by Cecelia Earl
"Uh-huh. This conversation sounds familiar."
He nods. "Yeah, so tell you what." His dimple is showing off again. "I'm going to make sure you do."
"Sorry, but not interested."
He frowns.
"Fine." I sigh. The only way to get rid of him is to clearly play along. "Not by breaking any laws though, right?"
"Promise."
"What's your plan?"
His eyes are darker in this hallway, but they always have a crazy hold on mine. No matter how mad he makes me, inside I'm still on fire and melting.
"You leave that to me," he says. Then he flows away in the current of students rushing to their classes.
And I breathe easier without him near me. I can't believe I lost my entire lunch hour because of him. I don't have time for him or his fun. This isn't going to work for me. Next time I see him, I'll tell him. And for once, he's going to have to listen to my rules.
My favorite teacher, Mr. Alex, is in the hallway outside his classroom door, greeting students, as he does every day.
"You okay, Julia?" he asks. "You look unusually frazzled.” His eyes follow the disappearing Cole and he frowns.
I sigh, looking at my stupid watch. "Yeah. Just have lots and lots to do." And on top of my homework and jobs, I need to revise my plan. I can't believe she said no. See? I try to talk to her, and look what happens. Like I told my mom, people don't help; they get in the way. Nobody cares about us but us.
Mr. Alex puts his hands on the wheels of his wheelchair. While looking at him, my necklace flares to life and the pain that hadn't left my back throughout the fire drill leaves me. That, at least, is a relief.
"Well, let me know if you need any help with anything." Then he calls out to the stragglers still in the hall. "Okay, everybody in. Door's closing. It's show time."
He wheels into the classroom and flicks on the Smartboard. I follow him in while removing my worthless watch and dropping it into my backpack.
-8-
By the end of the school day, my anger hasn't faded. It's grown stronger, along with my hunger from missing out on most of my lunch. What's the point of being social and making friends, if friendship doesn't matter in the end? I need time and money. My schedule is full enough as it is.
Whatever, is what I say to Mrs. Wiltrow and Mrs. Thompson. Big help you two were.
So when three o'clock rolls around, I don't stay. I don't meet the girls in the library to tutor them.
My running shoes are calling me. I've got angry energy to burn. After changing at home and checking that Noah is eating a snack in our apartment above the diner, I head out to the street.
It's a little slick from an afternoon rain shower, but the sun is lowering on the horizon now, and I breathe in deeply as I begin. The rhythmic movement relaxes me, and by the time I'm on mile three, the negative feelings from the day have rolled off me and have fallen into the puddles on the side of the street. By mile four, however, something changes. I get the feeling someone is watching me and I'm suddenly on-guard, looking over my shoulder for the last two miles, leery the robber is following me.
From around a corner up ahead, I notice a boy my age who’s running toward me. I've never seen him before, yet when his eyes land on mine, I'm zapped with a feeling of recognition. We both slow. He stares at me as he approaches, holding his hand out as if to stop me from passing by him. He's got black hair that's sweaty around the edges. His eyes are intense. I’m not afraid, but I’m uneasy, unsure whether I should race past him or not.
He stops, so I do too, and face him. He's tall. Taller than Cole, even.
He says, "Hey, Angel."
I cross my arms over my chest, leaning away from him. "No, it's Julia actually."
He looks familiar, which is ridiculous. I'd know if I'd seen him before. And I haven't. As I stare at him, his face warps, like Cole’s and the robber's did, but not in a demonic way, more like an angelic way. He's beautiful. My heart races, suddenly frightened by his size and beauty.
Something is so, so off about the world this week. Something besides homecoming. I don’t understand what’s wrong with my eyes, or their faces.
He steps closer and touches the necklace at my throat, where my breath catches. His warped beauty fades, but he's still a good-looking guy. I'm confused by the perplexed and serious look on his face. So stone-like.
"It's not safe out here. Weren't you just robbed?"
How does he know about that?
He must take in my shock, because he adds, "The news. It was all over the news."
