Two
April’s waiting for me in her usual spot outside of her school gates when I get there.
She rushes me, throws her arms around me and squeezes tight, before falling into step beside me as we make the short walk to the diner. The whole way, she gushes about how great her day at school was, what she learned, who she played with. I nod along, a ghost of a smile playing on my lips. She’s so compassionate when she talks, with her erratic hand movements and changes in pitch. A real storyteller, just like our mom was.
I love April so much that my heart squeezes with the force of it. But sometimes, like right now, just looking at her hurts. She’s so much like mom, with her pale blue eyes and auburn hair. They have the same smile, too. The same laugh. My chest aches, my grief swimming to the surface. I try to push it down, swallow it. It’s never quite as easy as that, though.
We’re almost at the diner when she tugs my hand, slowing me to a stop. I turn to look at her, brows furrowing when I notice her obvious concern. “What’s wrong?” I ask.
Her eyes fall to my shirt, to the bloodstain running down the middle of it. “What happened? Did uncle Jamie—”
Her words are fast, panicked. I cut her off with a shake of my head. “No. No, nothing like that.” I take a breath, scouring my brain for a lie, something that won’t make her worry any more than she already does, all the while trying to shove down my irritation for forgetting to change my shirt before I left school. “It’s, uh… it’s paint. From art class. I spilled it down my front.”
She frowns. “Paint?”
“Yeah.” I shrug. “Your big brother’s clumsy, April. What can I say?”
Without giving her a chance to respond, I take her hand and carry on walking. I feel bad for lying to her, but what else can I do? April already deals with far more than the average eight-year old. She doesn’t need to add this to her plate.
The bell above the door chimes as we walk in, signaling our arrival. Sienna looks up from behind the counter, sending us a wave. I nod at her, turning to tell April to say hello, but she’s already darted off to her usual booth in the back corner. Within seconds, she’s found a comfy position and has her head stuck in a book.
“I’ve never known a kid who reads so much,” Sienna says, coming to stand beside me.
“She just loves it, I guess.”
And while that’s true, I know there’s a whole other reason behind it; it’s an escape, a way for her to live in another reality, even if only for a short time. And I totally get it.
I brush past her, heading down the hall toward the break room, but stop at the last second to glance at her over my shoulder. “No milkshakes.”
She salutes me and I roll my eyes, continuing into the room. I strip my t-shirt off, sighing at the stain that I’m almost a hundred percent sure will never come out. I grab a clean Hal’s Diner shirt off of the rack and pull it over my head, then tie my apron around my waist and make my way back out to the front. As soon as I do, I stop dead, watching April guzzle down a chocolate shake the size of her head, extra whipped cream and cherries on top.
My gaze immediately zeroes in on Sienna and I pin her an accusatory look.
She throws her hands up, not looking the slightest bit guilty. “She twisted my arm!”
I try to keep my annoyed facade up, but it cracks within seconds and the corners of my mouth lift up. Who am I kidding? I love that Sienna and everyone else who works at the diner love April as much as I do. That they care about her and want to give her treats. Besides, trying to keep a kid away from sugar is like pissing in the wind. Impossible.
I get to work, bussing tables and taking orders. It’s a weekday, so we’re not mega-busy. I check in with April every so often, ruffle her hair every time I pass her. She’s so engrossed in her book that she barely notices me. Sienna brings her a burger and fries after an hour and I squeeze her arm in thanks, to which she whips me on the butt with a wash rag. For the first time all day, I feel some semblance of happiness.
I’ve had a lot of jobs since I moved to Leighton Bay. Mowing lawns in the summer, washing boats down by the bay, stocking shelves at the market. Anything and everything that would get some money in my pocket. But working here, it’s the first time I’ve actually enjoyed the working part and not just getting a paycheck at the end of the week.
My good mood dies an early death when the door opens again and a gaggle of girly laughter filters in. My spine turns ramrod straight, the hair on the back of my neck rising. I’d recognize those shrill voices anywhere. Cheerleaders.
I spin slowly, watching from the corner of my eye as they take the booth right next to April. Lacy, Shana and Peyton. I’ve seen them around school a bunch, but do my best to avoid them where I can. In some ways, they’re even scarier than Asher. Especially Peyton. She’s… terrifying. Manipulative, cruel. I’ve heard the rumors of things she’s done, how she’s screwed people over, used them to get what she wants. And now she’s here, in the diner, sitting mere inches away from my sister. My gut churns with unease.
