by Tara Kelly
Mom sighed, closing her eyes. “If someone complains, we’ll do something. Otherwise? We can’t risk it. We got another bad review last night. One star because they had to wait fifteen minutes for a table.”
“Miserable people are gonna find misery, Angela,” Gramps said to her. “There’s no point in rolling over and playing dead.” He nodded at me. “Tell that boy to go stick it and be done with it.”
“Dad.” Mom pulled the jaw clip from her bun, letting her dark hair unravel down her back. “If you had your way, this would be a saloon.”
Gramps poured pancake batter into a pan and shrugged. “What’s wrong with that? I could wear my woolly chaps.”
Mom rolled her eyes at me. “I thought I burned those.”
“Could you take Zach and Christian’s table?” I asked her. “Please?”
Her brow scrunched up as she redid her bun. “I can’t, babe. Gavin got another stomachache, so Rhonda took him back to their place. I’ve got to seat people and work the counter. See if Brandon will switch.”
“Zach, the heartbreaker?” Gramps asked. “Let me know which order is his. I’ll show him what heartbreak feels like.”
“Har, har,” I said. Knowing Gramps, he’d dump an entire bottle of cayenne in Zach’s eggs. Which might not be a terrible thing.
“Before I forget…” Mom pulled a purple envelope from her black apron pocket, holding it out to me. “This was left on ten.”
I’d barely slept the last few nights, waiting in the darkness for them to come back. I’d even set up Eric’s ancient mini-DV camcorder on a tripod in my room, letting the lens peek through the side of my curtains. Those tapes only had an hour of recording time, though, which made it pretty pointless.
“When did you find it?” I asked, taking it from her.
“Just a couple of minutes ago.”
“Who was sitting there last?” My heart thudded—would they be that obvious?
“Betty and her favorite gossip buddy, Pam.” Mom’s nose wrinkled. “Don’t think they’re your admirers—at least I hope not.” She cocked her head, her eyes combing my face. “You still think this is a prank?”
Gramps appeared to keep himself busy with beating eggs, but his creased brow and pursed lips told me he was listening intently. “Counter order’s up,” he said.
“We’ll talk about it later, okay?” Mom said, hustling to take the plates.
I nodded, stuffing the envelope into my apron pocket before heading back out.
Gabi was sitting in Christian and Zach’s booth now, eyeing the menu and sucking on her lower lip. Brandon, who was wiping down a table nearby, kept staring at her, like he wanted to say something. Hopefully he’d want to cover their table.
I walked over to him and leaned toward his ear. “You want to take care of them?”
Brandon twisted his rag, squeezing harder than necessary. “I’d rather jump off the roof.” He glanced up at me. “But I will. If you need me to.”
“That’s okay.” I patted his shoulder. “Just know…one of these days I’m going to make you tell me what your deal is with them.”
He nodded, his expression softening. “Duly noted.”
“What can I get you?” I asked, moving to their table and keeping my eyes on my order pad.
“Look at that,” Christian said, loudly. “Service without a smile.”
“Just order,” Zach said.
They must’ve been hungry because they each rattled off their orders in record time. I was surprised when I got to Gabi—I’d somehow written everything down without actually hearing it.
I turned and walked away before they could say anything else. But I didn’t get out of earshot fast enough.
“Nice rear view,” Christian called after me. “Too bad it’s so beat.”
“Dick,” Zach said, in that quiet way of his. The way that said he wasn’t going to do anything but clear his own conscience.
I quickened my pace, my cheeks burning. I knew people around us had heard, but I kept my head up, eyes forward, not wanting to see their disbelief, their pity, their judgment.
Alex stood in my path, giving me his concerned look. He could always see right through me, especially when I didn’t want him to.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Fine.”
“No, you’re not,” he whispered.
“Alex, please? Drop it.”
He touched my cheek, his fingers barely grazing my skin. “Stop listening to them.”
