Chapter Four
“you were good to me”
by Jeremy Zucker and Chelsea Cutler
Meera
I all but pounce on my friends when they get to our usual lunch table in the corner of the cafeteria. “You will not believe this!” I exclaim, and Valeria almost drops her tray in surprise. “There’s a hot new French exchange student in town!”
They both sit down across from me. Ron takes a bite of his sandwich and frowns. “Wait, so you’re over Sushant?”
“I don’t blame her,” Valeria says, setting her head on her hands and sighing dramatically. “The new guy is so gorgeous. He even has a sexy name. Julien Perrin.”
“No, the Plan is still on,” I say hastily, brushing my hair from my eyes and grinning at them. “But guess who’s in charge of showing Madre Maria’s newest hottie around?”
Their eyebrows scrunch up for a moment before it dawns on both of them. “Lucy,” they say in hushed voices.
“Yep.”
“Oh yeah, I saw him sitting beside her during Algebra. He wouldn’t stop talking to her.” Valeria has a dreamy look in her eyes as she fans herself. “That French accent, my God.”
After I sip some of my chocolate milk, I lean forward on the table and lower my voice, but the excitement in my tone remains. “You both know what this means for the Plan, right?”
“What?”
“I can use Julien to break them up!”
Ron’s mouth drops open, revealing chewed-up bits of meat and lettuce. I avert my gaze to Valeria, whose eyes are wide with disbelief. “Shit,” she whispers. “Meera, that’s…that’s diabolical.”
I toss my hair back over one shoulder proudly. “I know, right?”
“I didn’t mean that as a compliment,” she continues, shaking her head.
Mayo and marinara sauce are oozing out of one side of her sandwich and dripping onto her fingers, but she doesn’t notice.
“There’s got to be a better way to do this than bringing an innocent stranger into the Plan and potentially setting him up for heartbreak. ”
“Like what?” I groan and plant my face on the table. “I thought about it all night and came up with nothing.”
Ron rolls his eyes, but Valeria snaps her fingers. “I got it. My sister told me Lucy applied for the receptionist position at the salon. She’s looking for a job.”
“So…?”
“So”—she grins—“you can offer her one at Café Kismat. Keep your friends close and enemies closer, right?”
“She must have applied to a lot of places.” Ron shakes his head. “And if there’s one thing we know, it’s that Lucy always gets what she wants.”
“I’ll tell Rosa not to hire her.” Valeria thinks for a moment. “And as for the rest, we’ll figure it out as we go along.”
“Thanks,” I say, clasping her palm with mine and squeezing. “But I’m still going to figure out if I can use Julien to break them up.”
“I can’t…I can’t even.” Ron shakes his head and busies himself with his phone.
He looks pissed. I mean, I get it. This isn’t a pretty plan, or even a nice one.
But playing nice hasn’t gotten me anywhere so far—and after the way Lucy hurt me, she deserves nothing short of the heartbreak she put me through.
Being a Mean Girl might not be the worst thing if it means I can get even. Right?
My friends discuss a new sci-fi show they’re obsessed with while I try to see what’s going on at the It Crowd table.
Lucy’s sitting next to Sushant, of course, but on her other side is Julien.
He’s talking to the table at large, and people are listening with rapt attention.
Sushant leans back in his seat and laughs loudly at something Julien says.
But Lucy is focused on her meal, and even from a distance, I can see a tic in her jaw. Oh no. I know that look.
Lucy, popular as she may now be, has always been an introverted woman of few words.
When we were friends, she was chatty around me, in the comfort of my home or the café, eagerly telling me the plot of whatever book she was reading or her in-depth analysis of the latest Taylor Swift album.
I don’t care much for books or pop music, but seeing her in her natural element and knowing our friendship was what put her at ease…
It made me long to hear every word that came out of her mouth.
I bite the inside of my cheek, shaking off the nostalgia and the ache in my stomach.
This isn’t the time for that, Meera. I’m sure she’s just as talkative with darling Natalie now, since they’re best friends or whatever, but new people are an acquired taste for her.
Julien has probably gotten on her nerves already.
His looks won’t be enough to drive a wedge between her and Sushant.
So, until she warms up to Julien, I’ll have to find another way to put the Plan into motion. And maybe Valeria’s idea can work.
The problem is, Café Kismat doesn’t have an opening for a job.
Given how Appa and Dad refuse to talk to me about our finances and never let me near the accounting books on my shifts, it’s pretty clear the café’s not doing well.
We don’t have the budget to hire anyone new.
Right now, there’s only one employee apart from the three of us: Danny, the barista who handles the afternoon-and-evening shift.
He works two other jobs so he can make enough to pay for college next year.
There’s no way my conscience would let me sabotage his future just for the sake of the Plan.
Which means I have to convince my parents to create a new job opening at Café Kismat. One that is the perfect fit for Lucy and brings in more profits for the café.
Lucy
I’m exhausted by the time cheerleading practice is over and I take a quick shower. The lack of sleep last night (and the headache I got listening to Monsieur Won’t-Shut-Up all day) doesn’t help my anxiety over my first job interview.
Once I’m parked outside the library, I look at myself in the rearview mirror.
The concealer is doing a half-decent job of hiding my dark circles, and the subtle eyeliner helps.
I definitely look the part of a library assistant with my red hair up in a tight bun and my white button-down shirt tucked into one of Mom’s old pencil skirts.
I clear my throat and smile at my reflection. “You’ve got this,” I whisper. “Mrs. Fields loves you. You know those bookshelves better than anyone else in town. You’re a shoo-in.”
With trembling hands, I close the car door behind me and walk into the library, taking deep breaths to quell the churning in my belly.
