by Lane Hart
“Sorry, Bridget,” I start to apologize while slipping my phone back into my apron.
“Shut up,” the younger waitress snaps while struggling to get to her feet again. “If this weren’t your father’s restaurant, you would so be fired!”
That much was true.
I’m a terrible waitress. The fact that I’m miserable must ooze from my pores in this place because my tips are always terrible. I’d rather be melting in the hot kitchen with three blazing brick ovens making pizzas than serving beer to rude customers. My father knows I’m not a people person but each summer he refuses to let me hide away in our apartment like the hermit I crave to be.
Once I wipe up the puddle of beer on the floor and clean the pitcher to dry the excess beer from it, I finally deliver it to the douchbags at table four.
“About time,” the king of douchiness says.
“You’re welcome,” I mutter before I head back to the kitchen to find my father. “Dad, I need a bathroom break!” I call out, but don’t wait for his response before I sneak into the women’s room and slide the lock in place. I need just a few moments of privacy with my phone.
Sitting down on the closed toilet lid, I pull my phone out again to see if I hallucinated the message from Graham. Nope! It’s still there on the screen, so I bite my bottom lip while trying to decide how to respond. Unable to think of something better, I send back:
Hey. How are you?
The three little dots instantly appear, letting me know that Graham is already typing a response before it pops up.
I’m great. Just wanted to catch up with you since it’s been a long time. How’s your summer break going?
Since I can’t tell the hottest man who ever lived that my life still sucks every bit as much as it did when we endured high school together, I lie.
My summer break is awesome so far.
Awesomely boring.
Graham then asks: Are you back home?
Yes.
Graham: Do you have any big plans this summer?
For a second, I almost consider telling him that I’m going to the Bahamas with friends from college or try to make up some other amazing story but at the last minute, I decide to tell the truth in case Graham is back in town and wants to hang out. That’s too much to ask for, though, right?
Not really, no. I’m just working a little for my dad. If a little is ten hours a day, six days a week.
Good! Graham responds. You should come visit me up in North Carolina.
Wait, what?
Did he seriously just ask me to come to visit him at college several states away? This is like a dream come true.
But dreams like this don’t happen for dorky girls like me. I’m sitting on a toilet in my father’s hot as fuck pizza joint, taking a break from waitressing. You can’t get much further from a fairy tale.
There’s something about Graham’s message that seems too good to be true, even though I wish that it wasn’t. I may be obsessed with the tall, muscular, and incredibly sexy man, but I’m not delusional.
Disappointment hits me like a wrecking ball in my gut when I finally figure out his ulterior motive.
It takes me several more seconds to recover before I narrow my hazel eyes at the phone and punch in a response.
You need a tutor, don’t you?
The confirmation that the boy I’ve had a crush on since freshman year of high school isn’t interested in me, but my brains, soon follows.
Yes, please! If you don’t help me, I’ll lose my scholarship. I won’t get to play football my senior year, which means no chance of going to the pros. I’ll probably end up right back in Homestead hellhole working at a burger joint for the rest of my life!
I’m well-aware that football is everything to Graham. It’s why I bent over backward to help him so much in the past. I can’t be the one responsible for him losing his dream, even though I’ll never get my dream.
Besides, spending time tutoring a hot football player sounds so much better than sweating into nothingness while serving pizza and beer to rude customers. That’s why I push aside my disappointment and message him back.
How long are we talking?
Graham: Just for the summer.
My jaw drops.
The entire summer? As in months?
Graham: Yes. Eight weeks. I’m begging you, Sky. Please! I’m desperate.
He does sound pretty desperate. And of all the people in the world who could tutor him, he came to me when he needed help.
Skyler: Fine, but I have several conditions.
Graham: Anything!
Right. I’m sure that if I said I wanted him to get naked with me in exchange for my help that Graham would quickly take that statement back.
Instead, I tell him:
I’m not doing your work for you. I’ll tutor you, but I won’t be your workhorse.
Graham: Understood.
Skyler: I’m gonna need a place to stay, and you’ll have to pay for all of my meals.
Sure, it sounds like a lot, but I don’t have any savings and I certainly can’t ask my father to fund my summer up in North Carolina if he’s gonna have to hire someone to replace me here.
Graham: Done. I have two roommates, but they’re cool, and they won’t mind you staying with us. They probably won’t even notice you’re here.
Just like he doesn’t notice me, I think to myself.
Still, I tell him: Sounds great.
Maybe I’m out of my mind, but this could be my second chance to make Graham see me as more than the dorky girl who he needs to pass a class. Deep down, I’m still that girl, but I promise my introverted self that I’ll try to be different. I can’t wait to see Graham again in person rather than just in a few random Facebook photos. I’d give anything to be close to him. Living in the same house could be a little awkward, but that just means more time I’ll probably get to see him shirtless. God, I can’t wait!
Skyler: As soon as you get me a plane ticket, I’ll be on my way.
Graham: I’ll book it right now and try to get a flight out tomorrow. Classes start on Monday, so you’ll have a few days to get settled in.
It looks like my summer break just took a drastic turn, one that I really hope I won’t regret.