That doesn't explain how he knows who I am. I wasn't on the news.
"He was after the money, not me," I say. "Besides, I'm out here every morning or afternoon. I've never had a problem." Something about his bossy tone is putting me off.
"This isn't just any afternoon. And that wasn't just any robber. Didn't you notice anything... different about him?"
"Well, he was the first robber I've ever had the displeasure of dealing with, so, yeah, he seemed really odd and horrendous to me."
"I mean, didn't he seem at all un-humanlike?"
I gasp, but I'm not sure if it's because of his words or because of whatever his touch is doing to my body.
My necklace heats up and the pressure rises between my shoulder blades.
"Ow!” I pull away from him. “What are you doing to me?"
He glances around. "Just… be more careful."
Without another word, off he runs.
Weird.
I pick up my feet and race home, where I do push-ups, chin-ups, and some squats. I've got fear and extra energy to burn, plus a desire to build strength.
Then I eat, because: starving.
-9-
I only have an hour to study after my run, which means more at midnight. But I have to work and make money, or no bailing my family out of this hole dad left us in and no college. Noah is practicing piano on his keyboard while I pore over physics notes. By the time I'm on my third round, I realize the apartment has gone quiet.
"Noah?" I ask the stillness. I slip off my bed and creep down the hallway. I watch as he swaps out one piano book for another, listening as he begins to play a new song. He taught himself from books Mitch's mom bought him last Christmas. He's talented, and the music he plays reminds me of the lullabies Dad used to sing to us. I lean against the wall and soak in the notes he plays. I hold onto this memory of him, tuck it away in my mental treasure chest marked 'Noah'. No matter how big he gets, he'll always be my baby brother.
Back down in the restaurant, the dinner rush is in full-swing. Mom is pouring her specialty sauce over three plates of pasta. She takes a second to glance up at me with a raised eyebrow and a smile.
She asks, "How'd today go?"
"Super. If you count being wrapped in Hawaiian flowers and crowned with a plastic tiara as super."
"Oh, I definitely do." She places a few greens on the plate next to the swirls of red-orange sauce. The plate looks like it should be on the table of a fancy New York restaurant, not in a tiny, hole-in-the-wall diner in Shady Creek, Wisconsin. Mom's dream was to be a chef. Thanks to Dad ditching us eight years ago, she runs this place for fourteen hours a day instead. "There," she says, smiling at her masterpieces.
As I whisk the plates away to serve them, Mom adds, "I'm sure you wore them beautifully."
"Didn't wear them for more than a second," I call out, as I push through the door. Up front, Mom's changed the decor from breakfast and lunch diner to evening dinner restaurant by draping the tables with white cloths and lighting candles throughout. Lit sconces adorn the walls. She does what she can, but it's still a dingy diner.
She taps my shoulder at one point later. "Be sure you're being kind to the homecoming committee, no matter how annoyed you are by them. Okay?"
I huff and push past to clean up a table in the front corner. Nice. Fun. Speaking of annoying, those words are starting to get on my nerves.
An hour later, after the majority of tables are
bussed and dishes are clean, I leave Mom with the few remaining customers and head back up to check on Noah.
"Homework done?"
"Yup," he says to the television, where he's playing Madden on the PlayStation.
"This your dinner?" I pick up an empty bag of chips and a plate with crumbs from what must have been a sandwich.
"Yup."
I walk the garbage into the kitchen and wipe the place down. The dishwasher is only half-full, so I don't start it.
"Catch, Muff." I toss an apple over the breakfast bar.
"Hey!" he cries out, as it bonks him in the back.
"Dessert."
He mumbles something I don't catch, and I pull a laundry basket filled with towels to my bedroom to fold. Once that's taken care of, I poke my brother in the shoulder and remind him to get to bed by 9. Mom'll be up before then to take care of him.
I head out back to the gravel patch and hop in our car. Ten minutes later, after a short trek through a darkening Shady Creek, I've parked. Mitch texts and asks if I want to watch a space alien movie.
