SSDTU 2 - He’s So not Worth It

by Kieran Scott

  “Damn! Watch where you’re going,” he said.

  I blinked a few times, purple spots floating across my vision from the light. All I could tell was that he was broad, and there was a case of beer balanced on one shoulder.

  “Oh,” he said, looking at me. “Hey.”

  As the spots began to clear from my vision, I saw that he had shaggy blond hair under his backward baseball cap, and that he was already seriously tan. His Hawaiian-print bathing suit hung low on his hips, and his white T-shirt was sweaty in spots, clinging to his torso. Square face, broad shoulders, thick calves. Just looking at him, the word “solid” came to mind. And beautiful.

  “Do I know you?” he asked.

  “Um, no. I don’t think so,” I said. “I just came down with my family last night, so—”

  “Wait. Is this your house?” he said, looking over his shoulder at the Schwartzes’. Before I could answer, his jaw dropped, amused. “Oh, shit!” he shouted. “Dudes! We’re totally busted! One of the rich bitch bennies is here! Apparently we’re on her beach.”

  My face burned as his friends closer to the water laughed. “I never said it was my beach,” I hissed. “I don’t care what you do.”

  I started past him, my arms crossed over my chest and my hands stuffed under my arms.

  “Sorry,” he called after me. “Just most people would bust my ass.”

  “It’s fine,” I said, just wanting to get away. “Have fun.”

  “No, wait.”

  I rolled my eyes and turned around to face him. “What?”

  He dropped the box on the ground, ripped it open, and pulled out a Coors Light, which he held out to me. “Peace offering.”

  “No, thanks,” I said.

  “Come on. It looks like you could use one,” he said.

  I cocked one eyebrow. “Oh, and you know me so well?”

  “I feel we’ve really connected,” he replied teasingly.

  I smirked. My eyes darted to the beer. I glanced back toward Gray’s house, and took it.

  He smiled. “I’m Cooper.”

  “Ally,” I said.

  “So, you’re a weekender or what?” he asked.

  “I’m down for the summer.” I toyed with the tab on the can, flicking it with my thumbnail. “That’s my mom’s boyfriend’s house,” I added, pointing past his shoulder.

  “Ah. I see.” He had this glint in his eyes as he nodded, like he’d just completely figured me out. It both annoyed and intrigued me. “So come on.”

  “Come on where?” I asked.

  “Come hang out with us, summer girl,” he said, tipping his head toward his friends.

  I considered for a moment, feeling tingly with possibility. But I’d never been one to party with strangers. And if the cops came and we got busted with alcohol, we’d all be screwed. My instincts were just telling me to bail when something caught his eye. I looked up to find Hammond speed walking toward us as best as he could in the sand.

  “Hey,” he said as he approached. “Everything cool?”

  “Yeah,” I replied, embarrassed. “Fine.”

  He shot Cooper a suspicious look and stepped closer to me, sort of squaring off with him. Cooper eyed him up and down, clearly amused.

  “You know you’re not supposed to be here,” Hammond said.

  My face burned with humiliation as Hammond played right into the “rich bitch bennie” stereotype. Cooper laughed and sipped his beer. Behind him, a couple of his friends had noticed Hammond and were loping toward us. Great. Just what I needed: a brawl on the beach.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked Hammond.

  “I just . . . your mom wanted me to see if you were okay,” he said.

  “Aw! How sweet!” Cooper said. “He’s your mom’s messenger boy!”

  Hammond glowered. I could practically taste the adrenaline sizzling in the air between them.

  “You know, I can have the cops here in under ten minutes,” Hammond said.

  I rolled my eyes. “Ham, go back to your family.”

  Cooper snorted. “Your name is Ham?”

  Hammond, to his credit, ignored him. “Come back with me.”

  He was being protective. Which was sweet on some level. But I didn’t need his protection.

  “Thanks, I’m good right here.” I walked past Cooper, toward his friends who were now mere steps away, trying to head off any confrontation. “You coming?” I shouted back to Cooper.

  Cooper slowly took another sip of beer, looked at Hammond, then stooped to pick up the case. He tucked it between his arm and his hip. “Yeah. Let’s go. See ya later, Ham.”

