Chapter 2
I put my fist over my mouth and pretended to cough but in reality, I was disguising a huge yawn that made my jaw crack. Then I nodded as if I had been paying attention, like this lecture was so damn fascinating that (of course) it had been a cough and not a yawn.
“Hey,” a voice whispered, and I glanced to my left. The guy sitting two seats over was holding out a foil-wrapped stick of gum. “It has guarana. It’ll keep you awake.”
I looked for a second before reaching over to take it. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. What’s your name?” he asked.
“Excuse me,” our professor stated. She was staring directly at us and I looked down.
“Sorry,” the guy called and some other people giggled.
She returned to her lecture and I returned to staying awake. I unwrapped the gum and sniffed it, and although it smelled pleasantly minty and herbal, I didn’t put it in my mouth.
At the end of the class, the same guy scooted over into the seat right next to mine as I put away my stuff. “It’s good, right?” he prompted.
“What?”
“The gum. It gives you a little boost.” He smiled at me. “I can get more for you.”
“Are you DEA or is this some kind of anti-drug ad? Are there hidden cameras?” I asked.
He laughed. “It’s legal and I’m Corbin. I’ve seen you around before.”
Really? That was flattering. “I’m Molly,” I said, and we walked out together.
I had seen him before, too, because I’d thought he was kind of cute.
He also dressed better than I did, but that was true of most people in the world.
I said his name several times in my head, since I wasn’t great at remembering them.
But I hadn’t met many people at this school so that hadn’t been a problem for me.
He complained a little about the class we’d just left before switching topics. “We’re having a party at my frat this Saturday,” he told me. “You should stop by.”
“Uh…”
“Can I have your number, just in case?”
“Just in case of what?” I asked.
“In case I want to text you,” he said and he laughed again.
By the time I got into my car, he did have my number and I had plans for the weekend.
“Not bad,” I told myself. “Not bad at all.” I felt good about it all the way to the restaurant, where I knew that my dad was already pissed about how late I was.
But it was necessary, because that class was required for my major and I had already dropped it twice in prior semesters because of scheduling problems with my shifts at the restaurant.
Now, I absolutely had to take it if I wanted to graduate in a few months, and I really, really wanted to graduate in a few months.
So even if he was angry, I was doing it this time.
And yes, he was angry.
I heard crashing metal in the kitchen when I arrived and I also heard my name a lot, not a disappointed “Molly” sigh but a very angry “Molly” growl with curses attached.
“I’m sorry, but I’m going to be late every Tuesday and Thursday,” I said to my mom as I went into the office to change.
“That’s the only time the course is offered this semester.
I was ready to take it last summer, but—”
“I know,” she said when I came out. She put the hat on my head and pointed at the trays. “These are for six and this is for nine.”
The dining room was already full of Junior Woodsmen and she had been pulling double duty as cashier and server.
Whose fault was that? Mine, apparently, although I didn’t see my brother or sister picking up any slack.
I was, as always, the slack-picker and my dad wasn’t the only one pissed about that.
So was I! He would be even worse on Saturday night when I ditched my shift to go to that party, but too damn bad for him.
One of the first orders that I delivered had a burger in a lettuce bun and I bet that my dad had been unhappy as he slapped it together. As I had suspected, Shane Bishop was at a table waiting for it.
“Hello, Molly.”
“Hi,” I said, and I hoped my apathy was as clear as the bright blue sky above the restaurant’s roof (which needed to be replaced).
I immediately left to serve the other tables and to help my dad with prep, which he should have done this morning (but I could tell from the mess in the kitchen that he had also arrived here late).
We were busy, as always. But I did watch the diner at table nine, that Shane guy.
He was glued to his tablet again—mostly.
I saw him glancing around a few times, and once when he did that, I happened to be looking back and our eyes met by mistake.
He smiled but I was already turning away, and then I went into the kitchen.
“Molly,” I heard my mom call a little later, and her tone was different. It didn’t sound disappointed. It was cheerfully phony.
“You better go see what the hell she wants now,” my dad advised. He sounded just as grumpy as always, no change there.
The dining room was almost empty and I would have assumed that she wanted me to start cleaning, as we always did. But the guy standing in front of the counter, Shane Bishop, made me think twice.