No can do. Work.
He replies: I should've known.
Enjoy the velour.
As I enter the bowling alley through the bar area, my back pressure flares into a dull pain, increasing the nearer I get to the place.
The lights inside are low and the music is high. Nothing out of the ordinary. Poker machines line the wall and fill the air with quiet beeps and jingles. A group of kids from school plays darts while their parents belly up to the bar. I check in with Molly, my boss, in the kitchen. She's making a tray of appetizers.
She stops what she's doing to side-hug me. "Moved the aprons." She points to a hook in the corner. "Rach reorganized a little this afternoon." She laughs. "She's a clean-freak if ever I met one."
I smile. "Yeah, she’s not one for sitting still."
Molly winks. "Reminds me of someone else I know."
I roll my eyes. "Hey, I have a high metabolism and lots of energy to burn." Then I head over to put a black apron on over my Triple X Bowling Alley T-shirt.
Rach comes in while I’m tying a knot in the apron strings behind my back. For some reason, when I see her, I think of Mitch and how he shook his head at me earlier. I shrugged it off and didn't let it bother me all day, but now there's guilt in my gut, unease. I'd forgotten about Rach. We're friends. Kind of. I mean, I've never been unfriendly to her. Maybe I should try to make another friend. Be nice. Rach would be a good start. An easy start, actually, because we are already halfway there. We've always been friendly to each other in our physics class at school and during our shifts here at the Triple X. It wouldn't take more time to be nicer to her when I'm here anyway. I can small talk. I can. Here goes.
She smiles when she sees me.
I clear my throat, and say, "Spent an hour going over physics notes tonight. You ready for the big test tomorrow?"
She shakes her head. "That's what I'm doing after my shift tonight. Been here since four."
"What time do you get off?"
"Ten. You?"
"Midnight. That's when I'm studying for my calculus test."
"Ah. Good luck. And get some sleep!"
I bat her words away. "Overrated."
Molly calls over to us, "Girls, will one of you bring this tray out to the group on lane 27?"
"Got it," I say, feeling pretty good about my attempt at small talk.
"Thanks, darlin'," Molly says, as I slide the tray out from under her hands. She's about forty, but looks twenty-three. She's got two kids, a husband who's royally awesome, and a mom who hangs out at the poker machines when she's not helping out for free. Her family is my adopted family. Mom, Noah, and I have spent the last two Thanksgivings at her house.
After I grab the appetizers, she heads out to serve a couple that just walked in and sat at one of the high-top tables in the bar area.
I look out to the alleys in an adjacent room and see four lanes occupied. I nearly drop the appetizer tray when one of the guys at lane 23 turns and looks at me.
Cole.
Of course he’s here. What’s with him today? I can't get away from the guy, not even at work.
And he's wearing a crown and royal cape.
I groan. This is so not going to be pleasant.
"She's here!" I'm rushed by the trio of squealing doom.
Or possibly worse than unpleasant. It may even be painful.
I'm crowned and caped and miserably stunned by the girls.
"Um. At work here," I tell six ears deaf to my voice. Maybe I should remind them who's queen.
I sidestep them and make my way to the group of adults on lane 27 who have way too much amusement in their eyes and not enough sympathy. I push their tray of appetizers toward them.
"Anything else I can get you?" I ask through gritted teeth.
One man smirks, and says, "Nothing, your majesty."
They swig their beers, dig into their onion rings, and forget me.
I turn and make my way through the three girls who are wearing black tank tops, black mini-skirts, and boots to their knees. I tap Cole on his shoulder, and he ignores me. When he doesn't turn, I grab his shoulder and turn him myself.
He grins. We're chest-to-chest. He's warm and somewhat irresistible. I take a breath, mentally shaking off my attraction to him.
"F. Y. I." I let him go and take a step back, remembering my too big maroon t-shirt and unflattering apron. "I didn't enjoy the decorating of the queen this morning, and I certainly don't want to continue to be decorated throughout the week. Not my idea of fun." I poke him in his amazingly hard pec. "So... you'll need to try a different tactic. Got it?"