  His friends had paused next to me. One was a stocky guy with a buzz cut and huge arms. The other was a girl with blond braids wearing a bikini top and board shorts. We sized each other up, and waited for Cooper.

  “All good?” the guy said.

  Cooper nodded. “All good. Ally, this is Dex and Jenny. Jenny’s my sister. Dex is just some loser we let hang out with us because his dad owns the Fishery and he gets us free clams.”

  “Ha-ha,” Dex said. “Haven’t heard that one before.”

  “That’s all you got?” Jenny asked. “Coors Light?”

  “It’s all I could grab,” Cooper replied. He swung the heavy case off his shoulder and kind of tossed it at her. She almost buckled under the weight. “Beggars can’t be choosers, Jen. Next time you can do it yourself if you’re so picky.”

  Cooper and Dex walked ahead of us as Jenny jostled the case until she got both arms under it. I moved to help her, but she shook me off.

  “I got it.” She rolled her eyes. “Brothers, right?”

  “Yeah,” I agreed, not knowing what else to say.

  “So, you gonna hang out with us?” Jenny asked.

  “I guess,” I said.

  “Yay!” She wagged her hips hugely as she walked me back toward the group, the box of beer cans shifting precariously. “Another gi-irl! Another gi-irl! Another gi-irl!” she sang. She dropped the beer on the ground next to the first, half-empty box, and slapped her hands together. “The testosterone around here is so thick it’s like a frat party at Hooters during the NFL draft. All the time.”

  I laughed as the guys teased her. Over her shoulder, I watched Hammond trudge back to Gray’s house, his shoulders slumped, and hoped he wouldn’t tattle on me. He looked back at me once, but kept going, and I saw his cell light up as he texted someone. Gravity reversed itself as I realized he could very well be texting Jake, telling him that I was spending my second night at the shore with some random guy and his friends getting drunk.

  But then . . . what did I care? Suddenly I’d had enough of doing what everyone expected of me—of being good, predictable little Ally. No one else ever cared about doing what I expected of them—not Jake, not my mom, not my dad. So let Hammond tell Jake whatever. Maybe it would be a good thing if he thought I was moving on.

  “So, Ally.” Cooper slung his heavy arm over my shoulder as he chugged. “Tell us all about yourself.”

  I smirked, hoping that Hammond was watching, and took the smallest sip from my beer. “What do you want to know?”

  Daily Field Journal of Annie Johnston Thursday, July 1

  Position: Walking toward the park with David, en route from Scoops.

  Cover: None.

  Observations:

  10:22 p.m.: Subject Chloe Appleby emerges, laughing, through front door of the Golden Marquee movie theater across the street. Uniform: floral sundress, strappy sandals, date-hair. Subject Jake Graydon steps out behind her. Also laughing . (Note: I miss what happens next because I walk right into a light post, drop my ice cream on my foot, and momentarily black out. When I come to again, David is laughing his ass off, my new sandals are ruined, and Subject Chloe and Subject Jake are gone.)

  I’d been working at Jump, Java, and Wail! for exactly fifty-seven minutes. There was already a patch of sweat on my neckline, I’d cut my finger closing the pastry case on it, and gotten screamed at for trying
to serve a doughnut I’d dropped on the floor. Apparently no one around here had heard of the five second rule.

  Fifty-seven minutes and I’d considered quitting thirteen times.

  “Can’t you just pour me a coffee? How hard is it? The cups are right there.”

  Make that fourteen.

  “Want me to come around and do it for you?”

  No. I want you to shut the fuck up and stuff that yoga mat you’re toting up your ass. Which, I’ll admit, was a fine ass. But still.

  “I told you, this is my first day,” I said through my teeth. “I can’t handle the coffee.”

  The woman snorted through her skinny nose. She tapped her hands against the glass case, her huge diamond ring clanging around. “You can’t handle the coffee. Takes a big man to admit that.”

  I paused with my plastic-gloved hand hovering over the muffins. Was she mocking me? Was this adult person mocking me?

  I glanced over my shoulder at Chase, who was taking orders, and Leena, who was making the coffees. I was supposed to be getting Leena an apple cinnamon muffin for her customer, but she didn’t look like she was waiting on it.

