“Coke and a burger,” the other said.
“How would you like that cooked?” I asked.
“Uh, whatever,” he replied.
There was nothing more infuriating and unattractive than a guy with no confidence. Who doesn’t know how he likes his burger cooked? Get a freaking backbone.
“Medium okay? Slightly pink center?” I asked.
“Gross.”
“Okay. Well done then?” I asked. I made a mental note to tell Terry to cook it until it was rubber.
“Yeah.”
“And for you?” I asked, turning to Cal.
“Saved the best for last,” he said, pulling on the hem of my dress.
I nearly vomited in my mouth, but I forced a grin instead. Remember, Brooke. Playful. Sweet. Good girl.
“Exactly,” I said, never taking my eyes off Cal.
“I’ll have a burger, medium-rare,” he said glancing at his friend with contempt. “And a Coke.”
“Sounds good,” I said, placing my unused pen behind my ear.
I walked into the kitchen to use the computer. I didn’t want to use the one out on the floor. I needed to get away from those boys, separate myself by a door, and one they weren’t allowed to walk through.
I stood at the computer punching and banging away, mumbling under my breath.
“Wright! Take it easy on that screen! You wanna break it?” Terry yelled from behind the grill.
“Leave me alone,” I snapped.
“Don’t get pissy with me or your customers will be waiting a looong time for their food,” Terry said.
God, I hated working at a restaurant. Servers were at the mercy of everyone: the hostesses who decided what patrons were seated in their sections. The patrons themselves who blamed everything on the server even if those things were out of the server’s control. The kitchen staff who decided how fast and how well the meals were prepared.
I stomped over to Terry. “Make sure you cook the hell out of my well-done burger,” I said.
“Problem?” Terry asked.
“He’s just a little toadie,” I said.
Terry laughed. “Toadie?”
“Yeah. You know. Toadie. Part of the gang. Not the leader. Could never be the leader because he’s a little bitch,” I explained. “Toadie.”
“Gotcha.”
“And spit in everyone else’s food,” I said.
“I’ll do my best,” Terry replied. “Your steak sandwich is up.”
I grabbed Ryan’s lunch along with the boys’ drinks, and headed out the kitchen door.
I delivered the drinks first. I said nothing as the boys chatted, ignoring me. The memory of Game 3 popped into my head. I was on the list. Who would choose me, if anyone?
Terry and I had found another document of Game 2 picks. There were more girls listed than actually made the cut. I guess the boys liked to keep their options open. I thought how lucky those girls were who didn’t get picked. The ones who did? Well, I decided I needed to talk to some of them.
“How’s it look?” I asked Ryan, placing his sandwich in front of him.
“Good,” he replied. “Thank you.” He looked at me then, and he smiled.
Well, this was completely different from a few minutes ago. A few minutes ago he acted like I was a total stranger. Why the change?
I couldn’t help it. I had to turn around. I caught sight of Cal glaring at Ryan. Why all the hostility? Why was Cal out to get this guy? Ryan never talked to anyone at school. He was quiet. He stayed out of the way. What was the big deal?
I turned back to Ryan. He was staring at Cal. And then his lips curled into a sly grin like he was passing a secret message to a mortal enemy. It said, “Go ahead and try to keep me away from her, motherfucker. I’m not going anywhere.” And here I thought Cal had Ryan under his thumb. Maybe in the past, but it looked like Ryan was deciding to fight back. I felt a warm liquid ooze through my arms and legs at the realization that he was choosing to fight for me.
I bent down and whispered in Ryan’s ear. “Would you like ketchup with your fries?”
I heard a rumble deep in his throat. “No.”
“Would you like anything else?” I asked, lips all but pressed to his ear.
“Yes,” he said, and I understood perfectly.
I stood up, and Ryan caught my arm.
“Brooke?”
“Hmm?”
“Will you do me a favor?”
“Sure.”
“Don’t hang around him,” Ryan said.
I tensed immediately. “Hang around who?”
“Cal. Those guys. Don’t hang around them. They’re trouble,” Ryan explained.
“How do you know?” I felt the rapid increase of my heart rate. What did Ryan know about Cal?
“I’ve gone to school with him since ninth grade, Brooke,” Ryan said. “I know he’s an asshole. A bully.”
I nodded.
“Please just listen to me when I say that you need to stay away from him. I mean, I know you two work on yearbook stuff together. I know you can’t avoid him altogether. But please stay away from him as much as you can,” he said.
“Do you know something about him you’re not telling me?” I asked.