“Oh my God,” Gretchen said. “Whatever. He’s freaking hot. Happy? Now go over there and talk to him.”
“You really are deluded,” I replied, and left for the kitchen.
Terry and I had since mended our fragile relationship. He apologized the same night he yelled at me and burned my order. And for telling the manager to fire me. After work that night, he offered to buy me a drink, and when I said I was only eighteen, he asked, “So what?”
“I don’t know,” I had replied. “Maybe it’s illegal or something like that.”
“It’s only illegal if you get caught,” he explained, and I knew he was bad news. I’d stay away from him and his ten tattoos.
“Wright!” Terry yelled as I walked through the kitchen door. “Get your skinny ass over here and pick up your fucking orders! You’re taking up the whole shelf space!”
I saluted him and grabbed a tray, carefully stacking all of my orders for three tables, Gretchen’s included.
I made my way through my section, serving food to people who looked genuinely shocked and delighted. I wondered if I acted that way at restaurants without knowing: shocked and delighted to see a plate coming my way, like I didn’t know to expect it. I was at a freaking restaurant, after all. People were so stupid.
“His name is Ryan,” Gretchen said when I approached her with her salad.
“I know. They take attendance in class. But how do you know?”
“I overheard his little sister say his name,” she replied, grinning.
“Gretchen, leave it alone,” I said.
Gretchen picked up her fork and pushed it tentatively through her salad. I waited. When she finished her assessment, I asked what else she needed.
“Ryan’s phone number,” she said.
I gave her an even look.
“Hey, if you’re not gonna take a shot, then I will.”
“I don’t think so,” I replied and looked over at Ryan. He spotted me, and I watched him do a once over on me with his eyes. It didn’t feel sleazy or gross like when Cal did it. Ryan did it blatantly, like he meant for me to see him, and I didn’t know what to make of it. I was a progressive woman living in a progressive world. Shouldn’t I feel offended? I’m no object, buster!
But I couldn’t pretend to be offended. I was flattered, and I smiled at him, though I knew it would be a mistake. He grinned back, and the trouble started. Right there, in that moment. I should have turned and walked away. But I didn’t. I smiled, and in that instant, my simple plan to pursue Cal, make him hurt me, then make him pay for it, became anything but simple.
Four
The rest of the school week went by in a flash. I made little progress with Cal and even less with Lucy. I thought I could be friends with her, but she remained distant, closed up. She was nice enough in class, always greeting me and asking how work was going, but they were superficial niceties meant to keep me at a distance. By Friday, I figured she harbored horrible secrets. I don’t know why I needed or wanted to know them. I told myself not to get involved with anyone else’s problems. I had a big enough job for one. I couldn’t be the hero for an entire group of victims.
Cal was frustrating. As hard as I worked to come across charming and sweet, he didn’t take the bait. He kept me at a distance, too, surprising me every now and again in the hallway in between classes with a “Hello” or “Nice top, Brooklyn.” I knew he was doing it on purpose, making me think I had a chance so that I would keep working to get close to him. I was convinced he wanted me close to him. I caught him in class a few times staring at me. It was a predator’s stare, and it sought to claim me.
Whenever you try hard to keep from being involved in something, it finds you out, forces you into the situation, and you’ve no choice but to act out of a sense of moral responsibility because deep down your heart is good, and you want to do good. My desperate desire to do good came more from an overwhelming feeling of guilt for my past than from my moral compass. I knew eventually I would have to say something, do something, that made me uncomfortable because when you’re trying to be good, what choice do you have?
It was Friday, and I barely made it to the bathroom at the sound of the lunch bell. I held my pee all morning, unable to find breaks in any of my classes to excuse myself. Actually, that’s not true. There was one break between fourth and fifth periods, but Cal happened to approach me at my locker during that time, and I wasn’t forfeiting a chance to talk with him. I’d get a bladder infection before I walked away from Cal.