There were the usual posts about how ugly my birthmark—and pretty much everything else about me—was and how I should just put myself out of my misery. But speculation about who Turner was sneaking off to see had finally reached the wide gossip network. It was inevitable that someone would notice eventually.
One post, dated three days ago, read, “Caught a glimpse of Turner making out with someone with shiny blonde hair behind the science building at lunch. Bonnie was also mysteriously not at lunch.” It made me gag, but I knew it was a flat-out lie, because I’d been pushing Turner against the gym mats in the storage room at lunch three days ago. Bonnie had probably sent it in herself.
There were several other posts in the same vein, including a few pics of the girls that had made my life hell leaning into him, whispering in his ear, touching his shoulder. I wanted to throw my phone off the balcony so I would never have to see that shit again.
“Fucking bitches,” I growled, squeezing the device in my hand.
“Hey, neighbor.” Turner’s voice sounded a bit wary. “You OK?”
Shit. I’d been so absorbed by the bullshit on social media that I hadn’t even heard him come out. “Hey, stranger. Yeah, I’m fine. Just crap on Instagram.”
There was a beat of silence, the relentless rain humming all around us.
“You know none of that shit is true, right?” His ocean-calm voice was serious. “I’d tell them all I was yours if you’d let me.”
You wouldn’t want to be mine if you knew who I really was. The thought flew through my mind before I could stop it, surprising me a little with its intensity. My chest suddenly felt tight.
I wanted so badly to show him who I really was.
I wanted to show them all the truth.
I wanted to run away and never see any of them again.
Before I had a chance to answer, the sound of Turner’s balcony door sliding open cut through the sound of the rain.
“Turner?” It was his dad.
“Hey, Dad. You’re home early.” Turner shifted; I could just make out the outline of his body as he got to his feet.
“Work was quiet. What are you doing out here? It’s pouring. Never mind. How was today? Did you speak to her? Did you convince her?”
I kept still, frowning in confusion. Was he talking about me? Had Turner confided in his dad? I couldn’t really be mad about that, but it didn’t make sense. His dad sounded really intense about it.
“No, Dad. I would’ve messaged you right away. Let’s talk inside.”
Whatever it was, Turner clearly didn’t want me to know. I wasn’t the only one keeping secrets.
I tried not to let it get to me, but it was hard not to feel hurt when I was already in a vulnerable, self-conscious state. My feet fell to the floor, and I leaned my elbows on my knees and dropped my head in my hands. What the fuck was I doing? This needed to stop. I had to tell him the truth—the whole awful history. If he decided he didn’t want me after, then I didn’t want him either. The thought of losing him—not just losing him but being rejected by him—felt like a punch to the gut, and tears welled in my eyes.
My phone went off, and I reached for the welcome distraction.
It was my boss.
Leah: Hey, Philly. Are you free to work the dinner shift tomorrow night? Chelsea canceled on me again.
M: Again? Sure, I’ll be there.
Chelsea had bailed on three shifts in the last two weeks, and I was starting to worry for her job. Leah was not happy.
L: Thanks, lovely. You’re a lifesaver!
I headed inside to start on my homework, telling myself I needed the money and that taking the shift had nothing to do with wanting to delay my chat with Turner.
Saturday nights were always busy at work. Tonight there were three other waitresses on with me, two cooks in the back, and Leah floating around helping where she could, constantly cursing Chelsea’s name under her breath for bailing on us.
About halfway through the dinner rush, Donna, Harlow, and Amaya came in with a group of their friends from school. I wasn’t sure what they were doing on the shitty side of town, and I didn’t have time to ask them; I just greeted them all warmly and seated them in a booth in my section before rushing off.
The girls had seen my birthmark plenty of times, of course, but most of their friends saw me only occasionally at parties and things. Thankfully, none of them seemed to care about it, although I did notice Nicola lean over the table and whisper to Donna, who gave her a withering look and then waved her hand dismissively. I couldn’t help but wonder if they were talking about me.
