And then just as soon as it began, it’s over. Mac sits up and grins at me.
“You need a jacket,” he says, reaching back for a Brook Park Baseball hoodie that Colin abandoned on a log earlier. Mac tosses it into my lap, enveloping me in the synthetic evergreen scent of whatever soap the Roy family housekeeper buys for Colin. I pull it over my head, because if I don’t, Mac will wonder why I was shivering like I was sitting in the Arctic. And then maybe he’ll figure out that it was because I’m completely and totally in love with him, which I don’t want him to know even though I desperately want him to know. I’m not sure how I’m ever supposed to take this to the next level if I’m trying to hide something I very much need him to know (which is that we really should be more than friends). I’m terrified that he just thinks of me as a friend, that to him I’m no different from Eli or Colin. I’m terrified he’ll say, “Oh, that’s sweet, Beck, but … no.” And so instead I pine away silently because the knowledge that the door could be open is better than the potential of it slamming hard in my face. Schrödinger’s Crush, if you will.
But Mac isn’t paying attention to my shivering. He’s not looking at me at all, because Natalie is approaching with a Tupperware box full of cupcakes. There are flickering pink candles stuck down in the white frosting.
Once again, I play second fiddle to snacks.
“Happy birthday to you,” Natalie sings, her voice low and sort of husky, and then my other friends join in. They gather around me, their faces illuminated by the flickering candlelight. Eli has his arm around Cora. Tamsin bumps my hip with hers. I let myself look at Mac one time, my eyes sweeping lazily across his face like it’s an accident. Just for a moment I let myself take in his warm, casual grin. Then I quickly avert my gaze to the cupcakes. And when the big moment comes, the song at its finale, I allow myself one last, tiny look at him before I suck in a breath and make a wish.
I wish Mac would kiss me.
And then the flame is out, and the boys are shoving their hands into the box. Natalie swats them away.
“The birthday girl goes first,” she says, offering them to me. I pluck out the one from the middle of the box, licking stray frosting off my finger. “My mom made them, so they’re carrot cake. And I can’t promise there’s not kale hidden in them.”
Natalie’s mom is a nutritionist who runs a modestly read food blog about convincing your kids to eat vegetables. Her food always looks amazing, but usually tastes sort of like someone shouted the name of something delicious from another room. These cupcakes, though, are moist and shockingly sweet.
“You can thank me for the frosting,” Natalie says as she finally lets the boys attack the box. “I snuck in some honest-to-god white sugar while she was taking a call. Bless my mother, but she has truly convinced herself that applesauce is a legitimate sweetener. And she is very, very wrong.”
“Tell her I said thanks,” I say. “And thank you for bringing them.”
“It’s my best friend’s birthday, of course I’m gonna bring cake!”
Colin reaches for seconds, having hoovered his first like someone was going to take it away from him.
“Yeah, thanks, Natalie. These cupcakes are the business,” he says. Nat’s cheeks redden, because even though she denies it, I’m pretty sure she has a five-alarm crush on Colin. She’s been far too enthusiastic about going to watch the baseball team practice, and she turns that exact shade of red whenever Colin drops his tray onto our lunch table every day. Colin, being a dude, seems completely oblivious. But he also doesn’t seem to have eyes for anyone else, so it could definitely happen. I make a mental note to ask her about it later.
We hang around for another half hour, until a police car comes by to scout for alcohol and tells us we should probably be getting home. Cora, Eli, and Mac pile into Tamsin’s Range Rover with Colin, since they all live in the same neighborhood. Legacy Park is one of those new subdivisions that’s built to look old, as if Brook Park was always a place with enormous stone mansions boasting saltwater pools in their backyards and a big tennis center in the middle. You know, like in the olden days or whatever. We wave goodbye from Natalie’s car, where we blast disco, singing along at top volume to “Dancing Queen” as we drive back through the woods.
“Tonight was fun!” Natalie says, gripping the wheel of her mom’s old Volvo. She glances over at me. “It was fun, right?”