  “Fine,” I said to yoga bitch. “Large coffee with milk?”

  “Skim milk.”

  Her cell phone rang. I glanced at my coworkers again. No one was paying attention to me. I grabbed the regular coffee from the burner and snagged one of the large cups. I poured it half full with coffee, then bent to the refrigerator, which I’d seen Leena open a dozen times. In it were four silver containers clearly labeled: whole milk, two percent milk, skim milk, and cream. Which had more fat in it, whole milk or cream? I didn’t have time to overthink it. I grabbed the whole milk and dumped it into the coffee. The woman was still gabbing on her phone when I handed it over.

  “How much?” she said, holding her hand over the receiver.

  “S’on me,” I told her with a big-ass smile.

  She looked me up and down, and all of a sudden she was flirting with me. “Thanks. I’ll be back.”

  Then she winked, picked up the cup, and walked out. Outside the glass door, I saw her take a huge chug of it. Nice.

  A few guys from school walked in, including Will Halloran. Snagged. I lifted my chin at them. They looked confused. And then, Leena was all up in my face.

  “Excuse me. Did you just make a coffee, then give it away?” Leena demanded.

  “I, uh—”

  Over her shoulder, I saw Will and his pals looking on.

  “You are on muffin duty. Nothing else, all right?” Leena scolded me. “And I believe I asked you for an apple cinnamon.”

  Did those guys really just hear this woman tell me I’m on muffin duty? From the cackling, it looked that way.

  Fifteen times.

  What should I do? Tell her off? Make a joke? While I was still trying to figure out how to save face, she reached past me, took a muffin, and stormed away.

  “And you’re gonna pay for that coffee!” she threw over her shoulder.

  Son of a—

  Sixteen times.

  At that moment, Ally’s dad stuck his head out from the office. “How’s it going out here, Jake?”

  “Fine,” I replied, hoping no one would say otherwise. “Great.”

  “Good. Keep it up. When I’m done back here, I’ll come train you on the coffee machine.” And then he was gone.

  I wondered what Ally was doing right then. Sleeping in, probably. Dr. Nathanson’s shore house was sick, with a hot tub on the roof and an infinity pool on the second level looking over the ocean. Maybe she was in the pool. I wondered if she was a bikini person or a one-piece. Probably a one-piece, but let’s make it a sexy one-piece. . . .

  “Hey, Graydon.”

  I looked up. Will and his two football buddies were in front of the muffin case. One of them was Andy Lu, a linebacker I knew from trig. Kind of a jackass. He talked back to the teacher like he thought it was hilarious, when, really, it was just embarrassing for both of them and annoying for everyone else. The other was Rory Crane, the quarterback. He was okay, mostly. He lived in one of the bigger houses on the Norm side of town. I’d been there once for a group project; his mom had served us crudités for some reason.

  “What’s up, guys?” I asked.

  “I hear you’re on muffin duty,” Rory said with a laugh.

  I sighed through my nose. Seventeen times.

  “You guys want something?” I asked.

  “I wanna know what you’re doing working here,” Andy said, leaning his beefy arms on top of the case. The thing actually sagged in the middle. “Whaddaya, need a weekend car or somethin’?”

  Lu and Crane laughed. Will rubbed his eyebrow.

  “Jake! I need a marble loaf and a bran muffin!” Leena shouted.

  “I’m on it!” I shouted back.

  “Get on it faster,” she replied.

  Lu and Crane cracked up again.

  “Come on, man,” Will said. “Leave him alone. Dude’s working.” He smacked Lu on the chest with the back of his hand, and the three of them moved back to the line.

  I shot Will a grateful look, grabbed the muffin and the marble loaf, and shoved them in a paper bag. I cursed under my breath, hating my mother for doing this to me. As I dropped the bag on the counter, my phone beeped. Chase’s eyes darted to my hand as I pulled it out of my pocket, but he said nothing. Probably because he was texting every chance he got.

  I checked the screen, turning back toward the muffin case. It was from Chloe.

  Had nightmares thx 2 u. Next time I pick the movie.

