“The weekend. Holy magic worlds, Tarq! The freaking weekend!”
“Why are you getting upset?”
“Because you’re acting like you’ve never heard of Friday!”
“Fireday? Is that what you’re asking about?”
Did he just say Fireday? Or did I hear that wrong? Focus, Pie. “Friday?”
“Fryday?”
“Oh, my God.” I’m about to lose my shit when Tarq puts up a hand.
“Hold on. You’re asking about rest days?”
“Yes! Thank you! When do I get my two days off?”
“You just started two days ago. You haven’t even earned one rest day, let alone two. I don’t know how it works in your world, but here you work eight days, then you get two days off.”
“That’s a weird number of days. I mean, I’d never get the same days off because there’s seven days in a week and—”
“Ten.”
“What?”
“Ten days in a week, Pie. Sunday, Moonday, Airday, Waterday, Earthday, Fireday, Charmday, Godsday, Sisterday, Nullday, and Noday.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No, it doesn’t work that way.”
“I’m afraid it does.”
“So let me get this straight. You have ten days in a week. And you get two of them off.”
“If you work the prior eight.”
“If I work eight days in a row I get two days off? That’s… bullshit.”
“How do you mean?”
“Eight days in a row with no rest? How is that not bullshit? In my world we work five and get two. In a seven-day week.”
His eyes narrow, like he’s thinking about this. “That’s a nice schedule. Five days instead of eight.”
“Yeah, it’s not bad. Four and three would be better”—Tarq snorts—“but eight and two! Tarq!”
“I’m not in charge of the calendar, Pie. It’s just how it is.”
“I might as well be a slave.” Then I’m the one who snorts. Because… that’s actually my title back home. “I’m sick of this place.”
“That’s because you’re fighting it.”
This pisses me off. Because Pell told me the same thing about Saint Mark’s. It gets easier if you don’t fight it, Pie. “So I’m supposed to what? Just accept that I’m your slave?”
Tarq presses his lips together. Like he wants to say something, but he’s not sure if he should.