I take my place behind the cash register, making sure to exaggerate my limp. The real problem is my stomach. Leftover tequila, aspirin, coffee, and a cold Pop-Tart make a horrible mix, churning as I try to sort through last night’s fuzzy memories.
I remember that Matt was perfectly willing to let me stay there with Carson. I used to think Matt had never noticed that I’m a girl, but the truth is, I’m just not the kind of girl he wants for himself. That’s embarrassing in its own way, but not as bad as him thinking I would actually want to stay with Carson Tipton.
Or as bad as Carson thinking the same thing.
*
The afternoon drags. Working at a pharmacy sucks, but it could be worse—I could have Mom’s job. She’s on the university custodial staff, cleaning up after brats like Asha and Spencer at the dorms during the week and special events on the weekend. It was a step down from her old position as an assistant manager, but the restaurant chain went bankrupt and she lost her job. By the time the janitor gig came along, it was a welcome opportunity.
The pay’s not great, but the benefits are good. The employee scholarship program will pay my tuition if I want to stay here for college. I don’t, but it’s a nice security net. I have the test scores and the GPA to go to some fancier schools, but those require a lot of cash, and even here I’d still have to pay for room and board.
So for now, I put in my hours and save my money, pretending not to notice who’s buying hemorrhoid cream and who needs yeast infection medicine and who has to pay in loose change. I am reassuringly blasé to the embarrassed preteen buying tampons and the guy buying extra-small condoms.
I wish I could ignore customers completely when two of Andrew’s ex–baseball teammates come in—Shane Martin, who’s a complete dick, and Benjamin Cruz, who’s nicer and goes by his last name for some reason. My stomach roils at the sight of the potato chips and Red Bull they’re buying. Or maybe it’s because they were with Carson last night. “Hey Sanders,” Cruz says. “You make it home all right?”
I nod, reaching for the rolling papers he indicates.
Shane leans on the counter. “You busy tonight?”
“That’ll be five twelve,” I tell Cruz.
Shane’s not deterred. “My folks are out of town, so…” When I don’t answer, he straightens up. “Gimme a pack of Marlboros.”
“You’re not eighteen.” I push Cruz’s change across the counter.
“How do you know?”
“Your birthday’s in January, like mine.” Our names were always together on the birthday cake poster in elementary school, but he obviously thinks I remember out of interest. So I smile back with fake sweetness. “You’re not getting anything else, either.”
Cruz cracks up, but Shane’s jaw works. “Too bad,” he says. “I was hoping…” He pretends to suck on something.
My stomach gives another lurch.
“Come on, you asshole.” Cruz tips a pretend hat at me. “See you later, Sanders.”
I manage to wait until they’re out the door before rushing to the bathroom. Puking makes me feel a little better, but the urge returns when I find Roland standing at my register. Next to my crutches. Damnit. “Go ahead and cash out,” he says.
I finish up and shuffle to his office, dreading the speech I’m about to get. I wish I could get a better job, but what’s available after school is essentially all the same—cashier gigs with college-dropout bosses on power trips. Better to deal with the dickhead you know than the one that could be worse.
Roland stays at his desk when I enter, and he doesn’t ask me to sit. “Raychel…” he starts, then leans back, putting his hands behind his head. “You know I have to let you go.”
My stomach threatens a second round. “No,” I say weakly, “I did not know that.”
MATT
Saturday morning Student Council meetings should be illegal, much less at 9 a.m., but since StuCo isn’t a class period and all the members have a billion other commitments, we have to schedule meetings at weird times. It’s a lot of work just to get some extra points on college admissions. I should at least get to add “wrangled drunks until the wee hours of the night and still arrived on time for early-morning commitments” to my applications. That seems like a more accurate representation of what surviving college will require anyway.
“Matt!” Mindy waves me up to the front of the room. She stopped acting like I had leprosy early in high school, about the time I grew a foot taller and started dating. This morning she’s the one who looks different, and it takes me a minute to realize it’s because she’s not wearing makeup. It’s disconcerting to realize I haven’t seen her actual face in years. “Hey, Rosa’s home sick today,” she says. “Can you be secretary?”
“Sure,” I say, shrugging, and take Rosa’s spot at the head table. “What’s she got?”
“Stomach bug,” Mindy says, with air quotes and a glance at Mrs. Nguyen, the math teacher who serves as our sponsor. “Are you going to the Grove tonight?”
“Maybe.” A clearing in the National Forest outside of town is an unofficial gathering spot, and two out of every three parties there get busted, but we keep going back because no one has to face angry parents and a wrecked house afterward.
Mindy frowns. “You should go!”
“I might. But we’re going to Music on the Mulberry tomorrow, so—”
“Oh,” she says. “You and Raychel.”
“And my brother.” I don’t know why I need to add that. Last year I would have invited Mindy to come along, but the big crew of friends that used to go with us is gone to college now, and it would be weird with just the four of us.
Luckily we’re interrupted as Trenton Alexander Montgomery the Third takes his seat beside her. In elementary school, Trenton Alexander Montgomery the Third insisted that everyone, especially teachers, call him by his full name, and it stuck, much to his junior high chagrin. On the plus side, he had the longest campaign posters in the hallway, which probably helped him get elected vice president this year. “Richardson,” he says, pulling his chair out. “What are you doing up here?”
“I asked him to be secretary,” Mindy answers. “Rosa’s sick.”
He grins at me. “Ah, why don’t you fetch me some coffee then, Madam Secretary?”
“I’ll get right on that,” I say dryly.
“You know what you ought to get on?” he asks, and Mindy clears her throat to start the meeting.
*
Two hours later, we’ve planned the basics of two fund-raisers, an anti–drunk driving campaign, a staff appreciation week, and a blood drive. My proposal to protest the use of pesticides in the building is rejected, but somehow, I have gotten roped into a committee for half the other projects, and somehow, Mindy is on the same ones. A few years ago, StuCo discovered that offering really good food at the blood drive increased participation, so our first task is to solicit donations from local restaurants. As we walk to the parking lot, she gives me a megawatt smile, pulling her dark blond hair up into a twist. “Are you busy today?”