He throws his hands up, all innocent. "This had nothing to do with me. I swear."
"Then call off your dogs." I jut a thumb in the direction of the three giggling girls who've followed at my heels.
"They're harmless," he says, with a smile and that dimple, as the girls drape themselves all over him. He's got two male sidekicks, too. They're of the football player variety. Tall, dark, sculpted, attractive. His use of the word harmless is making me think he's desensitized to harmful. His smile is all-genuine, but his eyes are filled with teasing and mischief. It's hard to know which to believe.
"Puh-lease," I reply, not at all hiding my disgust at the lot of them.
It's exactly these kinds of kids I remember from elementary school. Not these kids, because we moved around, trying to resituate after Dad left us homeless and tattered, but kids with rich parents and nothing to do with their time but make others uncomfortable. Especially the poor and already-made-fun-of.
The kinds of kids I never wanted to have anything to do with after that.
"Hey," one of the girls says, swaying over to me. "I'm sure you're busy with homecoming preparations, but you stood us up today."
"I what?" Stood them up?
"At the library. You didn't show up to tutor us in trig." The other two step up behind her in perfect triangular formation.
Ah, they must be Kari, Kerry, and Caroline.
I think about how, when I arrived at the bowling alley, I'd been thinking of working on my small talk, on making a friend, on being nice. But then I think of how they all have their mansions, manicured lawns, and pedicured moms to go home to.
"Well, did you finish your homework?" I ask.
She looks at me, and then looks at her perfect pale pink nails that she holds out in front of her. "Not yet."
"But you're here, bowling."
She laughs. "Not bowling exactly. Hanging out. We wanted to celebrate homecoming. With you."
"Well, I had to work on my own physics homework after school." I drop the crown on a chair and ball my cape on top of it. I spin around and march away from them, calling over my shoulder, "Some people responsibly work for a living."
"Hey, Queenie," one of the male sidekicks calls out.
I stop, but don't turn. "Yeah?"
"Speaking of... mind getting us some wings and a pitcher
of Sprite down here?"
Whatever.
There is no reason for me to want anything to do with the likes of Cole Stevens. And, yet… I'm so attracted to him and my control waivers every time he's around. Not to mention my stupid back pain. I swear that's making me crankier than normal.
Back in the kitchen, while filling up a pitcher with Sprite, Cole corners me.
"Look," he says, "not tutoring those girls isn't hurting anyone but yourself."
"Excuse me?"
"If you promise to have fun with me this week, I can soften Mrs. Wiltrow up for you. Get her to agree with your plans." He grins. His dimple is so infuriating. So are his blue, blue happy eyes. "She likes me."
"Ack. Who doesn't?"
"What are you saying?" He tugs a strand of my hair. "Does that include you, by chance?"
I roll my eyes. "Look," I copy him. "When I thought I had a chance at graduating early, I was willing to give up precious time to tutor so I could complete my required service hours. Without that... I don't have the time you have to waste."
"Like I said, you still have a chance. Promise me." He stoops, and whispers in my ear, "Fun."
I shiver. My necklace heats up. My back pressure is severe. He's so, so cute. "Yes. Fine. Promise."
He looks way too proud of himself as he saunters back to the rich kids I need to play nice with. Everybody's telling me to make nice, Mom, Mitch, Mrs. Wiltrow, and now even Cole.
Rach steps into the kitchen looking red-faced and warm. She smiles at me as she slides a tray of dirty dishes into the washing rack.
And I can't help but smile back at how honest and sweet she looks, compared to everyone else at our high school.
At least she understands what it's like to work until late and then return home to do more homework.
"Let me help you with that," I tell her, "so you can get out of here and head home early."
-10-
Three hours later, everyone's gone and I'm finishing cleanup so I can close up the bar and hit the road toward home, too.
"Let me help with that." Cole strides up carrying three pitchers and a stack of glasses. "But first... where should I put these?"