I pushed past him and dropped my order off at the kitchen. Then I headed out the back door, letting the gentle breeze cool my face. I closed my eyes until my heart slowed down. Until I didn’t have the overwhelming urge to go back in there and deck Christian in front of dozens of customers.
My fingers curled around the envelope in my pocket. I ripped it open this time.
I shouldn’t be thinking about you, but I can’t stop. Your messy ponytail. Your raspy voice. That crooked, goofy smile you get sometimes when you think nobody is looking. You drive me crazy, Nova.
I bet this tool thought I’d be touched by these oh-so-sensitive observations. They got to watch me, without my knowledge. They got to do all the talking. They got to choose when and where.
But I didn’t have to keep listening.
I crumpled the paper into my fist, using all my strength to crush it, and tossed it into the Dumpster.
When I went back to check on my tables, Alex was standing in front of Zach and Christian’s booth, his hands flat against their table. He was staring hard at Christian. Challenging him.
Zach’s eyes met mine, a warning in his expression.
Alex straightened and backed away, keeping his focus on Christian. Then he turned and headed toward me, his fingers clenched.
“I can fight my own battles,” I said as I passed him, keeping my voice in a whisper.
“So can I,” he said to my back. “I’ll pick you up at nine.”
I kept walking.
“What’s going on with you two?” Gramps asked after Alex finally left. He’d stuck around for about an hour, having a debate with Gramps in the kitchen about the merits of Black Rebel Motorcycle Club.
“What do you mean?” I didn’t know why I was bothering. He could smell bullshit a mile away.
Gramps pointed his spatula at the grilled cheese he was making me. “You want this or not?”
It was three thirty. The diner would be dead for maybe another half hour. And I knew him. He really would hold that sandwich hostage until I started talking. Tillamook cheddar. Freshly baked sourdough. My stomach growled. “You suck sometimes, you know that?”
“Yep.” He flipped the bread over. “So what’d he do?”
“How do you—”
“I’m sixty-two years old. Can we leave it at that?”
So I told him. Everything. How I felt like I was losing him, at least the Alex I knew. And the scary part was I couldn’t imagine my world without that Alex in it.
“Well…” he began. “If you knew half the stuff I pulled when I was—” He scrunched up his face, holding up a hand. “Guys do stupid shit. It doesn’t matter if we’re sixteen or sixty.”
“You’re old and wise, remember? You’re supposed to tell me something I don’t know.”
“Ohhh…” He chuckled. “Snap. Is that what you say?”
“Don’t.” I shook my head, breaking into a grin. “Just don’t.”
His dark eyes studied my face for a few seconds. “You like him, don’t you?”
“He’s my friend. Of course I—”
“Don’t play that card with me.” He pointed the spatula at me this time. “You know exactly what I mean.”
I looked away. “I don’t know if I can get past this.”
“He forgave you for dating that rich joker.”
“It’s not the same. Zach wasn’t his worst enemy. And—”
“Isn’t he part of the crowd that pantsed Alex a couple years ago?”
“Yeah, but…” My voi
ce softened. “Zach wasn’t there.”
I remembered telling Alex if he was really my friend, he’d respect my feelings for Zach and back off. “You got it,” he’d said, his voice quiet and icy. He never brought Zach up again.
I was too angry at the time to see how hurt he was. Now it was as plain as day. My stomach knotted up thinking about it.
“He doesn’t see me that way,” I said, finally.
“Then why’s he always around?” Gramps asked.
I rolled my eyes. Gramps didn’t believe that guys could just be friends with girls, unless they were gay or “something was wrong downstairs.”
Alex had a zillion opportunities to make a move. Say something. Anything. Then again, so did I.
I curled into the wooden rocking chair Gavin always sat in to watch Gramps cook. It was blissfully quiet in here without him.
“I asked him point-blank if he’s been giving you those envelopes.” Gramps plopped my sandwich onto a cracked “employee” plate and handed it to me. “I told him a real man tells you how he feels to your face.”
