Tucker gave me a weird look, said, “Finnegan doesn’t have a Magic 8 Ball,” and hurried off.
I stared at the countertop and let that sink in. I’d used that 8 Ball so many times I couldn’t remember all the questions I’d asked it. And I’d never once suspected it of being a hallucination. It didn’t even seem like a hallucination. There was nothing strange about it. The blue water wasn’t purple or orange or green. It never said strange things. It was just an old Magic 8 Ball, red scuff mark and all. It was just there.
I looked up. The restaurant was a living, breathing creature, ready to eat me alive. I braced my hands against the edge of the counter and took a few deep breaths.
“Alexandra!” Now Finnegan was leaning forward in his computer chair, craning his vulture neck around the office door to see me. “Get back to work!”
I scrambled for my water pitcher. Tucker was already going around with the Coke and tea. I nodded as I passed him, refilling drinks on the way. When I stopped at Cliff and Ria’s table, everyone there was strangely cordial to me. I liked it that way. It was like they didn’t really notice me. I ignored them and they ignored me. Good.
Until I turned to move on to the next table. My foot caught on something. I stumbled. The water pitcher, after sloshing its contents across my front, caught me in the jaw. Pain throbbed through my lip, and coppery blood spread across my tongue.
I cursed and pushed myself up. Laughter arced over my head. Cliff pulled his foot back under the table.
Then Miles rose from his seat and dragged Cliff out of his, slamming him back against the table. Ria and the others cried out as their glasses rattled.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Miles growled. Every muscle in his hands and arms stood out, strained, his jaw tight. This was worse than yelling. This was even worse than in English class. His glasses had slipped down his nose, and he nailed Cliff to the table with an unrelenting stare. “When are you going to stop? What did she do to you?”
“Chill out, Richter—”
“YOU FUCKING CHILL OUT, CLIFFORD.” Miles slammed him against the table again. “If you’ve got a problem with anyone, it’s me. So deal with me.”
I stood, grabbing my water pitcher. “Miles, stop. He’s not worth it. It’s not a big deal.”
Miles’s eyes flickered over to me. “He hurt you.”
I touched the spot on my lip where I’d bitten myself. My fingers came away bloody. “I’ll be fine. I bit my lip. It was an accident.”
Miles looked less than thrilled, but he released Cliff.
“Damn, Richter. You know your girlfriend is screwy in the head, right?” Cliff tugged on his collar. “But I guess you’re used to that, huh? I figure you like her because she reminds you of your dear old Mutter.” He paused and folded his arms, getting a serious, concentrated look on his face. “It’s really kind of creepy, when you think about it, because that means that you want to fuck your mom.”
I felt the shock wave move through the room. It started with Miles, knocking him slightly backward, seeming to ripple through every last inch of him. It silenced the rest of the restaurant. I saw Tucker in the far corner, forgetting that he was refilling someone’s tea and letting the cup overflow.
In the world of high school insults, it was actually pretty tame, but Miles’s reaction made it terrible. Even Ria seemed scared. The muscles in Miles’s throat worked as though he was trying to speak or swallow, but his lips pressed together so tightly they turned white. He closed his eyes.
“Miles,” I said.
He exhaled sharply through his nose, opened his eyes, and reached out for me.
Cliff punched him in the ear.
Miles gasped and staggered to the side, clutching his head. I dropped the water pitcher and threw myself at Cliff before he could get another hit in. The next thing I knew, I had Ria grabbing at my hair and shirt, and Cliff trying to pry me off. Then Art was there, holding off two other football players from joining the fray, and Jetta and the triplets and Tucker jumped in around him, trying to help me, and the whole place went to hell.
Eventually, someone grabbed me underneath the arms and lifted me right out of the fight. I was set on my feet behind the counter, and turned to see Gus—big, potbellied Gus, the cigarette still clamped between his lips. He nodded, looking worried.
Pitying.
I hated that look.
He trundled off to break up the fight, leaving a fuming Finnegan in his wake. Finnegan’s face went from red to purple to white. Plates shattered. Drinks flew across the room. Blood dripped from my lip.
Finnegan only got two words out before he apparently lost the ability to speak.
“You’re fired.”
Chapter Forty-seven
My mother was not amused.
As soon as she saw my lip, she knew what had happened. Like Finnegan had some sort of telepathic link with her or something.