by Hughes, Maya
“I’ve got an entire tray of carrots with your name on it.”
Preview night was the one weeknight a month my grandfather closed down the dining room to paying patrons and let the chefs at Tavola try out new dishes. They could be anything from reimagined classics to off-the-wall new cuisine. My grandfather was a traditionalist, using recipes from his parents, but that didn’t mean he didn’t see the benefits of people innovating and coming up with different things. He’d stepped aside from the head chef role a few years back, so the menu was ever evolving.
There had been many new careers launched off a preview night dish, and it was also why so many of the chefs who’d worked for my grandfather were still here, or came by whenever they could. It was free to whoever wanted to taste the sometimes frighteningly inventive creations. First come, first served, and everyone always left satisfied.
It was my second home, and I’d been away way too long. I’d hung out there for hours on end as a kid when my dad was on the road. Every day after school, I’d come in and worked on my chopping skills. They’d probably just given me those tasks to keep me from stealing all the tiramisu, but I loved it. Noisy, organized chaos, the kitchen reminded me a lot of the football field, except there weren’t three-hundred-pound linemen trying to detach my head from my body at every turn.
I massaged my shoulder. The scarring of the muscle sucked big time and made each throw during this season a miracle; the damage had been done.
“What’s taking so long? You finally going to start coasting?”
“I’m moving so fast, you can’t even see me, Gramps.”
He let out a huffing laugh.
I washed my hands, rolled up my sleeves, took out my knives, and got to work dicing the catering tray full of carrots. It was grunt work, usually left for the newbies to the kitchen, but I didn’t care. I was there, and man, my dicing skills were rusty.
I fell into that old familiar rhythm and worked my way through the entire tray, speeding up as the creaky wheels of my knifework came back to me. As I sliced through anything they put in front of me, everything clicked back into place, just like my shoulder every time I rolled it, only this didn’t hurt.
In the kitchen, the world made sense. I’d do this PR thing for my dad. Maybe then he could see beyond the draft. Every next stage had his complete focus until I tackled it, and then there was always the next thing looming on the horizon, but once I was in the pros, there was nothing else, right? He’d finally be pleased by my accomplishments. That was a relief but also struck a spike of fear in my heart. What if I did all that and it was still never enough?
Shaking my head, I focused on the knife work and what I needed to do next. Choose an agent. Enter the draft. And pick the ball up again in the fall. Easy as pie.
So why did it feel like my life was a funhouse-mirror version of what I’d expected?
5
Elle
My car shuddered into the parking space. Every ride I made where something didn’t fall off was a success in my book.
There were a healthy number of volunteers here already. They milled around like sleep-deprived zombies in the parking lot while we waited on the bus. Once I got to the site, I’d get the official list and make sure no one nailed their thumb to the frame of the house like last year. I probably should’ve gotten coffee for everyone first. I’d bring that up to Rick.
The spring break build was one of my favorites. It gave me a chance to rack up even more volunteer hours, was great publicity for Make It Home, and took place outdoors. After being cooped up in the student health center, high school libraries, and the tutoring center, not to mention the soup kitchen, it was a miracle I didn’t burst into flames the second I stepped out into the early spring sun.
It wasn’t even melt-your-face-off weather this time of year. I had a sweatshirt in my bag because early April mornings were still chilly, especially at six AM.
The glowing screen of my phone peeked out of the pocket in my bag at my feet. I picked it up off the grass and stared at it. Don’t you dare. I’d gone almost a month without checking out any of the HWITBA accounts, a new record for me.
Letting out a breath through my gritted teeth, I shoved my hand into my bag and pulled out my phone. I checked the social media accounts for He-Who-Is-The-Biggest-Asshole. Oh, how’s your spring break cleaning beaches in Nicaragua? Oh, and are you also surfing in almost every picture you post? Well, I was building a house for families in need. It shouldn’t have been a competition, I know, but Mitchell was also in the running for the Huffington Award, so I’d had a peek.
The comments made me want to scream.
How he was the best, most caring person they’d ever met.
Such an amazing guy.
How meeting him had restored people’s faith in humanity.
At least I didn’t have to worry about running into him on campus for the next week.
Those gushing comments about his character were barbs straight to my chest even now, and they brought back memories I thought I’d left behind almost two years ago right back into my face. The looks from everyone in the club we’d co-chaired after the word had gotten out that he’d cheated, the heated glares from everyone like I’d screwed up…
That was what I did.
James had turned me off football players since my senior year of high school, which was a damn shame because FU was a haven for athletic hotties.
But Mitchell? He had cracked open a barely healed wound. He’d known I’d been cheated on. He’d known how much James had hurt me and how long it had taken me to trust again then he’d cheated on me as well. Everyone else thought they were both so perfect, in different ways, the golden boy athlete and the humanitarian hottie.
Apparently, my radar was dialed to the cheating jerk setting and I didn’t know how to turn it off. It was safer to be alone.