I seated a couple and cleared another table before going back to take their order.
“What can I get you guys?”
“What’s good?” William asked. Will had neat brown hair and had been on again/off again with Donna for nearly a year.
“Uh, the loaded nachos are pretty good, and we have a great pecan pie—it’s the owner’s nana’s recipe.”
“Hey, Mena.” Drew, a guy with black hair who drove a car probably worth more than our apartment, flashed me a grin. We’d hooked up once at a party. He was nice enough, but we really didn’t have anything in common. “I’ll have the nachos, but when can I take you out?”
“Oh my god.” I rolled my eyes but laughed lightly. He’d asked me out a few times, always in front of other people. I suspected he was doing it more to show off than because he actually wanted to date me.
“Leave her alone, Drew.” Harlow slapped his shoulder. “Mena’s spoken for.”
“What? No.” He groaned, a little over the top.
“Yeah, it’s true love. You can’t compete,” Donna added.
“Not that she’ll give us any damn details on the guy.” Amaya glanced up from her phone long enough to give me a reproachful look.
“Stop,” I hissed at them but struggled to keep the smile off my face. Any mention of Turner had me feeling giddy. “Are you assholes going to order or what? I’m kind of fucking busy.”
“Two servings of nachos.” Drew pouted. “I need to eat my feelings tonight.”
I rolled my eyes at him and took the other orders.
I was elated no one had made a big deal about my birthmark, and being around the girls always made me feel good. Maybe I could even sit with them on my break—if it ever slowed down enough for me to take a break.
As I headed for the servery to place their order with the kitchen, the door swung open, the little old-fashioned bell dinging. My smile fell, a heavy weight dropping in the pit of my churning stomach.
Jayden swaggered through the door as though he owned the place, his hand clasped around Madison’s. I caught a glimpse of the rest of their group before dropping my gaze and rushing behind the counter.
After placing the order, I caught one of the other waitresses as she passed. “I’m running to the bathroom,” I told her, then hurried to the back before she could answer.
In the dingy toilet, I took a few deep breaths to try to slow my racing heart. With a conscious effort, I pulled the impassive mask I wore at school over my features and hoped they’d eat quickly and get the fuck out before they noticed me.
I couldn’t leave the other waitresses in the middle of the dinner rush for long, so I forced myself back just in time to see Leah handing my worst enemies menus. She’d seated them in the booth directly next to Donna and her crew—in my section.
I groaned internally as dread settled around me like a heavy mist, making it hard to breathe or move or think straight. I cleared another table, kind of hoping one of the other girls would take their order—we weren’t super strict on sections. But we were slammed, and I had no luck.
Having done all I could to avoid it, I sighed and dragged my feet over to their booth. My shoulders slumped, my chest caving in on itself farther with every step I took. When I reached their table, I took the pen and pad out of my apron pocket and cleared my throat, glancing up.
The flat, professional “Can I take your order?” died
in my throat.
Seated between Bonnie and Kelsey, his elbows casually on the table, was Turner.
Fuck, he was beautiful, with his bomber jacket and his already dark eyes obscured further by the shadow of a baseball cap. He was grinning, his strong shoulders shaking lightly at something Jayden was saying across the table.
But I didn’t have time to dwell on that. A full-blown tempest of panic, horror, and crippling uncertainty was writhing inside me. What the hell was I supposed to do now? I couldn’t let him find out like this.
I looked around at all of them, hoping like hell I didn’t seem like a deer in headlights, even though I felt like one. No one was looking at me. Maybe it had finally happened. Maybe all their jokes about me being invisible had finally translated into reality. I could only hope.
Turner noticed me standing there like a mute idiot.
“Oh, hey, sorry.” He gave me a quick glance and a little smile. “I’ll have the cheeseburger. Extra fries.”
I responded with a tight, polite smile and jotted his order down as the others all groaned, a couple of them throwing napkins at him.
