“Absolutely yes.”
* * *
Arden puts the truck in park on the side of the road. The headlights of an oncoming car light up the cabin, illuminating his disdain. “The least you could do is act happy even if you’re withering on the inside,” he says. Then he mumbles something that sounds like “grouchiest person on the planet.”
I sigh, watching him take out a pocketknife and open the small cardboard box in his lap. He pulls out what looks like a bunch of crayons all attached together. “I’m not withering on the inside, I’m just tired and I have to get up early in the morning, remember? What is that?”
“Fireworks, of course. I told you, we’re celebrating.”
When the next car passes by, I see on the label of the box that the “fireworks” are actually Black Cats. Who celebrates with Black Cats? They’re just loud and annoying—nothing pretty or celebratory about them. “There’s nothing to celebrate. I got the job because of you, not anything extraordinary that I did to earn it.”
“Who cares how you got it? I swear you’re determined to be miserable.”
I yawn. “Six o’clock comes early for the both of us. It’s almost eleven. You’re not getting out of giving me a ride.” It bugs me to have to depend on Arden for a ride, but I don’t want to take any chances on being late in the morning so riding my bike is out of the question, in case I misjudge how long it will take me to get there. It’s way farther than the Breeze Mart, and I’ll probably drop ten pounds just from the commute, but I’m still practically salivating over the thought of being flush with cash. Riding my trusty old bike a few extra miles one way is so worth it.
A tiny pang of guilt washes over me; I haven’t told Julio about the restaurant gig yet. In fact, he would probably (possibly) be wondering where I am right now, except I told him I picked up an extra shift at the Breeze. He doesn’t expect me home until I’ll be leaving again—at which point I guess I’ll break down and tell him that I have another job. I didn’t want to tell him yet though. I don’t want to get his hopes up about bringing in extra income in case the job doesn’t work out for whatever reason.
It’s just that Julio holds tightly to his hopes. They are fragile, delicate things and he clings to them with a desperation I pray I’ll never know. Sometimes I don’t think it’s even that he misses our parents. I think it’s that he’s terrified of being responsible for me all by himself.
I think Julio feels like he’s alone.
He’s never said that, of course, but how can he not feel that way? Maybe when I start bringing in more money, he won’t feel so burdened with me. Maybe he’ll start to look at me as a true helper instead of an obligation.
“Seriously, can we skip the celebration tonight? I’ve got to get some sleep.” I don’t want to screw this up. So much depends on it. I glance down at my study menu wishing it were still daylight so I could see the ingredients of the Fountainbleau omelette. The more I can memorize now, the less time I’ll have to spend training, the sooner I can make my own money and not split it with the trainer.
Arden’s face falls and I almost regret my tone. But I can’t afford feeling sorry for Arden Moss. Not if he’s going to jeopardize the job he just got me. “Just one hour?” he pleads. “I’ll get you to your house by midnight, I swear.”
“Fine, but you have to keep ordering stuff from me.”
He purses his lips. “Let me see the menu.”
I hand it to him and turn on the overhead light. His eyes scan up and down. “I’ll have the Veggie Delight, no bell peppers.”
“It doesn’t come with bell peppers, sir. Just mushrooms, tomatoes, and spinach.”
He grins. “Good job.”
I grin, too. “Okay, one more order and then we’ll celebrate.”
“I want the, uh … Black Bean Benedict, please. With the sauce on the side.” I can tell by his expression that he would never in a million years order this, which is hard not to find charming.
His order stumps me, though. I have no idea what sauce he’s talking about. “Uh, okay.”
“You’re faking it, I can tell. What’d you forget?”
“The sauce.”
“It’s chipotle hollandaise sauce, whatever that is.”
I sigh. Hollandaise sauce? Might as well be blueberry ketchup for all I know. It makes me feel better that Arden doesn’t know what it is either. “I’m going to screw this up.”
“No, you’re not. It’s not even your first day. Geez, calm down. It’s probably just a fancy word for ranch or something.”
“It’s not just that,” I say, aware that my voice has now grown whiny. “How can I recommend any of the menu items if I’ve never had it before? And I can’t afford to have it, even with my employee discount.”
“You’re overthinking this. And you’re sitting on my slingshot.”
“What?” I feel around under me and sure enough, there is a small metal slingshot with rubber tubing. “Why do you have a slingshot?”
“For these,” he points down to the pile of Black Cats in his lap. “We’re going hunting.”
“We definitely are not going hunting,” I say with finality. I only eat animals out of the package.
“Well, we’re going terrorizing then. To the skate park first, then we’ll swing by Mayor Busch’s house to see if he’s home. Here, let me show you how to do it.”