Olivia Holton. A Strike of Luck

I don't understand why it is so difficult for people above the age of twenty-one to give their trust to someone who is younger than them. Do they think every fucking young person in this world is unreliable and are only looking for trouble? 

  My blood is boiling, my mind filled with this one simple question, as I smile pleasantly at the piece of asshole giving commands at the front of the room. It's someone with a name I can't even fucking remember for the life of me. What did he say it was?—Toby? Tony?—Fuck it, it's something that starts with a T, that much I'm sure. 

"You, there!" the dude-with-a-name-that-starts-with-a-T points at me from across the room. "Yeah," he nods when I questioningly point to myself, "You can take my shift down in the basement—cleaning duty—while I take yours. What did you say your schedule for today was? Inventory?"