“It was!” I say, and I’m not even lying. Natalie always seems worried that I’m miserable hanging out with Tamsin and Cora and the guys, which I’m definitely not. Tonight was fun, and hello, I’d go skydiving if it meant Mac would be there. I’d even wrestle greased pigs at the state fair and do it with a smile on my face if it meant hanging out with Mac. “I’m glad it wasn’t quite as intense as Tamsin made it sound.”
“Oh, believe me, I talked her down,” Natalie replies. “She originally wanted to go to that karaoke bar in Singleton and make everyone dress up like it was prom. I caught her researching party buses.”
Even the thought of that makes my stomach seize up. Karaoke in a prom dress? With Mac? No thanks. The only thing worse than my dancing is my singing. Don’t get me wrong, I’d do it. But I’d be more comfortable jumping out of a plane. I’m much more a blend-into-the-crowd kind of person. The idea of a spotlight makes me break out in hives.
“You know me well,” I tell her, the most comforting words that have come out of my mouth all night.
“Hell yeah, I do,” she replies, and then she waggles her eyebrows, giving me a mischievous side eye. “Soooooo … you certainly looked cozy with Mac tonight.”
My cheeks flush, and I light up with a grin to match. Everything I was trying to contain back on the lakeshore suddenly comes pouring out of me like the Niagara Falls of squee. Because if you can’t tell your best friend every single, solitary detail of your crush, who can you tell?
“Right?” My voice rises, like, six octaves, and I’m surprised the windshield doesn’t shatter. “I nearly died when he put his head on my shoulder. Maybe I did die. Am I deceased? Is this what the afterlife is like? Driving around with my best friend listening to disco?”
“I think he’s smitten,” she says. My heart skips a full beat at the thought. “He just doesn’t know how to deal with it yet. I think something could happen soon.”
I twist around in my seat and get caught on the seat belt, nearly choking, trying my best not to reach over and shake her. She is driving, after all. “Okay, but do you, like, know something? Because if you know something, you have to spill. Did Colin say anything to Tamsin? Has Mac said anything about me?”
She grins, but shakes her head, and my hopes fall just a little bit. “I don’t have an inside scoop, just a hunch.”
I have to spend the next half a mile trying to slow my heart rate. My disappointment is actually doing a pretty good job of it. I remind myself, like Mom always says, no news is good news. He hasn’t said he doesn’t like me. He just hasn’t said he does. Ugh, crush limbo is torture. I opt for a subject change.
“While we’re on the subject, then, what’s going on with you and Colin? You were making eyes at him all night!”
Now it’s Natalie’s turn to blush, something she’s never able to hide with her Scandinavian milkmaid looks. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Are you kidding? You looked like a damn strawberry when he was complimenting your mom’s cupcakes. You are a smitten kitten.”
“Shut up!” she says, her grin a mile wide. “Yes, okay? I like Colin. But nothing is happening there. He’s totally oblivious.”
“I’m sure he won’t stay that way for long,” I tell her. “Especially not if Tamsin finds out.”
“You cannot tell her,” Natalie says forcefully, and I smile. Our friend group may have expanded, but Natalie and I are still a team. We keep each other’s secrets. And thank god for that. She’s never told anyone about the summer in fifth grade when I shaved my arms because I thought my arm hair was too dark, and I’ve never
told about the time on the third grade field trip to the aquarium when she peed her pants a little. I just gave her my sweatshirt to tie around her waist, and I’ll take that secret to the grave.
“I would never,” I say. And then I reach out to turn up the volume just as the opening piano run of “I Will Survive” hits the speakers. We sing all the way home like our voices are fueling the car. We hold hands and raise them in the air and close our eyes and toast to our crushes and our secrets and our friendship.
And later that night, as I’m falling asleep in bed, I think that it was my favorite birthday ever.
