My jaw clenched, hard, and I told myself to relax. When I couldn’t, I distracted myself by looking over the woman William and I had christened Phone Lady. Every weekday, no matter what time I came in for coffee, she was at that same single table, her laptop open, phone to her ear. There, she would talk, loudly, as if compelled to make everyone hear her end of whatever conversation she was having. Sometimes, it was about her work; she did some kind of medical record transcribing. More often, though, the talk was personal. Earlier in the week, for example, I’d learned both that one of her friends had recently gotten a breast cancer diagnosis and that she herself was allergic to wheat germ. And that had been a short line.
Sure enough, during a pause of the espresso machine, I could now make out her high, slightly twangy voice saying something about airline fares. I said to Ambrose, “William will always want a tall chai latte with skim milk. He’s the constant. It’s my mom that’s the wild card. Most days, she’s going to want an espresso with whole milk. If she’s really stressed, she’ll ask for a double. But if she snaps at you, just get a single. She won’t know the difference and it’s better for everyone.”
Ambrose didn’t respond, and I realized he was studying the pastries. Great. “Hello?” I said. “Are you even—”
“Tall chai latte, skim. Mom asked for a single espresso, so don’t have to make judgment call. Plus two chocolate croissants, warmed up so they’re nice and melty.”
I blinked, surprised he’d at least gotten some of it right. “I didn’t say anything about croissants.”
“Those are for us,” he said.
“I don’t want a croissant.”
“You seem a little crabby. It might help,” he advised. “Don’t worry, it’s on me. Although I might have to borrow a couple of bucks until payday.”
Later, I’d realize that this response pretty much summed up everything that made me nuts about Ambrose in one simple sentence. At the time though, I just stood there, unable to respond. Then my phone beeped. Jilly.
ARE YOU GETTING EXCITED? WORD IS PARTY AT THE A-FRAME WILL BE AMAZING. MAKING MEMORIES!
“Party at the A-frame, huh?” Ambrose asked, reading over my shoulder. “Where’s that?”
I jerked my phone to the side. “Seriously? Do you have any manners at all?”
“You’re the one who pulled out a phone during our conversation,” he noted. When I glared at him, he said, “You know, you really might want to rethink that croissant.”
“Next,” called the bearded guy behind the counter, a little older than me, whose preference for plaid shirts had made William christen him the Lumberjack. “Hey. How’s the wedding business?”
“Crazy as ever,” I said. I gestured at Ambrose. “He’s got the order. But you probably know it better than even I do.”
“Probably,” Lumberjack said. “But tell me anyway.”
“I’m out of here,” I told Ambrose. “Don’t forget extra napkins.”
“Okeydoke,” he said, as I turned away, toward the door. “Have fun at graduation!”
This last comment was said in such a cheerful and easygoing tone, the absolute opposite of how I was feeling, that I felt my jaw clench again. How on earth could someone be so immune to basic social cues, so entirely oblivious to how annoying he was? I was still wondering this as I pulled the door open, Phone Lady’s voice again suddenly audible over other conversations, music, and the beeping register.
“. . . just one of those days,” she was saying. “And did you hear about the shooting in California? Five kids, they are saying. Five. That’s the most since—”
I shut the door so hard behind me it rattled the glass, not that anyone noticed. Everyone’s always in their own world, when it’s still an option.
CHAPTER
5
“SEE?” JILLY yelled. “Making memories! You and me! Just like the yearbook!”
At least, that was what I thought she said. It was hard to be sure, as we were in the center of a tightly packed crowd of people dancing and also screaming at each other over the thumping, bass-driven music. All this in the living room of an A-frame house that had apparently been the place to party for everyone at our school for the last year. Jilly had been saying hello to people all night. So far, I hadn’t recognized a soul.
But I was here, in the early minutes of my first full day as a high school graduate, a warm beer in one hand. Our commencement, held in an amphitheater at the U, had been long and dull, a fact made even more difficult by the hot, humid night. Each time I looked up from my place in the rows of chairs—Steve Baroff beside me, red-eyed, giggling occasionally—all I could see were people fanning themselves with programs, the movement back and forth almost hypnotic. I felt awake only during the few minutes I was on my feet, walking to the stage and then across it to get my diploma. The crowd had been told repeatedly not to cheer for individual graduates—a directive totally ignored, so I still heard William’s voice shouting “Bravo!” somewhere in the distance.
It wasn’t just the heat hanging over us. There was also that day’s school shooting, the details of which I’d done my best to avoid. This was not easy, as my classmates were discussing it as we lined up, and then the principal made mention of it not once but three times during his prepared remarks. I understood the reasons for this. It was the world we were living in, our reality, and as another public high school, we couldn’t pretend otherwise. There had been a time, not that many months ago, when I, too, would have been glued to the news sites on my phone or the TV, sharing with anyone each new detail of breaking news. But then, another had happened. And one more. Now knowing was just too much.
I felt a bump at my back and turned as much as I could, considering the tight space, to see the boy Jilly had introduced me to earlier—Jeff? Jay?—was back beside me, a fresh beer for each of us in his hands. His friend was behind Jilly, his arms around her waist as she leaned back into him, smiling as he whispered something in her ear. This was as Out There as I’d ever been and I was trying to be a good sport about it. So when Jeff—I was pretty sure it was Jeff—held one of the cups out to me, I took it.
“It’s punch!” he yelled in my ear. “Keg was out!”
I looked down at the drink, a bright blue concoction with specks of something floating in it. “Great,” I yelled back. No way in hell was I drinking that. “Thanks.”
He nodded, slipping his now free hand around my waist as he started bopping up and down to the beat. Tall and thin, with very large ears and visible tattoos under his shirt collar, he went to another school in the area, wore a chain wallet, and had already squashed my foot more times than I could count with the heavy boots he was wearing. But he seemed nice enough, and I knew Jilly was thrilled to see me with any guy other than William. Sure enough, as I thought this, she untangled herself long enough to lean forward toward me again.
“Isn’t this the best?” she hollered, spilling some of her beer on me. “Bring on college. I am so ready!!”
I nodded, smiling at her while at the same time quite aware of Jeff’s arm tightening around me to pull me back in his direction. I felt myself tense, by reflex, and tried to put a bit more space between us. No luck: he was latched on, and now leaning into my other ear.
“I’ve never seen you out here before,” he said. “What’s your story?”