hell with tourists dodging me and paparazzi grinning as they
snapped my photo. The first day hadn’t been so bad — nobody had
known it was me, thanks to the over-large taffy visor. I wasn’t
really sure if it was something to be thankful for, considering
satellites could pick up my beacon of bright fuchsia on the visor,
but whatever.
The second day was by far the worst. Cameras went off like
wildfire, and I’m pretty sure that a chick tried to stick taffy that I
had touched down her shirt. I didn’t even want to know the reason
behind that one.
People gathered around. They expected me to sing the jingle,
like always. I wanted to kill myself. Why didn’t I die in that
accident?
“Seaside Taffy,” I began, my voice cracked. It hadn’t cracked
since I was twelve. Again, I wanted to die. “Loads of fun, in your
tummy! Yum, yum, yum…” I swear I could feel Bob snickering
from twenty feet away; it never got old. “Ice cream, taffy, treats
galore! Don’t forget to stop at our store!” I gave a dramatic bow.
I expected applause, or at least some sort of
acknowledgement that I had, in fact, just given the best
performance of my life.
What did I get? One solitary clap. One person. I cringed,
thinking of the pity clap. It’s the type of applause every performer
dreads hearing. Swearing, I turned around. It was a girl. She looked
about as old as a first grader.
“Want some taffy?”
I held out a piece of taffy, and the mom suddenly looked
horrified, like I was planning on putting a taffy trail all the way to
my car in order to abduct her child.
They hurried away, and I was stuck again with a crowd of
people trying to get around me while I shook my bucket. “Seaside
Taffy!” I yelled louder this time and threw my hands out in the air.
Might as well commit, since this was my hell for the next few
months.
“Seaside Taffy!” I flailed my arms again and a piece of taffy
went flying out of my hand, right into the back of someone’s head.
Great, add assault to my record.
When the person turned around, I was a little shocked,
because to be honest, I thought I had hit some punk kid.
Not. The. Case.
“Seriously?” The girl stomped toward me, all five feet of her,
and glared. She was wearing a hat that said The Best Taffy in the
World and an oversized sweater, leggings, and boots.
“It slipped,” I offered lamely.
She reached for my bucket. I jerked back. “Nobody touches
the bucket.”
Wow. I was so ashamed of myself that I wanted to jump into
the bucket and hide. Was I really getting possessive over my
bucket? Like some homeless man with his cart?
The girl reached for the bucket again.
I snapped. “What’s your problem?”
“My problem?” she repeated, her eyebrows shooting to the
top of her forehead. Damn, she had pretty eyes.
I nodded. Since the accident I hadn’t written one damn song,
so at the moment words weren’t really my thing, and I was
shamelessly checking her out.
“My problem…” She laughed bitterly. “…Is that the minute
your punk rocker self got into this town, our business suffered, and
you don’t even take it seriously!” She put her hands on her hips
and scowled. “And now you’re working my corner!”
“Whoa!” I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “I’m sorry. Your
corner? What? Is this Pretty Woman or something?”
“Did you just call me a prostitute?”
Yes. Yes, I did. “Nope. More like a call girl. Prostitutes don’t
dress like blind middle schoolers.”
“Agh!” She swatted my bucket, making all the candy clatter
to the ground. Amused, I crossed my arms and watched the fire
blaze through her eyes. Really it was a pity she dressed so horribly,
and that she was wearing that awful hat. Though I guess my visor
wasn’t any better, but still… I made it look good.
“Just watch it.”
Brawl alert. I almost expected people to start coming out of
the alleys with toothpicks in their mouths and newspapers in their
hands to watch the entertainment.
How the hell did I get stuck in a Broadway musical?
Since I was committing to the whole Seaside Taffy act, might
as well commit to this one too. “Noted, Shop Girl. Noted. Now run
along.” See? I could be territorial.
Her eyes widened, and for a second I was shocked again at
how pretty she was. With a grunt and a cute little curse, she
stomped off across the street to the competing taffy store.
I waved in her direction and started the jingle all over again.
This time really committing by way of throwing in a few AD2
dance moves that I knew could likely land me in prison if I moved
too hastily in the wrong direction.
Three hours later I was seriously rethinking this whole job
business. It started to rain shortly after my dancing began. No
doubt people thought it was because of my inability to keep my
hips from moving with the stupid candy bucket. Great, so I was
doing a taffy rain dance.
With a sigh, I readjusted the visor and tried to protect the
taffy bucket. If my only job was to sell taffy and get people into the
store, then I didn’t want to be the one loser who got the taffy wet
and single-handedly took down the longest running taffy store in
the history of Seaside, Oregon.
