Free My Own Worst Frenemy by Kimberly Reid

right before I started Langdon.”
    â€œI noticed you have a faint tan line there.”
    â€œHow do you know it wasn’t a watch?”
    â€œSee?” I just realize I’ve reached out and touched him where the bracelet used to be. My face grows hot and I pull my hand back. “The size of the band is uniform all around your wrist. No watch face. And the line is too thin to be a man’s watchband, anyway.”
    â€œThat’s crazy. You’re pretty observant.”
    Now he thinks I’m a freak, one who stares at his wrists.
    â€œI just pick up on things around me, that’s all.”
    â€œWell, I don’t pick up on things like that. Most people don’t. But that’s cool, like ESP or something. Kind of special.”
    I am the least special person I know, so I don’t know whether he’s trying to make me feel better about being a freak, or if he really believes what he’s saying. But the way he’s looking straight into me makes me know he believes it. He thinks I’m special.
    â€œThe clues are there for everyone to see, I just notice them when others don’t. More like being a detective than having ESP.”
    â€œWell, however you do it, maybe you can help me solve the case of the missing friendship bracelet.” His phone beeps and he pulls it from his pocket, quickly reads a text, and puts it away again. “I need to find it soon because I’ve run out of excuses to give my girlfriend. That’s the umpteenth time she’s asked if I found it yet.”
    Of course there’s a girlfriend. There always is. I don’t want him to see my disappointment, so I just go back to my application and hope he doesn’t notice I hadn’t even filled in my name yet because I was too busy checking him out.
    After we finished the applications, Paulette, the office manager, shows us around the warehouse. I’m wondering how she can work around a bunch of guys all day wearing a low-cut slinky dress and still get respect, but somehow she does. Every guy we pass calls her Miss Paulette and shows great restraint by looking at her face and not her cleavage. There isn’t much to see on the tour—the storage area, the loading dock—all of it kind of dark and gloomy. The ceiling in the warehouse is so high that the lights up there don’t seem to make it down to ground level. It smells of wood palettes and diesel fuel. It’s hard to imagine Lissa or her brother anywhere near this place. I can see why Mr. Mitchell is so disappointed. He knows it ain’t ever gonna happen.
    The interview turns out not to be one, really. Back at the administrative area, Paulette tells us we have the jobs and she wants to team us with an experienced mover. She makes a call and a minute later, a guy shows up at the door.
    â€œMalcolm, I’d like you to meet Marco and Chantal, your new team. They’ll be starting with us this weekend.”
    It’s an understatement to say Malcolm does not look thrilled to meet us. When Marco extends his hand, Malcolm just looks at it until Marco gives up. I guess Malcolm isn’t as impressed by formality as Mr. Mitchell. He greets my “Nice to meet you, call me Chanti” with silence. The only movement from him is his left hand. He has it down at his side, but he’s holding what looks like a ball of modeling clay or Play-Doh. He presses his thumb into it until it begins to squeeze through his fist, then shapes it into a ball again, all with one hand. He does this over and over. It reminds me of Lenny and his mouse in Of Mice and Men. Eeek.
    â€œMalcolm’s a little quiet,” Paulette explains.
    Malcolm’s also a little weird.
    â€œHe’s been with Mitchell’s for years, but just came back after a short break, right, Malcolm?”
    â€œI liked my old team,” Malcolm says.
    â€œWe discussed that Malcolm. When you went . . . on your break, we had to team them with