Living the Dream

by Christa Roberts

  “Thanks again,” the woman said once her purchases had been rung up and placed into a pink shopping bag. “I’ll be back!” She looked over at Jane, then pointed to Veronica. “This girl is a keeper!”

  Jane smiled. “She sure is.” The manager gave Veronica a thumbs-up. “That was terrific, Veronica. You’re exactly the type of employee Belle Pink needs.”

  “Why, thank you,” Veronica said, thrilled. She couldn’t help herself: She gave Lola a smug smile.

  “In fact, starting with your next shift, I want you front and center—working the floor.” Jane clasped her hands together. “That’s where you belong.”

  Veronica beamed.

  She couldn’t have agreed more.

  Chapter 8

  “Thanks, Mom,” Betty said as her mom put a plate of steaming Belgian waffles and crispy bacon in front of her. “I really, really appreciate it.” Her cat, Caramel, walked over and rubbed her back against Betty’s leg. Betty reached down and gave the kitty an affectionate ear scratch.

  Mrs. Cooper looked taken aback at her daughter’s words. “You’re welcome. I’m not used to such appreciation around here.”

  Betty sighed. “Now that I’m working at Pop’s, any time someone brings me a plate of food, instead of the other way around, I’m happy.” She dug in to her food, enjoying every bite.

  Her mom sat down at the table. “You know, honey, Dad and I really appreciate how hard you’re working this summer. And it’s going to make your laptop mean that much more to you knowing that you earned the money for it yourself.”

  Betty chewed some waffle. “I know,” she said after swallowing. “But I just wish I had more time to hang out with my friends.”

  “You’re going to the beach later with Midge, right?”

  Betty nodded. “It’s all I’m thinking about.”

  Mrs. Cooper laughed and ruffled Betty’s blond hair. “Make the most of your summer. Pretty soon you’ll be like your sister, working all year long.” Just then the phone rang. “Speaking of Polly, that should be her calling now. Love you, honey.”

  “Love you,” Betty said as her mom clicked on the phone and walked into the family room. Her older sister, Polly, had moved to San Francisco a while ago, but she called her mom at least three times a week.

  Betty took a sip of orange juice and picked up the newspaper her dad had left on the table. She flipped to the horoscopes page and slid her finger down to her sign.

  CANCER

  Don’t try to hold on to something if it’s trying to get free. When one door closes, another always opens. Bright days are coming soon if you just hang in there and don’t get caught up in others’ small-mindedness.

  “Bright days are coming,” Betty said thoughtfully, putting the paper down. Maybe that meant a sunny day at the beach later today. She hopped up from the table and put her dishes in the dishwasher. “And as soon as I get through my shift at Pop’s, the faster I can be there!”

  “You got it. Coming right up,” Betty said, dashing back to the prep station. The orange coffeepot was getting dangerously near empty, so she took out the filter, popped a new one in, filled it with coffee grounds, poured in the water, and started brewing a new pot.

  Betty wasn’t sure how it had happened, but today had been the first day since she’d been working at Pop’s that she felt on top of things. Her mom’s words had stuck with her. She was right: Betty should be making the most of her summer. And by the end of it she’d have a nice pile of cash to spend on whatever she wanted.

  Once the coffee was dripping into the pot, Betty headed back out to the restaurant where she refilled the empty straw dispensers in her station. “Hey, lady!” a little boy called. He was standing in front of the jukebox. “Do you know where I can get a quarter?” he asked. “I wanted to play a song.”

  Betty reached into her apron pocket and fished out two coins. She handed them to the little boy. “Make sure you pick a good one,” she said, giving him a wink. And then she was off to her next table. She was so familiar with the menu now that when people ordered the Farmer’s Omelet or the Handyman’s Hamburger, she didn’t stare blankly at them. She knew exactly what they wanted.

  The Chocklit Shoppe was beginning to fill up. Betty snuck a peek at her watch. She had finished the first hour on her shift without spilling a single drink—or breaking a dish. “One hour down . . . and only five left to go,” she said to herself as she picked up the now-full coffeepot and began to pour refills for her customers. “What could go wrong?”