CHAPTER
THREE
I grip the wheel on my dad’s old Toyota, which he let me drive to my first day of work, since my shift starts after he gets home from school. It’s my first time driving without one of my parents in the passenger seat. The first time without my dad cracking jokes next to me or my mom gripping the door handle and pressing an invisible brake. I pulled out of the driveway and traveled the first half a mile from my house terrified I’d go flying off the road at any second. I drove slow, my eyes wide and scanning the road for stray cats, small children, or potholes. But soon my nerves settled, and then all of a sudden I was just driving, like I’d been doing it my whole life. I listened to the Cruisin’ playlist that Natalie and I made back when we were freshmen. It’s full of songs about, well, driving and cars, with a few exceptions made for songs that just sound like freedom. And that’s what I felt for most of the drive, like suddenly I was free to go and do and be. I could drive to Canada if I wanted to. Or Mexico. Or either of the oceans. You know, if I wanted to then be grounded for the rest of my natural life.
But sitting here in the parking lot of Hot ’N Crusty, watching the glowing green digital clock on the dashboard as the minutes tick close to 4 p.m., I don’t feel free. I feel like I’m going to walk into that dark and sticky dining room and the door is going to slam shut behind me like a prison cell.
Needless to say, I’m not too jazzed about my first day of work.
At 3:55, I climb out of the car and lock it behind me. I take a deep breath, staring up at the red and white neon sign above the door.
And then I head inside.
The dining room is mostly empty, save for a few random customers. There’s a mom in the corner eating a slice of pizza while nudging a stroller back and forth with her foot, a baby asleep inside. The music on the crackly sound system, a mix of eighties power ballads and nineties boy bands, is turned lower than usual, probably to accommodate.
“There she is!” Del calls from the kitchen, and the mom in the corner shoots him a dirty look. He gives her a face full of apology, mouthing sorry, and creeps over, dropping what he’s doing in the kitchen to greet me at the door. “Hot ’N Crusty’s newest employee. Welcome to the team, Beck! Everybody, come say hi to Beck!”
There’s a pause. The rest of the employees are mostly back in the kitchen soaking up the predinner lull, and they don’t seem sure if Del is serious. But when he waves them over again, so enthusiastically I’m worried his arm might detach from his shoulder, they start to shuffle out.
“Beck, meet the team,” Del says as they line up haphazardly along the counter in front of the register. He points first to a guy who looks like he’s several years out of college, but still somehow exudes an air of teenage insolence. He’s tall and thin, but hides his height with an impressive stoop, his spine rolled and his shoulders hanging out around his ears. He leans against the counter like standing is just too much effort, and casually pulls his long, frizzy dark hair into a messy ponytail. “This is Joey Rizzo, our resident pizza chef. He’s a full-timer, been here since he was in high school. He’s our longest-running staffer—he was actually here when you were born!”
Okay, so he’s definitely several years past college, then, if he’s worked at HnC for sixteen years. And yet the more I study him, the more ageless he becomes.
“I stayed very far away from that mess,” Joey mutters, glancing up from beneath hooded eyes. This is apparently the only greeting I’ll be getting from him. He barely makes eye contact, like looking at me will bring back the more vivid memories of that night. Honestly? I don’t blame him. The only good thing about my birth is that I don’t remember it at all.
“Joey is not so good with blood. Luckily he’s got no problem with marinara!” Del’s laugh booms through the nearly empty restaurant, like this is the funniest joke he’s ever told. The baby in the corner begins to cry. Oblivious, Del gestures to a trio of guys about my age. I recognize them from school. I think I had gym with the gangly white guy with the thick glasses. “These are our busers: Frank, Jason, and Greg. They run food and do dishes, and sometimes pitch in on the line when we’re busy.”
Del doesn’t pause to specify which boy is which, and it almost doesn’t seem necessary. The very tall, very skinny guy with the wide grin and thick glasses must be Frank, the super nice super nerd from Colin’s calculus class. Next to him is a short, stocky boy with pale skin and messy brown hair. He looks like a coiled spring. And beside him is a black guy with black-rimmed glasses and a frown, his arms crossed over his chest. I have no idea which is Jason and which is Greg. I just know that neither seems to care for me much. They’re eyeing me like I’m a toddler they’ve been forced to babysit. The one in the middle, who I think I’ve seen at a National Honor Society meeting freshman year, actually rolls his eyes.