“What?” He looked confused but laughed as he defended himself from the onslaught.
“Didn’t you see we were all waiting to see how long she’d stand there, not saying anything like a weirdo?” Steph filled him in.
“Uh . . . no.” Turner shifted in his seat and flashed me a wary look.
I just stood there, humiliated, hoping against hope they’d just order and I could slink away without saying something.
I’d talk to Turner after work. I’d tell him everything. I couldn’t keep doing this.
After an extended silence—my eyes glued to the table, my fingers gripping the pen so tightly my fingers were beginning to hurt—Turner cleared his throat.
“I’m starving. Fucking order already.” He said it with a smile in his voice, but I heard the growly tension underneath.
Another beat of silence, and then Madison made a show of studying the menu, tapping one manicured finger against her chin. The others snickered.
This was taking way too long. I had two other tables waiting to order; all the other staff were rushing around like crazy. But walking away, trying to ignore them as they did me, would only make it worse.
“Is the chicken pie homemade?” Kelsey asked.
I pressed my lips together and nodded.
“What about the pasta? Is that gluten free?” Steph asked.
It took physical effort not to grind my teeth or roll my eyes. I shook my head no.
Then Madison put the nail in my coffin. “I’d like to hear the specials.”
She leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms, giving me a smug look.
I hated her in that moment. I’d hated her so many times over the last few years, but in that moment, my hatred for her was seething and pure. She was taking my choice away. She was forcing me to expose myself to Turner in front of all of them, at work, with my only friends in the world right there. Donna’s table had gone silent. I could feel their eyes on me, but I could focus on only one crisis at a time. I couldn’t imagine what they were thinking. I was so humiliated.
And the worst thing was—Madison didn’t even know any of these things. She just had a natural instinct for making my life hell.
With no other options, I pulled my shoulders back. I refused to do this while cowering, even though every survival instinct I had was urging me to hunch over and duck my head, scurry away like a mouse from a cat. I hoped it looked casual as I told them about the specials, my voice clear and steady—even though I was dying on the inside.
I looked directly at them as I spoke, but I didn’t see them. My full focus was on Turner.
He’d been fiddling with the corner of a napkin when Madison had asked for the specials, his face turned down, one arm slung over the back of the booth behind Bonnie’s shoulders. When I started to speak, he froze. Every muscle in his body seemed to tense. His jaw twitched; his long fingers wrapped around the napkin and squeezed.
He knew. How could he not?
But why wasn’t he looking at me? Was he repulsed now that he knew who I was?
I couldn’t stand this. I needed to be away from this whole mess. I let some frustration leak into my voice. “We’re really busy tonight. What’s your order?”
Several cutting looks were thrown in my direction.
“Don’t rush me,” Kelsey snapped.
Tears pricked the backs of my eyes. I was done. I’d send one of the other girls to deal with them.
Before I could book it out of there, Turner spoke. “Hey, neighbor,” he said in that ocean-calm way, his eyes still downcast and hidden by the hat, not looking at me.
He wanted to confirm it was really me, but he didn’t want any of them to know. Was he protecting me? Or himself? I so badly wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. I’d been adamant I didn’t want anyone to know about us. Maybe now he understood the implications. Maybe he was honoring my wishes.
But he’d still just sat there as they treated me like shit. This moment had been taken from me—just as they took everything else.
White-hot anger crawled up my spine, giving me the strength to remain upright.
“Oh, shit.” Jayden laughed. “You two are neighbors? That fucking sucks, bro. Imagine having to look at that face even when at home.”
A muscle in Turner’s jaw ticked. Someone slammed something onto the table at Donna’s booth. Please, god, don’t come over here.
“You must be confused. You’ve never seen me . . . stranger.” I hoped he got my meaning. He’d never seen me really—not this ugly, twisted, ground-into-the dirt side of me. Not like this.
The heat at my spine was going to my head, the rage turning to frustration and despair as the backs of my eyes started to sting. I really fucking didn’t want to cry in front of everyone.
