to my original position, checking up on a few more customers on my way. 

Rose came back to the front of the bar counter, too, like I was, looking into the more regularly maintained portion of our place, where round wooden tables scattered across the floor made up the "restaurant" part of the restaurant bar. Paul was stationed there today as a waiter, and he was going around taking orders.

After a few moments of quiet, I sidled up to Rose again. "So, about Paul," I began quietly, and she was already rolling her eyes. "No, listen--"

"I'm not even interested in his business, you know," she whispered.

"Lies!" I cried, causing the nearest customer glance at us again. I lowered my voice. "But that's not what's important. Come on, you're the brave one!"

"No."

"You're the logical one!"

"No. And Fi, you won't convince me with your flattery."

I pursed my lips. Would I really have to ask him myself? But what if I couldn't restrain myself and shoot off one of my theories? My favorite so far had been the one about how Mr. Rowlandson's cow had actually turned into a beautiful female because of Paul, who'd saved her from a previous evil farmer...

The cook passed by us with some boxes of clam in his hand, and offhandedly he said, "Rosa, wait on the tables."

"Got it," she said, and she left me (!!) without a second glance.

"Rude," I muttered under my breath, but watched her and Paul from the counter, a little wistfully.

Illiterate as I was, I couldn't take orders nor read them to cook dishes. Though I sometimes helped the kitchen out back when they were especially busy, usually all I could do was work as a bartender and make drinks, because that didn't need any reading abilities. But this was a town bar, so nobody got anything even remotely interesting except for beer-- and where was the fun in that? Even a little kid would be able to do this: pour beer, slam spoon down, voila. Job well done.

I crossed my arms and stuck out my bottom lip. This was getting boring, real fast, like all the rest of the days I usually worked here. And these days, I was only working here, so there wasn't much really happening in my life. And now Rosa was due to attend the Academy-- she'd have to live at their dorms, probably-- and then I would be even more bored out of my mind. 

"Great," I whined to myself. Aw man, now my mood was--

Wait. I straightened up, immediately alert, eyes busy, ears open. I gasped. Something was happening among the tables! But what?

A loud, clear, female voice rang out amidst the clatter and chatter of this place. "Paul, stop!"

Paul?! I whipped my head around and searched for his shock of sandy hair, and there he was, frozen mid-flight, going pale and then red and pale again in astonishingly fast rates. And right behind him was the girl from last week, with her wavy blonde hair and green eyes.

"Don't go," the girl seemed to be pleading. I couldn't actually hear her anymore, since she had lowered her voice, but that seemed to be the gist of it.

"Girl," rasped the uncle from the other end of the bar.

I cursed. Of course he'd need a refill at just this exciting moment! "Uncle!" I called back, as cheerily as possible, eyes still not leaving the scene. "I'll be right there, just a minute!"

The girl was now stepping towards Paul between the tables, weaving through the chairs and the people sitting on them. She was saying something slowly, her movements smooth and cautious, and Paul-- well, he looked like a rabbit scared out of its wits.

"Girl," the uncle growled, a little louder this time.

"I know, uncle, I know," I answered. "I'm actually getting your drink right here!" I fumbled around for a beer cup from beneath the countertop and felt for a pitcher of beer, too. "See?"

What was Paul doing? What was the girl saying? And where in the world was Rosa at this very important moment of history?!

"I'm sorry!" Paul said, his voice cracking a bit, and then he tore himself from the tables and the girl and ran--towards-- towards--

"Towards me?!" I said aloud incredulously, eyes widening. He was barreling straight towards me, and I scrambled to put back the pitcher of beer in its proper place. "What--"

He zoomed past me as well, however, and from the crashes and clashes I heard, he went right through the kitchen, too.

"Okay, what is really up with that man?" I exclaimed, hands on my hips. "I should've just asked him!"

"Girl!" 

Right! "Uncle!" I said, whipping around smoothly to face him. "I have your refill coming right up, Uncle, and I'll be--" I stopped and gasped.

Uncle hadn't called me because he needed a refill, I realized, he'd called me because he had accidentally poured his beer down his shirt and needed napkins. His entire neckline was now entirely soaked, and since he always wore the same shirt, I suspected the smell of beer wouldn't be leaving his side for at least a month. 

"Oh my goodness, I am so sorry uncle! I thought-- I mean, I actually wasn't thinking, and-- hold on, let me just wipe at that for you."

He let me dab at the shirt with napkins while he sulked, but the moment I was done, he gave me one lasting glare in his seat before he hopped up to the bar counter and started jumping and yelling and flapping his feeble arms.

I winced; but then again, I would've done the same.

Oops.