When I turn around, a ruddy-faced, middle-aged woman is standing behind me. Her thick brown hair is pulled back in a plaid bandana, freckles dotting her sunburned cheeks, and she’s wiping what looks like mud from her hands across a mud-stained apron.
“I have tried and tried to get the smell out. I figure once I get the kiln going, it’ll either kill it completely, or make it smell like my side business is cooking Fido. But I needed a larger studio space, and the landlord offered me a great deal.”
I try to look like I know what she’s talking about.
“Turns out this space is the perfect atmosphere for clay. Not too humid, not too dry, though every time I go outside, some blue jay won’t stop scolding me.”
She stops herself, realizing I haven’t said anything, and I wish I had, because now there’s a weird silence between us. My eyelid twitches once, and then again, and I hope she doesn’t notice.
“Um, do you need help?” I ask.
“With the bird?”
“No.” I point at the sign. “You’re hiring, right? I saw the sign, and I know Finn. He said you were looking for an assistant.”
“You know Finn?” she echoes, clearly surprised.
“Kind of. We were friends a while ago and just reconnected.”
“What’s your name?”
“Parker McCullough.”
Her eyes go to my hands.
“You ever work with clay?”
I debate lying but figure I could fake my way through that for only so long.
“Not since Play-Doh.”
She snorts. “Good. I can show you the right way to use it. No bad habits to undo. You good with difficult people?”
I’m guessing that even though they’re kids, Ryan and Todd Delaney count as difficult people. “I hold my ground okay.”
“You okay with thirty hours a week, ten bucks an hour?”
I nod, hardly believing this is actually happening, that I might have just landed myself not only a job, but a job that pays more than minimum wage.
“Got any bad habits I should know about? Drugs, cigarettes, that stuff?”
I shake my head vigorously. “No, not at all. I can provide references, too.”
“That’d be good, but to be honest, you’re the first person who’s come in, and I have to believe it’s meant to be. Can you be here every weekday from ten to four?”
“Absolutely.” Yes, yes, yes.
“Can you start tomorrow?”
I realize I’ve been nodding too hard, so I try to slow down and smile like I’m quietly excited and professional, not a bobbleheaded version of myself. “Yes.”
She reaches out to shake my hand. “I’m Carla. You’re hired. See you tomorrow. I’ll have you fill out a W-4 then. Bring your references, too.”
“Cool, yes!”
“Ladies, I finally have an assistant,” Carla announces to the four women, before she waves and heads to the door in the back. “See you tomorrow, Parker.”
Lavender nods, and the sunshine woman smiles, but Harriet just rolls her eyes and mutters, “About time.”
I look at the quiet woman, to see if she’s changed position, but she’s still staring out the window.
“Oh, Alice doesn’t talk anymore, dear,” Lavender says to me.
“Her Alzheimer’s is pretty bad,” the sunshine woman chimes in. “Sometimes she just likes to sit by herself and watch the creek.”
“With the current company, I don’t blame her,” Harriet grumbles.
“Well, see you later,” I say, and as I leave, I hear Lavender murmur, “Such a lovely girl.”
It’s not until I’m halfway home that I realize two things: I’m not sure what my new job entails, and I’m strangely okay with that.
Twenty-Three
THAT EVENING, I STAND on my tiptoes, trying to see who’s working at the Float. I smile when I locate Ruby at the counter—she’s half of the reason I’m here.
The other half—Finn—hasn’t made an appearance yet.
I fidget with my phone, trying to calm the jitters in my stomach.
It’s no big deal. I’m just stopping by to see if Ruby wants to hang out sometime and to thank Finn for the ride and the job lead.
But I still feel a mix of weird and excited to see them both again, the same giddiness that was tripping around me this morning. I want to tell someone on this continent that I quit the internship and found another job, that it feels like everything’s coming together, that maybe things could be good.
I want them to be my friends.
Speaking of . . . I open my e-mail to start a note to Em about Carla’s, but there’s already a response from her in my in-box.
Park,
So, I got your note about the internship, and I tried to call you, but my cell service is crappy, so e-mail it is. . . .
First, I’m really proud of you for figuring out the internship isn’t for you. That’s a big thing, and it couldn’t have been easy to make that decision, and you’re smart and brave and awesome.
I feel a flush of pride and keep reading.
That being said, and I hope you’re not mad at me for saying this, but I really think you should tell your parents. It feels like maybe you’re not dealing with everything, the reasons you quit in the first place, etc.? Plus, are you just going to lie about it all summer? I don’t mean that in a judgy way, just that it sounds really lonely to carry that lie all by yourself, Park. I really think you should talk to your parents.
I’m sorry, but I had to be honest. I love you to pieces.
oxo, Em
And just like that, my good feelings go down the drain.
Frowning, I inch forward in the line and reread the e-mail. Why can’t she just be happy for me? She knows how my parents are, especially my dad. Does she honestly think I could tell him the truth? He would be so disappointed, I doubt he’d be able to look at me. I can already see him marching me right back to that internship the next day.
Plus, what is it she told me when I worried about her hooking up with May again?
My thumbs fly across the keyboard:
Em, thanks for your note. But I’m a grown-up, and I got it. You don’t need to worry. Park I hit send.
I feel triumphant, righteous even, for about ten seconds.
And then I start second-guessing the e-mail and myself.
What if she’s right to worry? What if I can’t carry this lie the whole summer?
“Can I help you? Oh, Parker, hey!”
I look up to see Ruby pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose and smiling.
“Ruby, hey!”
“How are things going?”
“They’re a little better,” I say, thinking of my new summer job. “Actually, I was going to see if you wanted to grab lunch soon?”
Her face opens up. “Really? Oh my God, yes. That would be awesome.”
“I’ll e-mail you,” I say.
“I’ll bring all my Harvard and SAT questions for you!”
The guy behind me in line clears his throat significantly, and Ruby rolls her eyes, but I jump in.
“In the meantime, one root-beer float. Small.”
“One large float!” she calls out.
“Small,” I say, but she winks.
“Upsizing you and giving you the employee discount,” she whispers. “One dollar.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I know I don’t have to, but I want to.”
As I hand her the money, I try to angle my gaze toward the kitchen, but I can’t tell who’s back there. I drop two singles in the tip jar and move to the side to wait. The guy behind me starts to order, but then I can’t help it, and I lean around him.
“Ruby?”
The guy at the counter gives a weary sigh.
“Yeah?”
“Is Finn working tonight?” I ask.
Ruby wrinkles her nose. “Finn?”
“Yeah,” I say, deciding not to explain any further.
“He’s on his break, probably out back,” she says.
“Great, thanks,” I say, taking my float. “Talk soon! I promise.” She gives me a cheery wave.
I take a sip of my float, and it’s the perfect mix of creamy vanilla and sharp root beer. I smooth my sundress and take a deep breath, heading toward the back of the Float.
It’s quieter here, not meant for customers. There are no picnic tables, only a Dumpster and a flickering overhead light casting the whole place with a weird industrial glow.
“Hello?”