“You what?”
“He seemed genuinely surprised you’d gotten more than one.” He raised his eyebrows at me. “Guess those letters are pretty juicy, huh? You’re not talking to anyone.”
“It’s some messed-up prank. You know they came to my bedroom window the other night?”
Gramps stopped buttering the sourdough for his sandwich. “What exactly do these things say?”
I described each one I’d gotten so far, how I set Eric’s camcorder to record when I went to sleep, even if it was for an hour.
“You hear them come around again, you dial 911.”
“And say what? Help—I have a fake secret admirer?”
“They’re on your property uninvited in the middle of the night.” His voice rose. “You know who does that? Someone who isn’t right in the head.”
“You know the cops won’t do anything.”
He placed his sandwich into the frying pan. “Things are changing with Koza running things now. And with the animal mutilations and that rich girl going missing? You better believe they’re under a lot of scrutiny.” His eyes flickered up to mine. “I mean it. They come back, start dialing.”
Gramps was never one to panic. He was always the first to say we should live our lives, no matter what. If the bogeyman is gonna come, he’s gonna come. All you can do is keep your head out of your rear and your eyes open.
Humor got Gramps through all those years of cleaning up gory crime scenes. He always told the newbies to crack a joke when it got overwhelming—as long as family members weren’t around, of course. The dead wouldn’t care.
I chewed slowly, trying to ignore the thoughts that had been nagging at me for a week. Amber went missing the day after those mutilations happened. If this were Portland or some bigger city, those two events would seem like a coincidence. But in a town this size…every bad thing that happened seemed related.
Brandon came through the swinging doors, an order in hand. “It’s starting to fill up again out there,” he said, eyeing the remnants of my sandwich like a starving man.
“Take five.” Gramps thrust his plate in Brandon’s direction. “Have at it.”
Brandon’s eyes widened. “No, it’s cool. I—”
“Don’t waste time being coy,” Gramps broke in. “Take the damn thing.”
Brandon smiled and took it, almost cautiously, as if he expected Gramps to snatch it back. “Thanks.”
“Guess I’m done.” I crammed the remainder of bread into my mouth and dusted off my apron before heading out.
“Nova,” Gramps said to my back. “Use your head.”
“Always do.” At least I tried like hell.
Chapter Nine
Brandon offered me a ride home after our shift. He drove an older silver Toyota Corolla, just the car you’d expect a cop’s son to drive. Practical and economical, probably a great safety rating. The inside reeked of cigarette smoke and cheap air freshener, the kind that smelled vaguely like melons.
There was a blast of sound when he started the car. Guitar riffs on speed. A guttural voice that sounded more like a long belch.
Brandon turned it down. “You’re probably not a black metal fan, huh?”
“Not really.” But I used to listen to it with Alex for hours. He heard something inside the noise, something he’d clung to all through eighth grade. He told me I needed to close my eyes and keep an open mind. One day I’d hear it, too.
I never did.
“You live in Green Rock, right?” Brandon asked, inching the car back to get out of the tight spot we were in.
“Yep. On Pluto.” I found the name of my street far more amusing than it actually was.
Brandon stuck a cigarette between his lips and lit up. He took a quick drag and then put his hand low on the steering wheel, letting the smoke curl right into his face. I guessed his mom didn’t spend much time in his car—or around him, for that matter. My mom smoked far less than Brandon did, and I could always smell it on her.
“So, running and smoking. How’s that working for you?” I asked. Then I realized how preachy that probably sounded. “Not judging. Just curious.”
He shrugged, the corner of his mouth pulling up. “I like a good challenge.” His right leg jiggled. “Honestly, I hate running.”
“Then why—”
“Because I’m good at it.” He took another drag, holding it in his lungs like he hoped it would stick. “I’m not good at much.”
“I feel that way sometimes. I’m pretty good at drawing cartoon versions of people, though. And I can run really fast when a situation calls for it.”