  A family of four sat down at one of Betty’s booths, and Betty soon discovered what could go wrong. In minutes, they had killed her good mood. They were loud, demanding, and kind of rude.

  “Laptop. Laptop. Shiny keys. Big screen. Wi-Fi,” she chanted under her breath as she made sure her customers’ every desire was granted.

  “Excuse me. Miss? Miss!” The mother was trying to get Betty’s attention, waving her hand in an obnoxious manner.

  Betty sighed. What could be the problem now? I brought them ice water, more straws, another spoon, and their orders: four banana splits.

  “Yes?” Betty said, walking over. She was sure it was something totally urgent—like an extra napkin.

  “Where I come from, banana splits usually have bananas in them,” the mother snapped, shooting Betty the death glare.

  Betty blinked. She stared down at the table. Four dishes of ice cream, chocolate sauce, whipped cream, and cherries stared back at her. There was not a banana in sight.

  “Oh. My. Gosh. I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed. How embarrassing! She turned on her heels and ran over to the soda counter. “I need four bananas peeled pronto!” she instructed the guy working behind the soda fountain counter who was responsible for making Pop’s delicious shakes, malts, sundaes . . . and banana splits. “And next time?” she said, giving the soda jerk a good-natured scolding. “Please try to remember that there are actual bananas in a banana split!”

  “Ooh la la, j’adore le jeans, ooh, ooh, j’adore le fashion,” Veronica sang as she neatened up a rack of dresses. “La la la, je suis une fashion baby.”

  She buzzed over to a table and expertly folded two stacks of sweaters. Belle Pink always played the same playlist of songs, and by now Veronica knew them by heart. Most of the songs were either in French or had something to do with fashion, or in this case, both. They were always very catchy.

  “That color would be fantastic with your skin tone,” she chirped to a girl who was looking at a gold-colored shirt. Then Veronica wrinkled her nose as she passed by another customer. “Run as far away as possible from that scoop neck T-shirt. Totally not your style.”

  The girl gave Veronica a strange look. Veronica knew not everyone appreciated the advice, but it was for the greater good of fashion. She was definitely doing these customers a favor.

  Ever since Jane had moved her to the selling floor, Veronica had been in her element. And for every uptight person that got offended by one of Veronica’s comments, there were at least three people who were happy to get the advice.

  “I could totally see you work a Katy Perry vibe,” she told another customer—a short girl with pigtails and a hand-painted knapsack. “We’ve got some tops and minidresses over here that you would be a knockout in. Bright colors that pop!”

  “Really?” the girl said, eagerly going to where Veronica had pointed. Veronica watched, a satisfied smile on her face. The fashion business was just too much fun.

  “Now how did this end up here?” Veronica said to herself, plucking a black satin tunic off a rack of sparkly tops. When she looked around to find the rack it belonged on, she noticed Liam across the mall. She waved hello. He pointed to his watch and lifted his hand up and down.

  Veronica stared at him, puzzled for a second before it hit her: He was pretending to eat something . . . He wants me to join him on his lunch break, she realized, lighting up.

  She caught his attention and held up her hand, her fingers spread out. “Five minutes,” she
mouthed, trying to remain calm, cool, and collected.

  Suddenly her own lunch break had gotten a lot more interesting.

  “So where do you want to go?” Liam asked as they walked into the food court. The perimeter was lined with brightly colored fast-food restaurants while the middle was filled with tables and chairs.

  “Oh, I don’t care,” Veronica said. And she really didn’t. She was just happy to be hanging out with him. “I like most anything. Maybe the pizza place? Or the smoothie shop?”

  Liam nodded. “Pizza sounds cool.” They went over to the restaurant and ordered some slices and bottled waters. They each paid for their own lunch. Of course he’s not going to pay for me, Veronica thought. I mean, it’s not like we’re on a date or anything. Sometimes that even got weird for Veronica. Because when she went out with boys who had a lot less money than she did, sometimes she felt guilty letting them pay for her. Her mother told her that it was completely fine—in fact, it was courteous for the boys to pay. Veronica was never quite sure what to do.