Somehow, I’d gotten screwed over by two guys I’d thought couldn’t have been more different, the football star and the philanthropist. It didn’t seem to matter. They all got one look at me and went, Yeah, sure, I’ll fuck her over. They were the stars in their realms in every way imaginable, and I’d been the perfect accessory—until James went off to college and accessorized with my former high school best friend on his dick and Mitchell decided to do exactly the same thing during his late-night sea turtle volunteer trip to South America.
I stuck my phone back in my bag, the curdled-milk feeling back. Shake it off, Elle. The long days meant I could eat whatever Jules had cooked when I got home without guilt, could drown my sorrows in a tray of still-warm chocolatey chocolate chunk cookies.
When we’d first roomed together her freshman year, she’d tried to sustain herself on celery and lettuce, and sharing a room with a rabbit was a hell of a lot less fun than it was to live with the baking goddess she’d let herself become. She had slowly come out of her shell with food and everything else, like that pole she’d put up in her bedroom. It was slow going, but she’d get there one pole dance at a time.
Dragging around two-by-fours and a nail gun all day meant lots of delicious carbs once I got home. She’d promised me all the edge pieces in the brownies she had going into the oven at exactly four PM today.
A girl in bright pink short shorts and a crop top bounded over to me. “Are there going to be drinks?”
“There’s water and ice at the worksite, and I’ll see if I can get us all some coffee for tomorrow.”
“Not water, like, drink drinks.” She smiled and shook her head like I was an idiot.
“We’re building houses. What part of ‘community build project’ makes you think there’s going to be an open bar?”
“On the flyers it said this would be a spring break adventure of a lifetime. How can you do that without booze?” She stared at me like I’d asked her to forgo air.
“How about building a home for someone in need who can’t do it on their own? Seems like a pretty worthwhile and unforgettable adventure to me.” I hoped my resting bitch face singed her
perfectly tweezed eyebrows. “You don’t have to come today. I’m sure you can book a last-minute flight to Cabo.”
She let out a groan of disgust. “I can’t. My dad took away my credit card. He said necessities only, but that bag was totally a necessity.” The friends behind her backed her up, nodding along at their terrible luck with spending her father’s money.
I stared back at her, letting the silence go from uncomfortable to excruciating—for her.
She tugged at the hem of her shorts. “Whatever, I’ll go take a few selfies. Not like there’s anything better to do.”
Wonderful, a day of complaining and bitching was just what I needed right now.
“What’s your name?”
“Krista.” She bounced on the balls of her feet.
“Today is going to be hard work. You’re going to get sweaty. It’s going to be hot. You’re going to be doing new things and you’re going to be tired. I don’t have time to hold your hand. Do not get on that bus if you’re not willing to put up with some discomfort today.”
She eyed me and looked back at her friends. Their faces had all dropped. Please don’t get on the bus.
“I didn’t think we’d really be building the stuff, more like painting or something.”
“Painting comes later, as long as we’ve done our jobs right. This is about people’s lives, people who don’t have a roof over their heads and need this house.” If I’d had more time to plan this thing out, we could’ve done ten houses in the same amount of time, but the funding had come through late, and by the time I’d plastered the campus with flyers, most people were already gone for the break.
“Maybe we’ll get some good selfies.” Her friend sounded as uneasy as they all looked.
Then Krista brightened, and I could see the little lightbulb over her head go off like a cartoon character. Oh, this would be good. “Maybe if my dad sees pictures of me doing good stuff, he’ll see that I deserve the card back and then we can go away this summer.” She held her friends’ hands like they’d made a pact to end all pacts.
I gritted my teeth and hoped my college health insurance covered dental. How could someone be so out of touch with the needs of other people? Not seeing anything except how whatever they were doing impacted themselves and not the other people around them?
That could’ve been me. In so many ways, that had been me, and it freaked me out to see that mirror held up to my face. The inability to see beyond my own little bubble…my stomach twisted.
A squeal and rumble signaled the arrival of our ride, the luxurious and in-no-way-about-to-break-down-at-any-minute bright yellow school bus. Glam life here I come.
“Grab your stuff. We’ll leave in five, and it’s a thirty-minute drive to the build site.” People picked up their bags, lunches, and whatever else they’d need throughout the day. The driver pulled up to the curb and flung open the rusted and creaking doors. Everyone filed onto the bus, which smelled like a field trip to a local farm, and I got a head count: thirty dead-assed, bleary-eyed college students ready to roll out. Leaving someone behind on the return trip was a serious pain in the ass, but I was thankful we had a better turnout than the previous year, when we’d barely been able to get a tiny house framed for the next group. All my work putting up flyers, sneaking into meetings held by other groups, and pushing the project in the study center had paid off.
I climbed the steps to the bus and sat in my seat. At least I’d gotten a semi-good sleep the night before since there weren’t any parties raging until early morning. The Brothel had been quieter than usual. It had been splashed all over campus that Nix had been arrested, no charges or anything, but there’d been whispers of them serving booze to underage girls. In that case, super fuck them.
Still, that didn’t mean I hadn’t stayed up until two AM working on grant applications and trying to finish my term papers. Hopefully the bags under my eyes wouldn’t turn into a full set of luggage before the end of the day. The ride over to the site would give me a chance to nap. I had one volunteer shift at the soup kitchen this week and that was it, no tutoring or barista shifts at Uncommon Grounds since the campus was closed for the break.