  I laughed under my breath. Chloe had claimed to be totally fine with seeing the latest end-of-the-world flick. And it was good. The special effects were awesome. But I guess it was too realistic for her. She kept hiding her face and knocked over my popcorn when that meteor had come outta nowhere and flattened that dog. I texted back.

  Fine. No subtitles.

  The office door opened again and I shoved the phone away. Mr. Ryan came over and slapped his hand down on my shoulder.

  “All right, Graydon, you are about to learn the intricacies of a good cappuccino.”

  “Uh. Great,” I said.

  Will and his buddies had made it to the counter, and I was glad I wasn’t going to be running for their muffins. In fact, I was feeling a lot better than I was five minutes ago. Chloe and I had had fun last night. And she wanted to do it again. Maybe this summer wouldn’t suck entirely.

  “Make me a vanilla, chocolate, and coffee banana split.”

  I looked at Mitch Daly, the proprietor of Take a Dip ice cream. Then I looked at the clock. It was 10:30 in the morning. He couldn’t be serious. But he didn’t blink.

  “Um, okay. I can come behind the counter?” I asked.

  “You’re gonna hafto if you’re gonna make me a banana split,” Mitch said. Then he kind of inhaled a laugh, his shoulders and massive stomach rising and falling as one.

  Excellent point. I stepped behind the counter and looked around. There was less space back there than I would have thought—only about three feet of red tile floor between the ice-cream freezer and the counters along the back. Mitch had already set up for the day, so the ice-cream scoops were floating in warm water in little silver buckets that hung from the sides of the freezers, and the covers had been removed from the huge tubs of ice cream. I had never made a banana split before, but my dad used to make them for us all the time. How hard could it be?

  I plucked one of the long, plastic bowls from the dispenser. Mitch crossed his beefy arms and laid them atop his Santa-style stomach. There was a black tattoo on his left forearm depicting a frog keeled over next to a beer bottle, its eyes tiny x’s and its tongue hanging out, trailing flat into a puddle of beer.

  Which begged the question: Did I really want to work for this guy?

  “You might want to start with a banana,” he suggested.

  “Right.”

  There were two bushels of bananas hanging from a metal holder on the counter. I ri
pped one off, peeled it, and looked around for a cutting board. Not finding one, I used a paper plate. Behind me, Mitch clucked his tongue, but said nothing. Feeling hot all down my back, I procured a knife from a drawer and cut the banana in half down the center, then cut both halves lengthwise. I placed them in the bowl like a hot-dog bun, just the way my dad always did. As I turned for the ice cream, Mitch stood on his toes to see over my shoulder. His stomach just grazed my back.

  This was definitely the oddest job interview I’d ever suffered through.

  I started with the vanilla, making sure to use a different scoop for each ice cream so as not to taint one flavor with the other, which was always one of my pet peeves. Mitch grunted his approval at this move. Once all the ice cream was scooped, I closed the freezer, but the heavy door slipped from my sweating palm and slammed at the last second, almost taking my fingertip off.

  “Oops. Sorry,” I said.

  Mitch simply closed his eyes for a moment, as if praying for patience. My throat was completely dry, and it felt like it was somehow coated in the same sickly sweet smell that clung to everything in the place. I turned around and looked at the row of syrups against the back wall. There was chocolate, butterscotch, caramel, marshmallow, strawberry, and a warming vat of hot fudge. Crap. Which one went on a banana split?

  I looked up, quickly and casually scanning the colorful signs advertising the million different combinations one could order at Take a Dip. There was a two-scoop sundae, a three-scoop waffle cone, a ten-scoop bikini buster. But the classic banana split was nowhere to be found.

  “Um?” I looked at Mitch quizzically. “Which toppings would you like . . . sir?”

  “Hot fudge and whipped cream,” he said.

  “Right.”

  I doused the ice cream with hot fudge, dripping a few huge globs of the stuff on the counter. Biting my tongue, I hit the fridge, grabbed the first can of whipped cream I saw, and sprayed. It exploded everywhere. Literally everywhere. Pellets of whipped cream dotted my shirt, the glass doors of the fridge, the ceiling fan lazily spinning above our heads, . . . and Mitch Daly’s face.