“Um, hi?” I say after I clear my throat.
He startles, nearly dropping the book to the floor, but he catches it just in time. I recognize him immediately. Blake Stephens. He’s a senior. Quiet. Studious. He’s in most of my advanced classes, just like Tuttle.
I’ve maybe spoken ten words to him the entirety of our high school life.
“You’re Amanda Winters,” he says after an uncomfortable moment of silence.
“That’s me.” Lame, lame. Yikes. “So, hey. Are you by chance hiring right now?” I ask.
Blake jumps to his feet, coming to stand directly across from me behind the cash register. “We are. I can put in a good word for you, too.”
I laugh nervously, noting how closely he examines me. His rapt attention is kind of creepy. “That’s awesome. Can I have an application, please?”
“Yeah, sure.” He reaches beneath the counter and hands over a standard job application. I take it from him with a faint smile, thank him for the pen and clipboard he also hands me then go sit at one of the small table so I can start filling out the application.
I’m concentrating so hard on making sure all of my answers on the application are correct, I don’t notice at first what’s playing on the flat screen TV hanging on the nearby wall. But then it slowly dawns on me that he’s watching a kid movie on the Disney Channel.
He must’ve seen me stare at the TV because he says, “My parents keep it on Disney so the kids are entertained.”
I turn to look at him. “Your parents own this place?”
“Yeah.” He ducks his head and shuffles his feet. “I hate frozen yogurt.”
This time my laugh is for real, and there’s not a hint of nervousness in it. “So why do you work here?”
“Because they make me?”
I laugh some more and he joins in with a low chuckle. “Seriously, you don’t want to work here?”
“Oh yes I do.”
My gaze returns to the application and I work on it some more, wishing I’d prepared better. It’s hard to come up with a list of references on the spot. I grab my phone and start scrolling through my contacts, stopping when I find my grandma’s address. She’s a great reference, though maybe I should tell her not to say she’s my grandma. “I need a job.”
“Not this one.”’
“Yes, this one would be perfect.” The more he talks about me not wanting it, makes me want it even more. “What’s so bad about working here?”
“Cleaning the place. The machines, the toppings bar, the bathrooms, the floor.” He makes a disgusted face. “It’s awful.”
“I don’t mind cleaning.” I really don’t. Mom runs a tight ship. We’re always cleaning around the house every weekend, sometimes even after school. Mom always says, “Idle hands lead to idle minds,” and I hate that quote, probably because it’s true.
Not that I’m really sure, considering I don’t keep myself idle for too long.
“Then you’re crazy,” he tells me with all the assuredness of someone who doesn’t have to worry about his job, considering his parents owned the place. He was guaranteed a job for the rest of his life. Granted, no one wants to work at Yo Town when they’re forty, but I’m sure Blake knows he can always work at the yogurt shop if he has to.
I’m almost done filling out the application when a buzzer sounds, alerting that someone’s walked into the shop. I glance up to see a pleasant-looking older woman stop at the register to talk to Blake. Their features are similar and I’d bet money it was his mom. I drop my head when she catches me looking, concentrating instead on my application and hoping she doesn’t think I’m a creeper.
“Are you applying for a job?” the woman asks a few moments later.
I glance back up to find her standing on the other side of the little table I’m sitting at. “I am. Blake said you were hiring?”
The woman’s smile grows. “You know Blake?”
“We go to school together,” I tell her, hoping she doesn’t ask for any more details. I don’t really know Blake at all.
“Mom, stop questioning her,” Blake says from behind the counter.
She glances at him over her shoulder. “I have to question her if she wants to work for me.” She returns her attention to me with a pleasant smile on her face. “Do you have a few minutes to chat?”
Excitement and nerves bubble inside my stomach. “Sure.”
Blake’s mom introduces herself as Sonja, and after a few minutes of chit-chat, questions about my (lacking) experience and inquiring exactly how I know her son, I’ve got the job.
That was way too easy.
“Can you start tomorrow after school?” she asks after letting me know I’ll average 15 hours a week and the starting pay is minimum wage.