Thankfully, Bob must have sensed my plight, or maybe he
was tired of me texting him every two seconds asking him for an
umbrella. I knew it was pathetic, and okay maybe a little bit
ridiculous, but I was beyond drenched. He motioned for me, and I
began to walk toward him, but he pointed at my chest.
My teeth chattered as I looked down at my shirt. I was
successfully showing everyone with two eyes my nipple ring
through my tight, wet t-shirt.
If the mom from earlier was to come by now, she’d be
horrified. And I’d be put in prison. Not because I had a nipple ring,
but because this hell-hole of a town was so backward that she’d
probably assume I was some sort of drug addict.
Which was only sort of true.
Anyway, anything would be better than the pouring rain —
or Seaside for that matter.
Ah, prison. Such a pipe dream. At least it’s warm there.
“You’re getting the taffy wet,” a female voice said from
behind me.
Slowly I turned around. It was the big-eyed girl from before.
Only now she was wearing a slick rain coat and rain boots.
“Caught that, did you?” I sneered. I wasn’t sure why I was
so irritated. Maybe it was the rain. Maybe it was withdrawals from
drugs. But I was pissed that the same girl who verbally attacked me
from earlier would not only come back for more, but blatantly tell
me something I already knew.
“I’m not stupid,” I said, shaking my head while still trying
to shield the bucket with my body.
“Sure about that?” she asked, foldi
ng her arms.
“Are you seriously going to stand out here in the rain and
challenge my intelligence?”
“That depends.” Her lips turned upward into a shadow of a
smile.
Fine, I’ll bite. “On what, sweetheart?”
“Are you going to stand in the rain or move two feet and
stand underneath the overhang from the building?”
Shit. I looked up. Sure enough there was a healthy overhang
that could have been shielding me from the rain for the past two
hours.
I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I like the rain.”
She bit her lip and looked around. People walked around us
with their umbrellas, all trying to duck into the shops until the rain
stopped. I shivered in response and waited for her to say
something.
“You chose the right place to be then.”
If she only knew I had no choice whatsoever in the matter.
“Yup, guess I did.” Seriously I was getting nowhere with this girl.
All flirting genes apparently died in the car accident, while I was
left very much alive and very much a loser. What a bright future I
had!
I walked underneath the overhang and gently pulled her to
my side. I could see drops of water fall out of my messy blond hair
and onto my nose. “What’s your name?”
She shrugged. “That’s not important.”
Okay, different tactic. “Why the sudden Good Samaritan
act?”
She laughed. “Ah, so he has read the Good Book.”
“Once or twice.” I grinned seductively.
“Then you should get your story straight.”
“Pardon?” I had the sudden feeling I was way out of my
league. Trapped, without a way out.
“I wasn’t coming to rescue you.”
“So you were just going to walk by?”
She threw her head back and laughed, causing the hood of
her jacket to fall back. Golden brown hair cascaded down her back.
My mouth dropped open. She really was a beautiful girl.
“Actually…” She placed a hand on my arm. “I was thinking
of beating you and then passing you by.”
“And what purpose would that serve?” I smiled. I couldn’t
help it.
“I would feel better.”
“And I would be beaten on the side of the road? Is my lot in
life to be killed by roads or something?”
“Huh?” Her eyebrows drew together.
“You don’t watch much TV, do you?”
She shrugged. “We don’t have a TV.”
“Internet?” My mind was seriously going to explode. How
did she live?
“Nope.”
“Phone?” I was grasping at straws here.
“For our house?”
I leaned in, my eyebrows raised up as if to say, Duh.
And again her teeth held captive her bottom lip as she
looked away in thought. “I think we used to. But now we just have
cell phones.”
“Thank God!” I shouted a little too loudly.
She shook her head like I was the weirdest person on the
planet.
“I, umm…” I shifted the bucket to my other arm and
scratched my head. “What I meant was…” Channel the Bible. “You
should be thankful, or blessed, or something that you have, um,
technology?” Yes, Demetri, she’s going to be eating out of your sticky
taffy hands in no time.
“Right.” She chuckled and looked away. “Well, guess I’ll see
you later.”
As she walked off, she stopped in her tracks and turned
around. “By the way, I really did have a reason for coming out
here… you know, other than to cause physical harm.”
“Oh yeah?” I grinned slyly and winked, waiting for the
inevitable.
“Yeah.” She nodded her head and pointed behind me “Your
car’s about to be towed. It’s parked in the handicap spot.”
