Why Should I Be a Magical Girl? I'm Overworked As It Is! — Chapter 10: The Aftermath

It wasn’t until Carmen was walking to her car, replaying the cashier’s face—hands shaking, voice cracking, just take it—that she thought about returning the weed killer. Originally, she’d figured it was hers, maybe she could resell it.

She’d earned it. But the thought soured. She knew what happened to teenagers working registers when inventory didn’t match. What if his boss checks the cameras? He’d said they were strict. If Carmen were an asshole and a strict boss, she’d check to make sure the only employee working the register didn’t leave the store unattended.

She sighed, turned around, and walked across the street, avoiding the sectioned-off park crawling with government officials.

They hadn’t closed down the shops. She rolled her eyes.

The bell to the garden shop chimed when she entered. The same kid was behind the counter.

“Hey,” Carmen said, setting the used jug on the counter. “You should mark this as returned.”

He was shocked.

“Thank you?”

“Don’t mention it,” Carmen said, and meant it in the literal sense too.

Carmen drove back in silence, but with her music turned all the way up.

Earlier, Shuli had disappeared, claiming she was bored and had better things to do, after putting cat hair all over the boxes. Marvin was pissed, trying to figure out who snuck in a cat. Carmen lied and said the hair on her pants probably came off from the boxes.

Maya raised an eyebrow, then proceeded to back Carmen up by putting on a demonstration of how easily the fur transferred because their pants were black. Marvin made a face like he sucked on a lemon and let Carmen go.

While Marvin’s back was to Maya, Maya motioned at Carmen and mouthed, “Text me.”

Now, Carmen was almost home. She just had to find a parking spot, then get to the elevator. Today was supposed to be her lucky day: free food, a boba treat, and no sushi job. She expected to get home before the evening, and relax.

Instead, every muscle in her body ached. She really started feeling the pain toward the end of her shift.

When she finally made it through the front door, she peeled off her clothes, threw them into the laundry pile, watched it tip over and fall, shrugged, put on her pajamas, not caring that it wasn’t even nighttime, and dropped onto the couch with a cup of instant chicken-flavored ramen and the TV remote.

The TV had a diagonal crack through the bottom corner of the screen, a souvenir from a move two apartments ago, but the picture worked fine. She turned it on, surprised to find it on the news channel, and choked on a dehydrated pea that hadn’t fully cooked in the microwave.

“—breaking coverage out of the park square, where what witnesses are calling a ‘giant plant creature’ caused significant property damage before being neutralized by an unidentified individual.”

The anchor cut to footage of a jittery, sideways video. The person who filmed kept moving the camera, focusing on non-relevant objects. Another clip showed someone’s thumb taking up half the frame. The dandelion monster was in them, but it was hard to make out.

Then the third clip showed a blur in a yellow-and-black uniform diving out of the way of a swinging plant limb.

The video slowed down and zoomed in.

Carmen’s face went red in embarrassment. The roll she did that felt like a badass move, looked less like a combat roll and more like an inflexible person tripping and trying to play it off as intentional.

Carmen slurped her noodles and did not comment.

“Witnesses describe a fast-food uniform, though officials say without a visible name tag or logo, the identification may be difficult.”

A reporter was standing outside a gardening shop showing a sign in the window: SOLD OUT OF ALL ORGANIC WEED-B-GONE.

She walked in, the camera following her, and showed the shelf that had held the jugs was completely bare, except for the non-organic items.

“The local business owner says he's proud his product played a role in today's events.”

The shop owner, a man Carmen had never seen before in her life, beamed into the camera. “We've always said organic works better,” he said. “Today proved it. Plus, it’s good for the environment ya know.”

The segment cut again. This time to the cashier. He was being described by the reporter as “the young employee being hailed online as a quiet hero, both for supplying the product during the crisis, and for making sure it was properly returned and accounted for afterward.”

Carmen stared at the screen, then huffed out a laugh. Because what the fuck was that?

The news report rolled onto a group of people sobbing dramatically in front of the ruined statue, wailing “WHYYYY” to the sky. A woman stood in front of a sedan crushed nearly flat, tearfully explaining she'd started a fundraiser, “for the car, and also emotional damages.” Finally, the reporter went live from outside Max’s Burgers, commending the restaurant and the workers for their bravery in prioritizing their customers over themselves. 

They cited it as an example of great customer service.

“—many believe the hero may work or live in the immediate area, given the proximity of the attack, but a uniform shared by dozens of fast food chains has made pinpointing an exact business difficult—”

“Well, would you look at that. You’re famous,” Shuli said, while sitting on the armrest.

Carmen startled and threw her fork. “How did you get in here?! HOW?”

Carmen stood up, whirled around on Shuli, and quickly regretted it. Her lower back seized up in protest. She hissed, “Ow. Ow, okay.”

“You should take up yoga,” Shuli offered helpfully.

“How did you get in? I locked the window.”

Shuli sat up a little straighter, looking faintly pleased with herself.

“I became visible.”

Carmen stared at her.

“I sat outside your door and meowed until your landlord came to check on the noise. Very convincing, if I do say so myself. He let me in, assumed I was yours. He mumbled something about how he is now charging you an additional pet fee with extra charges since you never disclosed getting a cat.” She paused. “Also, I'm on the lease now.”

There was a very long silence.

“You’re what.”

“On the lease.”

“You don’t have a job, Shuli, how are you going to help me pay a pet fee? You got added to my lease without my consent—”

“I’m a guardian entrusted with protecting the balance of the natural world, I don't think landlords typically require proof of income from that—”

“THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT THEY REQUIRE, THAT IS THE ONE THING THEY REQUIRE—”

Carmen lunged at Shuli, who dodged and landed on the floor.

“I don’t understand why I’d even have to help you pay. I mean, none of my fellow cats pay rent.”

“Ow, ow, ow.” Carmen winced, lowering herself to the couch.

“You were watching TV earlier, weren’t you?”

Shuli said, “I had to entertain myself somehow. What better way than to find out what’s going on in the world. Staying informed is very important you know.”

Carmen’s head dropped back against the couch cushion and she stared up at the water-stained ceiling like it might offer her a way out of this conversation, or possibly her life.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered. “I fought a monster for free today, and the thing that’s actually going to bankrupt me is a cat that isn't even real.”

“I’m extremely real. That’s sort of been the whole issue.”

“I’m really stuck with you aren’t I? You aren’t going to leave me alone.”

Shuli said, “I’m not.”

Carmen didn’t have the energy to argue further. She grabbed her phone, lifted her feet to lay them across the sofa, dangling them from the edge, and started reading the next chapter of the last web novel that she left off on, zoning out as Shuli droned on about how she needed some type of stimulation while Carmen was at work.

Carmen didn’t want to waste the rest of her day. This was future Carmen’s problem to think about.

When Shuli floated the wand onto Carmen’s lap, Carmen swatted it off and let it clatter to the floor without putting her phone down.