  “I’m glad we can have lunch together,” Liam said as they carried their food trays to an empty table. “I look for you every time I’m at work.”

  “You do?” Veronica asked, feeling a happy little shiver of excitement run up her spine. “I always look for you, too.”

  “That day you came in with your friend—you were two of the prettiest girls I’ve ever seen,” Liam said as they sat down. “And, well, I wanted to make a good impression on you guys.”

  Veronica laughed. “We were, um, both kind of checking you out.”

  Liam’s cheeks turned pink, whichVeronica found adorable. “Yeah . . . I kind of noticed.”

  “So,” Veronica said, taking a dainty bite of her cheese pizza, “where do you go to school? Not Riverdale, right? That’s where I go.” Veronica knew everyone at Riverdale High, and she definitely would have noticed someone like Liam.

  “I’m at Pembroke,” Liam told her. “I moved here last year from Florida.”

  Veronica raised her eyebrows. She couldn’t believe a nice guy like Liam went to stuck-up Pembroke Academy. Pembroke was a big rival of Riverdale’s and tended to have a lot of snobby people. But Liam is totally real and down-to-earth.

  “People have been pretty nice, but I’m still getting used to things, you know?” Liam said before taking a bite of his pizza. “And my classes are kind of tough. I couldn’t believe how much homework we have.”

  “Tell me about it,” Veronica agreed. Then she brightened. “But who wants to talk about boring stuff like that?” She reached over and pinched Liam’s bicep. “You definitely are into sports, right? You look like you’re the athletic type.”

  “I guess you could say that.” Liam smiled his crooked smile, making Veronica’s heart swoon. “I’m on the football team. And basketball. You should come to a game sometime.” Then Liam frowned. “Except Riverdale is one of our big rivals, so . . . maybe that wouldn’t work out so well.”

  Veronica imagined herself in the stands at a football game, wearing a wool sweater and cute jeans, a soft plaid scarf around her neck, and her hair pulled up in a high ponytail as she stood and cheered for Liam as he ran for a touchdown. She was a great girlfriend—she loved supporting her boyfriends, cheering them on.

  “Just because I go to Riverdale doesn’t mean I can’t be a fan of another team,” she said coyly, looking at Liam through her thick eyelashes. Inside, though, she knew that Archie would be furious if he saw Veronica cheering for another boy . . . let alone one from posh Pembroke.

  But a little jealousy could be good for a girl. And Liam was so cute and sweet. It would be nice to go out with someone new . . . and it would probably be just a summer thing, anyway . . .

  “So, um, Veronica?” Liam asked, looking down at the table—and then suddenly straight into her eyes.

  “Yes?” she said, feeling her heart skip a beat. His eyes were so warm . . . and his voice was so gentle and soft.

  “I only get a half hour for lunch,” he said apologetically. “I wish I could hang out with you longer.” He crumpled up his napkin and tossed it on his tray.

  “Me too,” Veronica said, not wanting the moment to end. “I probably should be getting back to work.”

  Liam put the cap back on his water bottle. Then he took it off. Then he put it on again. “I was wondering if you might want to hang out at the beach tomorrow,” he blurted out, looking at her with those warm brown eyes. “Together, I mean. That is, if you aren’t working.”

  “Yes!” Veronica answered. “I mean, no, I’m not working. And yes, I’d love to hang out with you.”

  “Really?” Liam grinned. “Cool.” He took out his phone. “Let me have your number.”

  They exchanged contact info and cleared their trays.

  Archie is definitely going to be jealous, Veronica thought, sneaking a peek at Liam’s profile as they walked back to their stores. For that matter, so were Midge, Nancy, and Betty.

  Because Veronica had the one thing that every girl wanted in the summertime.

  The beginning of what could end up being a real summer love.