He let out a soft laugh, his free hand smoothing back his inky hair. I wondered if he was capable of sitting still. “I like to draw, too. Manga, mostly. I’m storyboarding one right now.”
“What’s it about?”
“A metal band made up of assassins.”
“Nice.”
He was blowing rings now, his lips moving like a fish. Brandon Koza was kind of a geek. Who knew?
We were stuck on Beach, waiting for a parade of tourists to cross the street. I rolled my window down, letting the fading sun warm my face. “Time to fess up. What’s your deal with the cakes?”
“There’s not much to tell. I went to their parties because Gabi did. I’d sit there by myself, like a chump, ’cause they wouldn’t talk to me. Then they’d ask Gabi why I was so quiet.”
“Sounds familiar.” When me and Zach first got together, he was more than willing to bow out of a party because he knew how uncomfortable I was around his friends. But as the summer went on, he started giving me guilt trips about it.
“You looked pretty miserable at those parties,” Brandon said.
I was merely an observer, listening to Zach have conversations about people I didn’t know. Share memories I didn’t have. All while Amber and her friends sent me death glares and whispered to one another. “You always seemed like you were having a good time.”
“After a few beers? Sure. Their idiotic conversations became comic relief instead of…”
“Needles in your eyes?”
He nodded. “They’re like a fucking cult. All their inside jokes and nicknames and codes.”
“God, I know. Like butter lips. What the hell was that and why was it so funny?”
“No idea.” He flicked his cigarette butt out the window. “It’s like if you’re not one of them, you’re the enemy.”
“Can’t argue that.”
“What I don’t get is Gabi doesn’t even like them. I mean, she…” He trailed off.
“What?”
His lips remained parted, but nothing came out for a few seconds. “She was always complaining, you know? Talking about what dumbasses they all are. So we agreed that this year we’d do our own thing.”
“What happened?”
He threw his hands up. “She just stopped talking to me. No explanation. Nothing.” His face puckere
d, like he ate something sour. “I mean, we’ve been friends since freshman year, and she…”
“Completely shut you out,” I muttered before I could stop myself. “You two kind of dated, right?” Sometimes they’d embrace like they were a couple, at parties and at school, but they were never “official.” I always thought that was weird.
“We messed around. But…” Brandon squinted out the windshield. “It’s never been more than that.”
“And you want more?”
“Is it that obvious?”
I raised my eyebrows at him. “What’s she like—Gabi?”
“She’s… I don’t know how to answer that. What’s Alex like?”
He had a point—how did you begin to describe your best friend? Alex couldn’t be defined by a list of adjectives. “Complicated,” I said.
He nodded. “Yep.”
“My friend Megan—Alex’s little sister—is pretty gaga over Gabi at the moment,” I said. “I guess I’d feel better if…” How did I put this in a way that wouldn’t be offensive?
“You knew Gabi wasn’t a total bitch?”
“Or if I knew anything about her.”
He grinned, crinkling his brow at me. “You sound like a concerned parent.”
“Yeah, well. Someone needs to look out for her.”
Brandon puffed up his cheeks, blowing the air out slowly, as if he was trying to buy time. “She has her guard up around a lot of people, but when you’re alone with her she’s kind of…amazing.”
I rolled my eyes. “Said like a boy in love.”
His cheeks flushed a little. “All right, that was lame. She has this way of making everything seem fun, even the little things. She’s daring. She got me to do things I never thought I’d do. She’s…”
“The shit. I got it.”
“I was going to say—unpredictable.” His face grew serious. “She always keeps you guessing.”
“Yeah. I know that feeling,” I said quietly.
We drove over the Deception Creek Bridge. The coral sky turned the creek into liquid rust. It would be drying up soon, leaving a path that snaked up into the Coast Mountains. I’d hike it almost every summer, never fearing anything but a potential run-in with aggressive coyotes.
