Are You Still There by Sarah Lynn Scheerger

is a bit of a turn-off.
    My phone buzzes on the table. Text from Janae. Can’t make it to the shift tonight. Got the flu. Hope I didn’t already give it to you. That means Miguel and I will be on our own.
    Thank goodness the shift starts with a bunch of easy calls. “My best friend’s using drugs, what should I do?” Since we can’t give advice, we just read down a list of referral numbers for counseling and for drug treatment. “My boyfriend broke up with me and boohoo.” Piece of cake. Just listen and validate feelings.
    When Miguel answers the phone, I scoot my chair in so I can reach his notepaper. When he speaks, there is something soft in his voice that lulls me. Maybe it’s just his attempt at being supportive. He speaks in low tones, and I quickly stop paying attention to what he’s saying, so his words run together, but they almost sound musical.
    Ping! Man problems. Need advice.
    â€œI’ll take this one.” I elbow Miguel.
    â€œNot sure you’re qualified.” He elbows me back. “You don’t date, remember?”
    Good point. “Well, I’m more qualified than you!”
    Men! What’s up? I type.
    Why do they always seem so nice at first?
    I look pointedly at Miguel. “Okay, maybe you are more qualified. Answer this question: What’s up with this nice-guy act?”
    â€œAhem. I can only speak for myself. I am truly nice. Can’t help it.”
    We must have taken too long to respond, because she (I’m assuming it’s a she) texts again. But when they get what they want, they morph into assholes! Explain this to me.
    I look at Miguel. He holds up his hands. “Those guys give men a bad rap. That’s not me.”
    Again, I’m not going fast enough for her. Advice?
    So I’m not actually allowed to give advice. But I can give you a referral for counseling.
    Seriously? I don’t need a shrink. I just need someone to talk to.
    Is there anyone at home you can talk to?
    Uh, no. That’d be why I’m texting you. No one at home would understand. They’re all perfect, and they already think I’m screwing up my life.
    What’s more important is what YOU think. That must’ve caught her attention, because she doesn’t text back right away. What do you think?
    I think I deserve to be treated better than this.
    You go, girl! After I press Send, I gasp. “What if that wasn’t a girl? It could’ve been a guy.”
    Miguel smiles. “True. Good point.”
    Hopefully I didn’t offend him-her, because he-she texted back. Thanks.
    In between calls we decorate the office, joke around, and tack our homemade bracelets to the office walls in a great, big peace-sign shape. Miguel’s arm keeps bumping into mine. I pull away. I feel like he’s got some kind of electric current running through him, and every time he touches me I get shocked. It’s not a bad feeling exactly, but it surprises me, and I’m not sure what to make of it.
    Miguel stands back from our peace sign and studies it. Then he turns and studies me. “So you survived almost a whole shift without your bodyguard,” he jokes.
    â€œWho, Janae?” Now that’s funny, because Janae’s about my size. “If I wanted a bodyguard, I’d have picked Garth. Besides, I can protect myself.” I go to sock his arm, but he grabs my hand and pulls me toward him. He smells so clean, like always, like he just stepped out of the shower and his clothes are fresh from the dryer.
    â€œ ¿Puedo besarte?” he says, reverting back to his new-immigrant persona.
    â€œWhat?” I’m stalling. I’ve had four years of Spanish. I know what that means. I step away. He’s not my type. But what’s my type? And wasn’t I just telling myself to take a risk? To experiment a little to see what I like?
    Miguel’s grinning. Like he already knows I want him to. “Look, I’m