Guess that means I need to go break the news to my father and start packing.
“Hey, Dad?” I say when I walk back into the kitchen. His back is to me as he spreads sauce over pizza dough.
“Everything okay?” he asks, without turning around. “We’re a little behind, pumpkin, so I need you to—”
“I’m leaving, Dad,” I interrupt to tell him.
That gets his attention. He spins around to face me, the wrinkles on his aging face go slack, and red sauce drips from the big spoon in his hand onto the floor.
“You’re what?” he asks.
“Leaving. I’m…I’m going up to North Carolina to visit a friend,” I say, while tugging nervously on my long, brown braid that hangs over my shoulder.
“A friend?” he repeats with his eyebrows raised. “Which friend?”
“You remember Graham Lawson? His parents still live a few blocks away?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t know you two were still friends.” What he means is that he didn’t know I had any friends.
Looking down at the phone in my hands to make sure I didn’t daydream the message from him, I say, “He asked me to come visit…for the summer.”
“The summer?” my dad exclaims. “The entire summer?”
“Yes.”
“But…you just got here,” he says as he turns around and gets back to work on the pizza.
“I know, but I really want to go, and he’s paying for my plane ticket and giving me a place to stay…”
My father’s shoulders tense up under his red t-shirt.
“So, you’re going to be staying with some boy you haven’t seen in years? Are you sure that’s a good idea, Sky?”
“I’ll be fine. And if I’m not happy there, then I�
�ll come home.”
“You’re not happy here?” he asks.
“Not really, no,” I reply.
“And you’re not happy at school?”
“I never said that,” I point out.
“Are you happy at school?” he asks.
“Not really. I still don’t know if accounting is what I want to do forever,” I admit honestly.
“You think you’ll be happy in another state with a boy you barely know?”
“Maybe.”
The clock on the wall ticks loudly during the several minutes of silence in the kitchen, where only the muffled voices of customers in the dining room can be heard.
“Fine,” my father eventually says, as if I was waiting for his permission. All I wanted was his understanding. “When do you leave?”
“Soon. Possibly tomorrow,” I tell him.
“Then, I guess you better go home and start packing,” he mutters.
“Yeah,” I agree, already untying the apron from my waist that feels more like a suffocating noose when I’m wearing it.
“Make sure you refill your prescriptions before you leave,” he reminds me. “That’ll give you some time to get them transferred.”
“I know, Dad. I’ll do that right now,” I assure him while pulling up the pharmacy app on my phone.
“Good,” he says. “I hope…I hope you have fun.”
“Me too,” I agree with a smile he can’t see.
Since I was a little girl, all my father has wanted is for me to make friends and be happy like normal kids, even though that’s impossible. I’m nothing like my peers, and they can’t possibly understand why I’m the way I am.
My mother messed me up too badly. I’ve seen tons of therapists and have tried all types of medications, but so far, nothing has been able to push away the dark clouds that constantly hang over my head.
Kids I went to school, and then college, with apparently can sense the crazy inside me, that’s why they don’t get too close.
Graham is probably the closest person to a friend that I’ve ever had. And yeah, I know that he used me to do his homework and write his papers, but he still talked to me every single day and looked at me like he saw me—all of me. He didn’t care if I was all dark and twisted inside. And sometimes just being with him for those few minutes made me forget it too.
Chapter 3
Charlie Ross
I offered to help Graham pay for a tutor because my father has boatloads of money. I didn’t, however, give my roommate and fellow teammate permission to let some dorky chick move into the house with us.
“I don’t like this,” Tyson echoes my sentiments when the three of us are sitting in the living room, discussing our new living arrangements. “Nothing will cock block us more than having some Brainiac girl living with us. The chicks on campus will think we’re banging her, and then Charlie and I won’t ever get laid again. It’s already gonna be a shit summer with our number-one wingman studying rather than partying with us.”
“First of all,” Graham starts, “no one will think we’re hooking up with Skyler. Just wait until you see her. Imagine Meg Griffin in human form—”
“The girl from Family Guy?” I interrupt to ask.
“Yes! That one,” Graham agrees. “Imagine her as an actual person, and that’s Skyler. She’s a nice girl, but she’s…”
“Not even remotely hot?” Tyson offers.
“Exactly. Not even a little,” Graham tells us. “She’s a sweet girl who had a rough childhood, so while she’s smart as shit, her personality is…a little odd. It’s fine though. If I have to crash on the sofa and give her my room to get her to help me, then that’s fine. I’ll do it, so I can pass my classes and stay on the team. It’s only eight weeks, right?” He asks us, but it sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself. “And, I mean, if I need to get laid, you two can bunk together a night or two, can’t you?”
“We’re not sleeping together so that you can bang some chick,” Ty warns him, and I add my nod of agreement, even though I don't really mind sharing my bed with my best friend. The only reason a girl sleeps with me is because they look at me and see big, fat dollar signs. It’s no secret on campus that I’m rich as fuck. But it’s true what they say, money doesn’t buy happiness.
