“Really? What do you do now?”
“I’m in sales.”
“That doesn’t seem to have much to do with chemistry.”
He shrugged. “I never really had the patience for lab work. I just liked mixing things together so they went boom. And the degree got me my first job in pharma.” He looked down at his half-eaten sandwich, the fries cooling in a puddle of ketchup. “Which led to the glamorous life you see before you.”
“There’s nothing you can tell me about glamour,” she said, arching an eyebrow. “I work here.”
Grinning, he said, “Well, it’s quiet.”
Quiet it certainly was. Turkey Club was her first and last customer of the night. Freddy, her boss, came in as she was closing up, looked at the posted schedule, and shook his head. “There’s no good way to say this,” he said, and then he told her that after this week, they were closing the restaurant for dinner. They’d be doing room service instead, splitting those shifts between the two bartenders and whatever hotel staff was available. “If you wanted to, you could work breakfasts,” he said. “We’re always busy at breakfast.”
So was Caro. In English class. For the nine millionth time she wondered if it would be easier to quit school, but as always, something in her balked at the thought. Margot had quit school. Margot thought there were evil elves in the wall monitoring her and Caro’s movements through every metal thing or printed word in the house. “I need this job, Freddy,” she said.
“And you’ve got it. For one more shift.”
“How generous of you,” she said.
He had the decency to look sad. “Just so you know, I hate firing people. And it’s not that I don’t like you. You’re a great kid. You’re good with the customers. If there were more of them, this wouldn’t even be a question.”
She trudged home in the cold. When she passed the car, she didn’t even let herself look at it. There was no way. Absolutely no way.
The next night she worked at Eat’n Park. She left at the same time as a girl named Cathy who was in her math class and who had her own car. Cathy didn’t offer her a ride home. Caro hadn’t expected her to. Even the girls who didn’t have a specific reason to hate her stayed away, and she understood why. In high school, being a pariah was like having a communicable disease. And maybe Cathy had a boyfriend too. Caro didn’t set out to steal. She just took opportunities as they arose. She couldn’t afford not to, and it was nice not to feel alone, and all of those girls had loving mommies and doting daddies and there would be other boys for them, other futures.
She thought about blowing off her last shift at the hotel but she couldn’t justify it—and besides, what was she going to do instead? Sit at home with Margot and watch her meds not work? So, two days later, she was back in her black shirt and pants, standing behind the bar doing homework. Algebra this time. She’d failed it the year before.
Turkey Club was back too. Staring at a menu, a faint frown on his face. She said, “We have a great turkey club.”
He looked up at her and smiled. She could see that he was pleased that she’d remembered him, which was what she’d intended. “I know. I’ve had it for four meals in a row, except breakfast. What else is good?”
She shrugged. “Chicken Caesar salad?”
He groaned. “Do you know how many chicken Caesar salads I’ve eaten over the years? Caesar salads, turkey clubs, western omelets. It all tastes the same.”
“It all comes off the same truck,” Caro said.
“Sometimes, I think one more day on the road is going to break me.” He rubbed his face. “I am going to literally turn into a preservative. A living, breathing molecule of BHT.”
“There’s a pesto-tortellini thing,” she said. “Occasionally they put actual prosciutto in it.”
He closed the menu. “Sold. One pesto-tortellini thing with occasional actual prosciutto in it, please.”
She put in the order and brought him a basket of bread. “More chemistry?” he said, and at first she thought he was talking about the bread but then he nodded at her books.
“Algebra.” She wondered if that was a mistake, if chemistry majors in college didn’t have to take algebra. She tried to remember if she’d actually told him she was a chemistry major. Then she decided that it was all too much work on her last day. “I lied to you before. I’m still in high school,” she said, feeling faintly reckless. The truth. What a novelty.
His eyes widened. “I would not have thought that.”
“It’s the makeup. I am a senior, though.”
“Big plans for after?”
She thought about saying Taking care of my schizophrenic mother—but there was such a thing as too much truth. “Probably what you said. Community college, then transfer.”
“It’s still a good plan.”
“Sure, if I can afford it.”
“Is this a good job? It seems like it should be. But I never see anybody here.”