Getting on these old buses reminded me of elementary school trips to the aquarium or the zoo. Half the time the bus ride was more fun than the destination, but we were college students and it was way too early for excited squeals, except from Krista & Co.
“We can go, that’s everyone,” I called out to the driver.
I grabbed my sweatshirt from my bag and balled it up, resting my head against the window. I’d have slept standing up if I needed to. The bus’s engine rumbled and the gears ground as the driver threw it into drive.
Someone thumped on the accordion doors, and the driver slammed on the brakes. I was thrown forward, slamming my hands against the back of the not-nearly-padded-enough seat in front of me.
Rick loved to invite people along at the last minute, which completely defeated my headcounts and the list he’d sent me the previous morning. I’d have to go over how important arriving on time was. People only tended to get more lax and show up later as the days wore on and the splinters set in. The doors opened again, and our late arrival climbed aboard.
A perfectly ruffled head of hair popped up at the top of the steps. We pulled onto the road and he held on to the seats, steadying himself, his forearms bunching with the sway of the bus. My brain fought to process the image as he walked onto the bus.
I was tired—too damn tired. I rubbed at my eyes, hoping a fever dream had taken me or I’d started hallucinating like Jules always warned I would.
The eyes. That nose. His mouth. Error, does not compute. Abort mission. Only no matter how many times I blinked, he was still there.
Nix.
He moved down the aisle, and his gaze collided with mine. Maybe it took his mind a second to piece it together just like it had for me. His eyes narrowed, and I swallowed past the lump in my throat. Keep it together, Elle. You’re fine. It wasn’t like he’d attempt homicide in a bus full of people. Then again, with who he was, they’d probably cover for him and gladly dig my shallow grave with their bare hands.
He broke the connection first. His gaze swept over the other people on the bus. Every eye was on him. The star quarterback. The campus hero. A lock for the first-round draft pick and an inconsiderate asshole of a neighbor who may or may not have been into some shady shit. I glanced out the window like I’d be able to jump from the moving bus then froze. Why the hell was I wanting to escape? I hadn’t done anything wrong. Well, maybe I’d called the cops, but he was the one who’d gotten himself arrested. I resisted the urge to sink down in my seat.
My earlier words to Krista & Co. replayed in my head, mocking me. “Don’t get on the bus if you’re not willing to be uncomfortable today.” Understatement of the century.
He made it to my row.
I’m not proud of it, but I did it. I scooted my ass to the far edge of the seat.
“Nice as ever, huh, B and E?” His lips welded together with a look of displeasure.
Why would he want to sit next to me anyway? He wouldn’t. Still, that hadn’t stopped me from sliding my butt across the worn, frayed seats to the edge, blocking even a flicker of doubt that I wanted him sitting nowhere near me.
“Find a seat. We’re late.”
Was it petty? Yes. Was it childish? Hell yes. Did I care? Not one little bit, but he clearly did as he rolled his eyes and kept on walking down the aisle. There were plenty of available seats from the shuffling and sighs from behind me. I wasn’t going to turn around; nope, wasn’t doing it. Krista & Co. had no problems with offering up a seat to him. I was sure that invitation came with much more intimate options as well.
Taking my sweatshirt, I balled it up again, punching my hand into it and wedging it in the corner between the window and the seat. I rested my head against it, but there was no way I’d get any sleep, not with Nix’s heat vision on me. It wasn’t in my head; I could feel his gaze sweeping
over the side of my face from his seat three rows behind me.
Pretend he’s not there. Pretend he won’t be around power tools near the person who got him thrown in the paddy wagon. It seriously couldn’t be the first time he’d ever been arrested. Drunk and disorderly was practically his middle name. I mean, not really, since he was always the one to come over to talk to me after noise complaint after noise complaint was logged, but—ugh. I folded my arms over my chest.
Best-case scenario: He’d leave after one day of for some reason thinking it’d be a boatload of fun like Krista. Worst-case scenario: I’d ‘accidentally’ fall off the roof and end up in a full-body cast for the rest of the semester.
6
Nix
She Forrest-Gumped me.
I almost expected her to say Can’t sit here with an Alabama drawl. Waking up after my alarm was bad enough, but I’d stayed for an entire night shift at Tavola. Gramps and I had stayed up late, prepping some of the meat for today. He always said if you weren’t in the walk-in, you’d never know how things were going on the floor. He inventoried everything and could make recommendations to the chefs on what dishes they might try to keep things fresh. Also, I’d been promoted from chopping vegetables to soups. It felt good to flex my skills again after nearly nine months. Preseason training plus the full season hadn’t left me any time to even breathe, and before this week, I’d been scrambling to catch up on everything I’d put off this semester.
If I could’ve chosen, I’d have been at the restaurant every day, getting back into the groove and learning how to make the new dishes everyone in the kitchen thought up. Stealing away for a meal here and there during the semester wasn’t enough, but I didn’t have a choice with the new training regimens and PT Dad pushed to keep me at the top of my game for the draft.