My brain is in overdrive with anxiety, thinking about all the ways I could fuck this up.
What if I puke on myself midway through the interview?
Mom would kill me if I ruined these shoes.
What if Mrs. Fields expects me to work shifts right after school?
I’d have to choose between this and cheerleading.
What if that damned tarot card reading comes true and all my dreams of going to New York are shattered?
“Lucy, what a pleasure seeing you here!” Mrs. Fields is kind as ever. She pushes her glasses up her nose and studies me. “You look so pretty. What’s the occasion?”
My forehead wrinkles. “I’m here about the library assistant position? The application said I could come in for an interview around this time.”
“Oh! One minute, dear.” She presses a button on the telephone that sits on the desk.
A buzz sounds, then a woman’s clipped voice. A voice I unfortunately recognize. “Yes?”
“Sharon, are you still taking interviews for the assistant position? Lucy’s here.”
“Uh…” There’s a pause, and I hear the rustling of papers through the intercom before Sharon replies. “I was about to take a break, but, yeah, sure. Send her in.”
Mrs. Fields claps her hands and smiles at me. “Best of luck. It’s the office that’s down the hall, to the left.”
I already know this, but I thank her anyway and head past the bookshelves to Sharon’s office. My throat feels tight; my mouth is dry. I lick my lips and swallow.
Sharon is the head librarian here, and I wasn’t expecting her to interview applicants.
I figured she’d be busy with administrative work.
She doesn’t particularly love me. One time, she saw me eagerly checking out a romance novel with a shirtless guy on the cover and said, tsk-tsking, “Are people still reading that trash?”
I’d forced myself to smile and replied, “Uh, I guess,” and she shook her head and walked away in a huff. She’s one of those literary MFA grads who turn their noses up at anything commercial or, God forbid, entertaining.
The interview starts out well enough. Sharon asks me a few things about myself, my hobbies, and whether I know my way around management software tools and databases.
“I’m a quick learner,” I say. I keep my hands clenched in my lap, my right thumb tapping along the knuckles of my other hand to keep me grounded. “And considering I want to work in publishing someday, this would be such a great opportunity for me.”
Instantly I feel like I’ve said the wrong thing. Sharon’s features twist into a smug “gotcha!” kind of expression. “Publishing, huh?” She leans forward and appraises me. “What kind of books would you acquire? The kind you read? Bodice rippers?”
“I—” I swallow, my mouth dry as I think hard. I know I can turn this around by giving her the answer she wants to hear: hard-hitting, intellectual nonfiction; character-driven literary fiction; and stories that inspire change and revolution. But I can’t bring myself to lie.
“Sharon, I know you’re not the biggest fan of commercial fiction,” I say, trying to choose my words carefully, “but books that spark joy and love are just as important as books that start conversations. In fact, I don’t think the two are mutually exclusive.
A book can be entertaining and also thought-provoking. ”
She doesn’t agree; I know that for a fact. But to her credit, she nods and smiles politely. “That’s an interesting perspective. Lucy, what’s the last five-star book you read?”
Simple question. I devoured a book in one sitting just two nights ago. I open my mouth to answer, but suddenly my mind is blank. What are words? What book did I read? Who wrote it?
“I—I—” My grip on my left hand tightens.
She waits patiently, one eyebrow quirked.
I gulp, then get the words out. “Prada, Purrs, and Prejudice. It’s a contemporary take on Jane Austen’s book.” After a moment, I add, “Sorry, I’m a bit nervous.”
Sharon definitely knows this book. It’s a young adult romance with an illustrated pair of heels and a cat on the cover that I borrowed from this library.
And judging by the little sneer on her face, she isn’t impressed.
“Lucy, thank you for applying,” she says, giving my résumé one final look before setting it aside. “We’ll let you know in a few days.”
That’s obviously code for “you didn’t get the job.” I smile at her and slowly stand up. “I’m grateful for the opportunity.” I pause, wondering if she wants to shake hands, but she doesn’t even get up. Ouch.
I leave the room, closing the door behind me.
Mrs. Fields looks up as I walk past her desk, but I don’t stop to engage in chitchat.
I get into my car, lay my head on the steering wheel, and exhale through my teeth.
I’m definitely not getting that job. Which means I have to ace the other job opening: the receptionist position at the Cut & Color Salon.
But when I get home and call them to ask when I can come in for an interview, the lady on the phone—who I presume is Rosa, the salon owner—asks for my name, then hesitates and says I wouldn’t be a good fit.
“Wait, how do you know that?” My voice shakes. “You haven’t interviewed me yet.”
“Uh, you’re in high school, right?” She sighs. “We need someone full-time.”
“But the job listing on the website stated it’s a part-time position on the weekends—”
“We didn’t update the listing. I’m sorry, Lucy.”
Before I can try to convince her to hear me out, she hangs up the phone. I yell curses into my pillow so Mom, who’s on another coaching call in her office, won’t overhear the barrage of deeply non-Christian swear words coming out of my mouth.
I pull the comforter up to my chin and close my eyes, letting a few tears wet the pillow under my head. There’s bound to be another job opening in Madre Maria sooner or later. I could ask around at school or find a remote job I could do from my desk.
My phone buzzes. I wipe my eyes and check it.
Sushant:
Dinner at my place tonight? Maa and Papa miss you…and so do I
I smile and text back, Yes please. I miss you too
Sushant:
I love you
I pause. Although we’ve been together for so long, saying those words back to him often makes my stomach lurch because I know that our relationship started with a lie.
But there’s nothing more real to me now than the tender feelings in my heart for him, and I deserve to love and be loved by this perfect person.
So, smiling, I text back, I love you too