“And this is Julianne,” Del says, pointing to the lone girl of the bunch, standing at the end of the line. She opts to stare at her fingernails instead of looking at me. “Julianne runs our register and is our front line when it comes to customer service. She’s the best. She’s going to be doing your training for the next couple of weeks.”
I know who Julianne Scarborough is. Everyone does. She was homecoming queen last year, but not like that. A bunch of assholes got together and nominated her as a joke, and then she actually won. I’m not sure if the win was an act of cruel bullying or if people were trying to be nice to make up for the initial nomination, but in the end does it really matter? Before the homecoming fiasco, I’d never even noticed her, which is I think how she must prefer it. She’s got long dark hair that she lets just sort of exist, which means it usually falls over her pale face. She wears a lot of dark colors and sits alone in the cafeteria, always focused intently on some thick book that’s not for school.
But I don’t actually know her. I’ve only heard the stupid rumors: that she’s a witch, or in a cult, that sort of nonsense. She’s always seemed a little weird in a way that I couldn’t put my finger on, but I could never tell if that was a symptom or the disease. If people were saying I was a witch, I might be sort of quiet and shifty, too. I heard she reads spell books at lunch, and that she has a cat that talks back to her. I also heard she sits in the front row of every class but never says a word. Which, when people are whispering about your magic cat, could you blame her?
“If you have any questions for me, just shoot me an email, as the kids say.” And Del actually does finger guns. I hear someone from the buser crew choke back a laugh. “I’m not usually here on weeknights, but I wanted to come by to say welcome and introduce you to the staff. I hope Hot ’N Crusty feels like your second home, since it kind of was your first!”
I nearly groan at the joke, but manage to hold it in at the last minute, rearranging my face into an approximation of a smile.
“Where ya off to, Del?” The shorter one—who I think is Jason—asks, leaning back so his elbows rest on the counter behind him. He cocks an eyebrow, then glances over at Greg. There’s something unsaid zipping between them, but Del seems oblivious.
“I’ve got a date, actually,” Del says. “I tried that Tinder that you mentioned. Took a while, but tonight I’m meeting this woman, Sheryl. She’s a teller over at PT&D Bank. She seems really nice. From her messages, anyway.”
“Sounds promising,” Greg replies with a wide smile, his voice full of amusement and something else, this time directe
d toward Frank.
“Hope springs eternal!” Del says, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Okeydokey, I’ll see you all tomorrow. Call me if you need anything. And, Beck, welcome to the team!”
As soon as the glass door swings shut behind him, Jason, Frank, and Greg burst out laughing.
“You owe me ten dollars, because I got him to actually use Tinder,” Jason says to Frank, who rolls his eyes as he reaches into his pocket for his wallet.
“But you owe me that same ten dollars, because you didn’t think he’d ever actually get a date out of it,” Greg adds. He holds his palm out and wiggles his fingers.
“Five dollars says he keeps referring to it as ‘That Tinder,’” Jason announces as he takes the ten-dollar bill from Frank and hands it immediately off to Greg.
“I’ll take that bet,” Frank replies. “I’m pretty sure next time we hear about Tinder, he’ll be calling it Tingler or Tumbler.”
“Can I get in on that action? Because twenty dollars says he never sees Sheryl again after tonight,” Joey says, suddenly emerging from his stoner haze. “In fact, I’d put down a cool fifty dollars that she leaves before they’ve finished their meal.”
“Too rich for my blood,” Frank says.
“I’m not taking that bet, because there’s no way in a frozen hell that Del gets a second date. I’d rather just light my money on fire,” Jason says.
“Leave the poor man alone,” Julianne snaps. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard her voice. “He’s going on dates, which is more than I can say for the three of you.”
It's Kind of a Cheesy Love Story Page 3