  Chapter 9

  Ever since Betty had been working at the Chocklit Shoppe, she had had a recurring nightmare: She did something horribly, embarrassingly wrong, and everyone in the restaurant stopped eating, forks held in midair, to stare at her in horror. Her “dream mistake” was never the same horrible, embarrassing thing. One night it was that she brought the wrong orders to an entire table of Pop’s best customers. Another night she had worn a gorilla outfit to work. No matter what the cause, the effect was always the same—shocked, horrified stares combined with mocking laughter.

  So when Betty went in through the out door during her shift and skidded headfirst into Georgette, the result was exactly what Betty had been unintentionally preparing for since the day she started.

  “Ahhhhhh,” Betty cried, her sneakers squealing on the linoleum floor. The tray she had been holding flew up wildly in the air . . . and she went tumbling the other way.

  Like a scene from a corny comedy movie, Betty found herself in a tangled heap on the floor with Georgette. Pieces of broken glass and smashed dinner plates surrounded them. A small dollop of pudding sat atop Georgette’s bun.

  “I’m so sorry,” Betty managed to croak out, wiping some mashed potatoes off her cheek. “I—I don’t know what happened.”

  “You went in the wrong door,” Georgette said, her face wincing in a pained, pinched way. She waved to all the people who were staring at them. “Sorry about that, everyone. We’re fine, we’re fine.”

  “You don’t look fine,” Betty said, taking a big, steadying gulp of air. She gingerly stood up, trying not to cut herself on any of the broken glass.

  “What was that?” Pop exclaimed, hurrying over. “Are you okay?”

  “Besides being extremely mortified, I’m all right,” Betty said, humiliated beyond words. She hadn’t thought she could feel worse than she did in her recurring nightmares. Wrong, wrong, wrong!

  Pop extended a hand to Georgette as a busboy started sweeping up the mess. People returned to their meals and conversations. “Watch yourself, Georgette.”

  But Georgette didn’t move. “I think I sprained my ankle,” she said, squeezing her eyes shut. “It really hurts.”

  Betty began gulping more air. “I am sooooo sorry,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. How could she have been so klutzy?

  Pop put his hands on her shoulders. “The show must go on, Betty. Can you handle Georgette’s tables while we go get her ankle checked out? There’s an urgent care clinic just down the road.”

  “Um, sure. Of course,” Betty told him, wiping away a tear and pasting on the biggest I’m fine! smile she could muster.

  Did she even have a choice?

  “Dude! You totally annihilated that guy,” Reggie yelled, grinning over at Jughead. The two guys were standing in front of a huge flat-screen TV in Archie’s basement.

  Jughead blew on
his knuckles. “What can I say? When you play this game for three hours straight every day, you better have some skills to show for it.”

  “You sure you don’t want a turn, Betty?” Midge asked, dangling her remote control in front of Betty’s face.

  “No, Midge. Really, don’t worry about it,” Betty said, shaking her head. “I’m not really in the mood to play video games.” It was her day off from work, but she wasn’t actually much in the mood to do anything.

  Betty sank deeper into the couch. Usually she had a good time hanging out with her friends in Archie’s basement, watching movies and playing video games. But not today.

  Veronica was supposed to join them, but at the last minute, she had texted Betty, telling her something came up and that she wasn’t going to be able to make it.

  She’s probably doing something fun and summery, Betty thought, feeling sorry for herself. She’s sure not sitting in a basement after having the worst week of her entire life.

  Midge plopped down next to her on the couch. Midge wasn’t in The Archies, but she’d come over to watch the band practice. Her heart-shaped face was scrunched up with concern. “Poor you. What exactly happened yesterday, Betty? Do you want to talk about it?”

  Betty took a long, deep sigh. After she had left Pop’s, she’d gone home and told her mom everything. Mrs. Cooper had made her a steaming mug of cocoa and listened empathetically to everything Betty had said.

  “This is an opportunity in the making—not a disaster,” her mom had told her.

  But that was easier said than done. “Well,” Betty began, looking at Midge, “I kind of caused this accident at Pop’s.”