Chapter Nine: Black Friday Blues

BuyMore had been preparing for Black Friday like it was war.

The staff bulletin board had been overtaken by color-coded shift charts, emergency protocols, and passive-aggressive notes from management that said things like: “Remember, smiles are free!” and “Let’s make this the best Black Friday yet!”—as if anyone believed that was possible.

It was Callie’s fourth Black Friday.

She’d survived a fistfight over a countertop air fryer, three separate coupon meltdowns, and one guy who tried to wheel an entire shelf of discounted DVDs straight out the front door.

She wasn’t excited.

She was ready.

She’d learned how to wear extra layers to guard against rogue shopping cart bruises. She had two protein bars and a caffeine stash hidden in the mop closet. She had her badge, her walkie, and her most threatening glare fully charged.

And unfortunately, she had Eli.

“Are you vibrating?” she asked as they stood at the employee entrance at 4:55 a.m.

“I’m just… amped,” Eli said, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “I’ve never done this before.”

Callie blinked at him. “You’ve never worked Black Friday?”

“First year. I mean, I shopped Black Friday once. Camped outside a store for a Blu-ray player I didn’t even end up buying.”

Callie stared. “So you volunteered for this shift… willingly?”

“I wanted to see the underworld.”

She shook her head. “You’re going to regret everything.”

By 5:15 a.m., the doors opened.

A stampede of humanity poured in—early risers with wild eyes, lists clutched in their hands, some already arguing with employees over doorbuster limits. The store floor turned into a noisy, chaotic jungle of carts, squeaky wheels, and overhead announcements that barely masked the rising tension.

Callie took her position at the front-end zone, clipboard in hand.

Eli was her assigned partner.

Again.

Management claimed it was because they had “great chemistry” and “strong team synergy,” but she suspected it was Brenda’s matchmaking nonsense.

“Okay,” Callie muttered as she handed Eli a roll of ‘LIMIT ONE PER CUSTOMER’ stickers, “here’s the plan: we manage the electronics overflow, redirect the mob, and prevent any actual injuries. Got it?”

Eli saluted. “Captain Porcupine, reporting for duty.”

“Don’t make me regret this.”

The morning blurred.

A woman cried when she missed the last smart speaker.

Someone threw a pack of batteries at Marcus over a mislabeled price.

The registers crashed—twice.

Eli got his foot run over by a child driving a mini cart.

Through it all, Callie barked orders, redirected angry customers, and checked in with staff via walkie-talkie like she was coordinating a military operation. She was calm. Efficient. A little terrifying.

And Eli was—impressed.

Sure, he’d seen her lead before. But not like this.

This version of Callie was commanding, sharp, and weirdly magnetic. She moved through the chaos like it didn’t touch her, like she had some internal switch that shut out the noise and zeroed in on what mattered.

“Is it weird,” he whispered at one point, “that I think you thrive in emergencies?”

“I was born for disaster,” she muttered, scanning price tags with brutal accuracy.

At noon, the store was at peak mayhem.

The air conditioning failed. The intercom kept playing a warped version of “Jingle Bell Rock” on repeat. A man insisted on price-matching a rice cooker to a completely different brand he found on his phone.

Callie handled it all with the same icy precision.

Eli followed her lead—fumbling sometimes, but adapting.

By 1:00 p.m., they’d built an unspoken rhythm.

She scanned. He restocked.

She defused. He distracted.

He made her laugh once—accidentally—by wearing a gift bag on his head to cheer up a kid mid-tantrum. She muttered something about “hiring a circus clown,” but her eyes had softened.

At 1:47 p.m., their bubble burst.

An elderly man slipped near aisle six—caught on a pile of carelessly placed toasters.

Callie saw it first. She shoved her clipboard into Eli’s hands and ran, yelling for backup.

Eli followed.