I look at Sienna, silently begging her with my eyes to take their table. She makes a slashing motion across her throat and disappears into the kitchen. Damn it.
When I reach their table, gripping my notepad and pencil a little too tightly, they’re mid-conversation, too busy gossiping and flipping their hair to notice me standing there. I wait a minute, watch the seconds slowly tick by on the clock on the wall, try using my non-existent mind powers to force Sienna to come rushing to my aid. Then, I clear my throat.
All talk ceases immediately. Slowly, they turn to face me and Peyton’s eyes narrow. “Can we help you?” she asks, her nose wrinkling as she gives me a quick once-over.
I almost laugh. If the notepad and apron weren’t obvious enough, surely the big Hal’s Diner logo emblazoned on my chest would be a dead-giveaway. Apparently not.
“What can I get for you?”
They discuss their options, change their minds and then change them again, ask question after question about ingredients and calories, before finally settling on three chopped salads and three iced teas. Because everybody comes to a place famous for its burgers and orders… a salad. Whatever. It’s not my place to judge their food orders. I smile and be polite, not once giving them any indication that my patience is running dangerously thin and I’m seriously questioning whether or not I actually need this job.
I take their menus and let them know their food will be right out, before turning and making my escape. Except, I only make it two steps before one of them - Lacy, I think - calls me back.
“I feel like I know you from somewhere,” she says, assessing me with a scrutinizing gaze.
“I, uh…”
“Wait,” Shana cuts in, sitting up straighter. “So do I. Do you go to our school?”
Lacy snaps her fingers. “Yes, that’s it. You do go to our school. You’re the quiet kid who eats his lunch in the library.”
Quiet kid who eats his lunch in the library. Okay, I guess I’ve been called worse.
“He’s Asher’s plaything,” Peyton mutters, tone bored. “I saw what happened this morning. How’s your nose?”
My jaw clenches. I’m not sure what I’m more pissed about, her fake concern or the fact that she referred to me as Asher’s plaything. “It’s fine.”
“I heard that it took the janitor almost an hour to clean up all the blood.” She laughs, the sound akin to nails on a chalkboard. “I can’t imagine how… embarrassing that must have been for you.”
I breathe deep through my nostrils, restrain myself from jamming my pencil right into her eye. “I’ll be right back with your drinks,” I say, voice tight.
I step away from their table before they can say anything else and move to the counter, fetching them their iced teas. Unfortunately for me, even from all the way on the other side of the diner, their voices still carry.
“So, Pey, how are things going with you know who?” Lacy practically squeals.
“You can say his name, Lacy,” Peyton responds. “It’s not a secret. Things with Asher are going great.”
I pause my movements, almost knocking over a glass in the process. Asher? She’s with… Asher? Well, I guess that makes sense. Rich, beautiful assholes are bound to be drawn together. They’ll probably go to the same college together, then get married shortly after before moving into a disgustingly huge house with a white picket fence where they’ll raise their two point five kids. It’s a tale as old as time, really. The captain of the football team and the head cheerleader. So, why does that thought make me feel like I’m about to puke my guts up?
I take a minute to chill the hell out, wipe the sweat from my brow. I must have eaten something bad today. Yeah, that’s gotta be it.
“Oh my god,” Shana gasps. “Have you, you know… done it?”
Peyton hesitates, and I swear my breath holds the entire time. “Not yet. Asher’s… complicated. But, he wants me. It’s only a matter of time.”
I’m so busy wondering what the hell she means by complicated that I don’t notice Sienna coming over to me until she pats me on the arm. “Hey, are you okay?”
I jump, ice cubes flying everywhere from the scoop in my hand. Sighing, I fall to my knees and start gathering them up, but Sienna lays her hand over mine, stopping me.
“Let me do that,” she murmurs.
I nod my thanks and finish making their drinks, thankfully not spilling anything this time. Sienna eyes me warily the entire time, concern etched into her features.
“Are you sure you’re alright?”
“I’m fine,” I answer, way too quickly.
She stares at me, seeing straight through my lie, but thankfully doesn’t call me on my bullshit. I take the tray of drinks over, dumping them down on the table and leaving before any of them can say anything.
Only two more hours and I’ll be out of here, then I can forget this whole day ever happened. I’m exhausted, running on fumes, and I’m still in pain from the hit my face took this morning. That’s the reason why I’m feeling off right now.
The only reason.