Chapter Three
Alyssa
It was harder than I thought. Talking to him, I mean. To be
honest, I hadn’t any idea how famous he was until some girls I’d
graduated with ran into the shop and began giggling like little kids.
That was kind of how my life was, though.
Ever since the accident two years ago, I felt shut out of
everything. Like I was a shadow going through the motions. Trying
to smile at all the right times, and laugh when it was expected. I
was the best worker my parents could ask for. I was first to arrive,
last to leave. First to take up someone else’s shift. I even graduated
early, so I wouldn’t have to be around the reminders anymore.
I liked life better that way. Predictable.
When you planned things, well, it was almost like some
cruel joke from God. That once you told Him your plans, He’d try
to ruin them. My parents said it wasn’t God’s fault — they also said
it wasn’t mine. Did that make it Brady’s?
I shoved my hands into my pockets and hurried into the
store. Rain always depressed me. That meant I was living in the
worst place on the planet. If I needed cheering up, I had to go
tanning in order to soak up some fake sunlight.
Last Christmas my parents even put special lights in my
room, so I would smile more.
I’ve smiled less ever since.
Well, until five days ago.
When that idiot rock star actually stood on a street corner
and sang about Taffy, and then proceeded to roll his hips to the
beat in his own head, I wanted to call him a dang fool, but I
couldn’t pull my eyes away. Something about him was magnetic —
which should have been my first clue to stay away.
Brady had been magnetic too. He was perfect, charismatic,
the star of the football team.
And look where that love got me.
A year out of high school, still living with my parents, and
the inability to drive anywhere more than an hour away for fear
that I would have a panic attack and die.
I pushed the door to my parents’ store open. The bell jingled.
That idiot had started work today, and our sales had never been
worse. He was such a spectacle that even people who didn’t know
his music wanted to go check out the taffy store. Which was great
for our competitors, crappy for us. It’s not as if I could just find
some famous person and beg them to wear one of our shirts and
throw taffy at people. What the heck was he doing anyway? I even
watched him schmooze an old lady. Did the guy have any shame at
all?
I would die before I let anything happen to my parents’
livelihood, and I would happily take Demetri with me. It wasn’t as
if I had anything exciting going on now.
Shoving the door to the counter away, I went back to the
stool and picked up my cell. Ten missed calls.
“Crap.” I quickly scrolled through the missed numbers.
It was Mrs. Murray, my counselor. I looked at the clock on
the wall. “Crap!” I said again, grabbing my keys and running for
the door. “Dad! I’m going to be late for my appointment!”
He appeared from the back room. “Oh, okay, Honey. You
need me to drive you?” His eyes briefly held mine before looking
after everything that had happened.
“Um, no. I’ll be fine. It’s only a few miles away. Love you!” I
heard him tell me to be careful as I ran out the door.
****
I ran into the large beach house and practically beat down
my counselor’s door.
“Alyssa! I was worried you weren’t going to make it.” Mrs.
Murray was in her late forties and wore spectacles that constantly
slipped down her nose. Her brown hair was always in a bun, and
she always dressed as if she was in a hurry. In fact, she did
everything like she was in a hurry. Everything but the listening and
talking part of her job. I imagined she would probably work in her
sleep if she could.
I gave her a tight smile. “Yeah, well, I’m here.” If I didn’t
show, she would just tell my parents, and then I’d be on suicide
watch for no reason. At least that was the fear. It wasn’t as if she
could do that based solely on the fact that I didn’t show up. But last
time I didn’t show up… well, let’s just say my parents caught me in
my bathroom staring at a bottle of ibuprofen and flipped. I told
them I had a headache, but that was the exact moment my dad also
asked me to open my hand. I swear the bottle had spilled, and I
was just trying to put the pills back in. But they didn’t believe me.
Nobody did. Story of my life.
The smell of peppermint tea greeted me as I waltzed into the
small office and took a seat on the leather couch. Mrs. Murray did
an amazing job with the ambiance. I could almost forget that she
was a shrink, and I was there to tell her all my innermost secrets
and feelings — almost.
“So.” She fell into the leather chair across from me and
pulled out her notepad. “We’re almost to the two-year anniversary
of the incident.”
I wanted to give some sort of snide remark. I mean, hello? I
was living this nightmare. Believe me, I knew exactly what the day
was. I knew exactly how many days I had left, and even if I could
forget, my nightmares constantly reminded me of the hell I was
living every single day.
“Yup.” I managed to shrug nonchalantly. I should have been
an actress. With a quick smile I leaned back onto the couch and
exhaled, knowing what she was going to ask next.
“And how do you feel about that?”
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