The man wasn’t seriously hurt, just shaken, but Callie knelt beside him like she’d trained for it, checking his breathing, asking his name. She flagged Marcus to get a chair, a cold pack, and a water bottle.

The old man smiled up at her. “You’re very good at this.”

“I do it a lot,” she said.

Eli watched her, something tugging at his chest.

It wasn’t just that she knew what to do.

It was that she cared.

She’d built walls around herself so high and wide—but when they cracked, the person underneath was someone you wanted on your side.

They finally got a break at 3:15 p.m., holed up behind the curtain in seasonal storage.

Callie flopped onto an overturned bin of fake poinsettias and groaned.

Eli sat cross-legged beside her, sipping from a half-flattened juice box.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Define okay.”

“You haven’t yelled at me in two hours. I’m starting to worry.”

“I’m conserving energy.”

He nudged her sneaker with his. “You’re amazing out there.”

She snorted. “I’m a glorified disaster wrangler.”

“You kept the store from imploding. You even saved an old man from a toaster trap.”

“High praise.”

“I’m serious,” he said. “You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

She looked at him. Really looked.

“No one’s ever said that to me before.”

“Then they’re idiots.”

A long silence stretched between them.

Callie shifted. “You still think this is fun?”

“I think it’s intense.”

“But?”

He hesitated. “I think I get why you haven’t quit yet.”

That surprised her.

“BuyMore’s a wreck,” he continued, “but you’ve carved out something here. A system. A place where you know your worth, even if no one says it.”

Callie looked down. “You sound like a guidance counselor.”

“I’m just observant.”

“Nosy.”

“Same thing.”

She gave a tired chuckle. “You know I hated you the first week, right?”

“I know.”

“I thought you were too happy, too clean, too... new.”

“And now?”

She didn’t answer right away.

Then, softly: “Now you’re the only person I don’t mind being around when the world’s falling apart.”

His chest ached, just a little.

“I’ll take that as a glowing review.”

She leaned her head back against the wall of fake garlands.

“If you ever tell Brenda I said that, I’ll deny it.”

“Of course.”

They sat in silence a while longer, listening to the distant crash of shopping carts and half-hearted Christmas music.

It was the first peace they’d had all day.

The rest of the shift passed in a blur of noise and fluorescent lights. They didn’t speak much, but they stayed close—Callie signaling with a glance, Eli anticipating what she needed. They moved like a team.

By closing time, the store looked like a crime scene.

Eli stood beside her at the registers, watching as the last customer stumbled out.

“Do we light a candle or perform a ritual now?” he asked.

Callie reached into her hoodie pocket and pulled out a mini chocolate bar.

“I was saving this for the end.”

“For me?”

She shook her head. “For me. You can lick the wrapper.”

He laughed.

She broke it in half and handed him a piece.

They ate in silence.

At the employee exit, Callie leaned against the cold brick wall, waiting for the others to filter out.

Eli came to stand beside her.

“My feet might never forgive me,” he said.

“Rookie mistake. Gel insoles.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Hazard of initiation.”

They stood in the cool night air, surrounded by the quiet hum of a post-chaos calm.

“Thanks for today,” Callie said quietly.

Eli glanced at her. “For what?”

“For not quitting halfway through.”

He bumped her shoulder with his. “Are you kidding? I live for this kind of psychological torment.”

She gave him a look, but her eyes were warm.

He hesitated, then added, “You were incredible, Callie.”

She rolled her eyes. “Say that again when I’m not covered in glitter and trauma.”

“I will.”

She started to turn, then stopped.

“I wasn’t kidding earlier,” she said. “I really don’t hate being around you.”

“Should I be flattered or scared?”

“Both.”

And then—impulsively—she reached out and fixed the tag on his uniform vest.

“Your name’s upside down,” she murmured.

He looked at her.

She was close. Closer than she’d ever let herself be.

And for the first time, she didn’t back away.

“Night, Eli,” she said.

“Night, porcupine.”

She didn’t correct him.