“Whatever. I’ll figure it out,” Graham tells us when he gets to his feet and pulls out his phone to look at it. “I need to run to the bookstore and get my shit before they close. Can one of you stick around for Skyler? Her plane was supposed to land like an hour or so ago.”
“Yeah, I’ve got it,” I mutter, since I rarely ever leave the house.
“Tonight, I wanna throw a party,” Graham says to us as he strides toward the front door. “One last big fucking blast before I have to hit the books. It wouldn’t hurt to show Skyler a good time too, you know? Kiss her ass a little. She’s really uptight so she could probably use a few drinks.”
I’d be insulted on the girl’s behalf if I wasn’t already sulking about having to share our bachelor pad with a stranger.
Tyson and I quickly became best friends during the summer before our freshman year, when we met on the football field, so I invited him to move into my brand new, empty, party house. A few weeks later, when Ty suggested that we also bring in Graham as our roommate, the team’s star rookie running back and known playboy, I had my doubts. I didn’t want a guy I barely knew to move in and start mooching off of me. Tyson, I trusted. Graham, not so much. But Ty assured me that Graham would bring lots and lots of women over, so I eventually caved. Now I’m glad to have both roommates and can admit that Graham wasn’t as big of a dick as I first thought he would be, from what I saw on the sidelines. He’s just a little selfish and arrogant, which I’ve learned to ignore most of the time.
“I’ll head out and grab some booze and snacks,” Ty offers right after Graham leaves.
“Fine, but hurry,” I tell him. “I don’t want to be here alone when all the gold-diggers start dropping by.”
“Don’t worry, man,” Ty tells me. “Their tits won’t bite. In fact, most of those girls like it when you sink your teeth into them just a little,” he adds with a wink.
“Fuck you,” I say, while flipping my best friend off. “Without someone to run interference, they attack me. I swear a few of them jerk my dick like they’re trying to make it rain diamonds.”
“You know you love it. Better than never getting laid, right?” he says before he takes off out the door.
I’d beg to differ. Sex with the gold-diggers sucks a little bit more of my soul from me each time. That’s why lately I’ve been drinking so much, to have an excuse to go pass out in my bedroom alone.
What would my best friend think if he knew I preferred to jerk off while listening to him fuck through the wall rather than letting a drunk slut have her way with me? I’ve tried to tell myself that I’m just growing up, looking for more than a physical relationship with a woman. But deep down, I know that’s not all there is to my recent silent vow of celibacy.
When the doorbell rings a few minutes later, dread fills my empty stomach before I force myself to throw down the video game controller and go answer the door.
But when I pull it open, it’s not a bunny in a string bikini. Instead, there’s a cute girl in glasses with a long brown braid hanging over her shoulder. She looks like a good little Girl Scout, and she’s petite, especially compared to my six-foot-four frame. I also notice she’s damn curvy, even though she’s wearing a baggy blue shirt and knee-length denim shorts. She doesn’t dress like most girls on campus, that’s for sure.
“Can I help you?” I ask, since she doesn’t look like she’s here for the pool party and she’s too tiny and pretty to be Meg Griffin, Graham’s tutor.
“I’m Skyler, and this is the address Graham gave me…” she says between panting breaths before setting down her pink luggage. She pulls out a piece of paper from her front pocket to read it, and then looks up at the numbers on the siding. “Yeah, this is de
finitely it.”
Hot damn. The girl must be his tutor. Guess she’s changed a lot since the last time Graham saw her.
“Nice to meet you, Skyler. I’m Charlie, one of Graham’s roommates.” I extend my palm in offering for a handshake.
“Hey,” she says, giving me a shy smile. “Sorry I’m so…sweaty.”
“Ah, yeah. Come on in,” I tell her, holding open the door wide. Glancing down the street, there are no signs of any cars or taxis. “Did you walk all the way from the airport?” I ask.
“It was only like, nine or so miles,” she answers, as if it’s no big deal to walk that far in the ninety-degree heat.
“Holy shit, we could’ve picked you up, or called you a cab or something! You want something to drink? Maybe some water?” I offer.
“Water would be great, thanks.”
“No problem,” I tell her as I lead her further into the house. “Living room and kitchen is this way, just so you know. And Graham’s really glad you could come help him out this summer. We’re even throwing a party tonight to celebrate.”
“Really?” she asks in disbelief before she sets her luggage down and plops down on the sofa like she can’t walk another step. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Sure, we do.”
Her eyes take in the giant room with vaulted ceilings and sunlight streaming in from the sky windows.
“I’ll be right back,” I say, before going to grab a bottle of water from the fridge.
“Wow. This place is…beautiful,” she says when I return and offer her the refreshment.
“Thanks.” Then, coming up with another brilliant idea, I say, “Our other roommate, Tyson, is rich as shit. His family bought this place for us.”
“That was nice of him,” Skyler replies between gulps of water.
There, now there’s at least one person on campus who doesn’t know I’m ridiculously wealthy.
“This place is like Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous,” Skyler remarks. “You ever see the reruns of that old show?”
Holding up my invisible flute in the air, I do my best Robin Leach impression and say, “Here’s to champagne wishes and caviar dreams!”