Turner rested both elbows on the surface of the table and twisted his head to look at me. I dropped my eyes before they could meet his. I didn’t want him looking at me. I wanted to crawl into a hole and die.
“I’ll have the cob salad.” Madison placed the menu on the table delicately, as if we’d all been waiting for her to make up her mind. As if I wasn’t standing there completely destroyed inside. Was she that oblivious? Or was she turning the knife?
The others followed her lead and rattled off what they wanted. I kept my focus on my pen and pad and collected the menus, not meeting anyone’s eyes, then turned back toward the kitchen.
“Wait!” Madison held out a hand but didn’t actually touch me. I paused and looked back at her.
“Who cooks the food?” she asked.
Are you fucking kidding me? Couldn’t they just let me leave? I glanced at the counter. Leah and one of the other waitresses were throwing me cautious looks. They knew something was up; I was taking too long. I ground my teeth and answered in as calm a tone as I could muster. “Our cook and his assistant.”
“So, you don’t actually handle the food, right?”
“No.” I frowned.
“OK, cool. Just checking. I wouldn’t want to catch anything and end up looking like someone took an iron to my face.”
The table burst into laughter as I walked off.
I couldn’t look at Turner. I didn’t think I could hear his deep voice joining in the laughter, but he hadn’t defended me either. Maybe he really wasn’t the guy I thought he was.
This was the worst night of my life.
I could handle them being assholes to me. This wasn’t even as bad as what I usually had to deal with. But the fact that Turner knew everything now, that he’d just sat there and let it happen, that the only people in the world I could remotely call friends had seen me treated like a leper . . . My whole world was imploding, and the rubble was all piling down onto my chest.
As I passed Donna’s booth, I couldn’t help glancing up. Half the group was staring at me in shock, the other half studying the table. They were all deathly silent. D
onna’s gaze bored into me with startling intensity. Was she embarrassed? Upset that I’d made her look bad by association? Was I about to lose every single good thing in my life in one fell swoop?
I rushed away and put the order in, waving off my concerned coworkers with a brittle smile. “Just some kids from my school being dicks. Nothing I can’t handle.”
We were too busy for anyone to really push the issue.
I did my best to go into autopilot as I delivered the food and drinks to Turner’s table in batches. The last was a tray of milkshakes. Once I’d deposited them on the table, Jayden didn’t even try to hide the flask as he tipped alcohol into all but one of the frosty glasses. I sighed. There was no point in telling them they couldn’t do that. I could tell Leah—she’d kick them all out on their asses. But that would only make things worse for me at school.
I grabbed the tray and straightened up as Madison extended one manicured hand, reaching for the milkshake closest to the table’s edge. She nudged it deliberately, like a cat pushing a mug in one of those videos online. I tried to jump back, but it was too late. A strawberry-flavored, icy mess splattered all down the front of my legs and slopped into my shoes.
I gasped as the cold seeped into my clothes.
“Oops.” Madison shrugged and pressed her lips together, fighting a laugh. The whole table was shaking with barely controlled laughter.
“You’re so reckless, Phil. I hope that doesn’t come out of your paycheck.” She tutted, clearly hoping it did. “Oh well. Better bring me another one.”
Still not as bad as other shit she’d done to me.
Still Turner did nothing.
Still I couldn’t look at him.
Sticky with sugary milk and resentment, I turned to leave.
Amaya and Drew both got to their feet. Drew’s hands were balled into fists. Amaya looked ready to explode—her beautiful face had gone red, her eyes bugging out.
My eyes widened, and in a panic, I looked at Donna. She was still seated in the booth, her posture rigid, her intense stare on me. Next to her, Harlow had her head in her hands.
I gave Donna a pleading look and shook my head. It would only make this worse if they made a scene.
Like You Care: A Dark High School Bully Romance (Devilbend Dynasty Book 1) Page 9