“Was there something wrong with the food?” I asked. With the mood that my dad was in, I wouldn’t have put it past him to adulterate it somehow.
“No, of course not!” my mom answered quickly. “Your friend wanted to say hello.”
“Hello,” he told me.
“Take your break,” she suggested, and I stared.
“Sure, ok,” I said. When had we ever taken those? But I got myself a cup of water and walked with him over to table nine. I picked up some napkins along the way and straightened three saltshakers.
“I didn’t see you at last week’s Junior Woodsmen game,” Shane told me. He took his former seat and I took the chair facing him.
“No, I didn’t go. I was working here.”
“They won,” he let me know.
“Great. That’s thrilling.”
He smiled, shaking his head. “You sound genuinely ecstatic.”
“So do you,” I pointed out, and he shrugged.
“I don’t care about the outcome of their games. I’m there to evaluate the players, that’s all.” But he paused and then added, “I admit that I’m getting a little invested. I do want to see them win.”
“Not me. One of those guys keeps doing the ketchup trick, hiding a mess of it under a cup so it spills everywhere, and I can’t figure out which one it is. Until I do and then punish him sufficiently, I want them all to suffer.”
“I know their coach. I’ll talk to him about that.”
“Really? You’ll tell on them?” I thought only for a moment. “No, don’t. We want them to come and eat, even if they are screwing with our ketchup.”
“They’re football players, so they have big appetites. They must be spending good money.”
“Yes, and out here in boondocks, we don’t get a lot of people driving past,” I pointed out. “We depend on the Junior Woodsmen right now and then on the Woodsmen coming in the summer for their preseason. Those guys also bring fans, a lot of extra customers, but the Juniors don’t.”
“They seem to draw a fair number of spectators,” he noted.
It was true that last weekend after their game, we had experienced more traffic than usual, with a lot of normal, non-football people. “I hope they get a huge fan base,” I said fervently, “but only because it would benefit us. I don’t actually care about their condiment-wasting butts.”
“They’re playing in Gulfport this Saturday, so they won’t be around.”
I knew that, of course I did. I kept track of their practice and game schedules so we could staff and purchase accordingly. “It will be quiet here,” I said.
“And I won’t have to watch them. Since neither of us will be busy, I thought you might want to show me around the area. I’m new here,” he reminded me.
“Wow, what an offer,” I answered. “You thought you would volunteer me as a tour guide?” I remembered the last time I’d seen him, which had been at the Junior Woodsmen game. I had left before the action even started and this guy hadn’t seemed to notice.
But he had been working, so it was a bit understandable. Also, he was still a connection to the Woodsmen, which I didn’t have otherwise. “What do you want to see?” I asked.
“What do you suggest?”
I had grown up here in northern Michigan and, with the exception of a school-organized trip in tenth grade, had never been away.
In spite of that, I would have been a piss-poor guide.
“If I were you, I’d look at the things that the tourists are into.
They like to ski and ride snowmobiles. In the summer they hike, bike, sail… more outdoors stuff.”
“Is that what you like to do?” he asked.
“Not really. I know how to walk so I think I’d be ok at hiking, but I never do those other things for fun,” I explained.
“Why? From everything I hear, this place is like a paradise for that ‘outdoors stuff.’ Fishing, swimming, cross country skiing—”
“I’m pretty busy,” I interrupted. And lame, apparently.
What had I been doing with myself? “I’m very busy,” I amended.
“I go to school and I work here full-time. I went skiing once, for gym class. I fell. It’s really hard to balance.
” I recalled falling off various bikes, too, and decided that I wouldn’t want to start hiking on the edge of a cliff.
“Sounds like I should pick someone else to show me around.”
“Probably so,” I said, nodding. “I have to work anyway, and then I have plans.” I slid back my chair.
“Hey, I was kidding,” Shane told me, holding up his hands. “We could figure out something together. What do you think?”
I looked over my shoulder at my mom, who was fiddling with the register tape.
There was nothing wrong with it, which I knew because I had replaced it myself.
“Ok,” I told him. “Sure.” Did this seriously mean that I had two dates this weekend?
With two different men? I started smiling and looked down, so it wouldn’t show. “Sure, I’ll go.”
We discussed a few potential activities before he left and then I went back to the counter. My mom had quit pretending that she was fixing the register and was openly staring. “What did he want?” she asked.