The pizzeria, with its warm, amber lighting and rustic wooden tables, is nearly empty. The hum of the refrigerator is the only sound breaking the silence, so different from the lively bustle during peak hours. I tug at the hem of my bright-blue polyester uniform shirt, its stiffness chafing against my skin, and heave a resigned sigh.
“It’s one slice for three dollars, two for five,” I say, leaning across the counter to the jock standing in front of me.
“Okay, cool, cool,” the tall, dark-haired guy says, looking back up at the board.
I glance at the clock, the minutes dragging on like hours. Kill me now, please! I think, feeling the weight of exhaustion pulling me down.
He’s one of the basketball players of Silverbrook, not that I follow the sport, or any sport for that matter, but he’s wearing his varsity jacket.
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. University athletes. Still as lost in their own world as ever.
“And what pizzas do you have available for individual slices?”
I purse my lips, my fingers drumming impatiently on the counter as I fight the urge to snap at him. That’s what I get for serving a customer so close to the end of my shift. We’re eight minutes in and nowhere nearer to his choosing.
We’re far away enough from campus for Silverbrook student encounters to be rare, and based on the painful one I’m in the middle of, I’m quite happy that is the case.
I shake my head, exasperation seeping into my voice. “Margherita, pepperoni, and tuna. We’ve been over this three times already.”
He frowns. “Didn’t you say double cheese before?”
For a fleeting moment, the image of shoving his face into a pizza slice dances in my mind, worth the risk of being fired. “There was, five minutes ago, but my coworker keeps on serving customers who actually want something.” Customer or not, I am done with this.
I reach behind me and untie my apron. “Listen, you clearly don’t want anything, and my shift is now over. I’ll leave you to it, and if you need anything, Greg here will—”
“No, it’s okay, give me two slices of anything and a can of Diet Pepsi. I’ll be waiting there.” He points at the table far at the back. “Keep the change,” he adds quickly, and I’m about to say that we don’t do table service during the day, but the fifty-dollar bill stops me.
My eyebrows knit together as I ask, “You want me to keep the change on that?”
He hesitates, his eyes avoiding mine. “Yeah, just bring me the pizza,” he mumbles, his voice low and uncertain.
As I stare at the fifty-dollar bill, a mix of emotions swirls within me. The money is a much-needed relief, but the unease about his intentions casts a long shadow over the generous tip. I narrow my eyes, not naive enough to think his amazing tip was for my stellar customer service skills, but I am also desperate enough to want these forty dollars, knowing that half could go in my food jar at the apartment and the other twenty would help fill the cupboard at home.
I look at Greg, and he shrugs. “See what he wants and call if you need me.”
With a heavy sigh, I balance two random pieces of pizza on a plate, the aroma teasing my senses. I grab a cold can of Diet Pepsi, the chill seeping into my palm. Shedding my apron, I approach his secluded table, my steps slow and hesitant.
He gives a casual nod, his hand sweeping away his messy hair as his foot nudges the chair opposite him, sending it screeching backward on the tiled floor. “Why don’t you sit?” His voice carries a hint of eagerness masked by a laid-back tone.
I stand rooted, the chair’s sudden movement echoing in the dim pizzeria. Here we go, I think, my heart sinking. My gaze flicks to the empty chair, its cold metal frame uninviting. I am not completely conceited, but clarity rings in my mind about what I desire and what I vehemently avoid. And a boyfriend, a flirt, or whatever this guy is insinuating definitely does not make the list.
“Listen—”
“Jeff.”
My feet edge backward, creating distance between us. My gaze stays fixed on his, searching for his next move. “Listen, Jeff. Whatever you’re offering, I’m not interested, so thanks for the tip, but no thanks.” I turn around to leave, my steps brisk as I head back to the counter.
“I’m not looking to date you,” he adds, stopping me in my tracks.
I eye him from where I stand, my raised eyebrow a silent prompt for him to go on.
“It’s about sociology.”
Ah, that’s the class I’m sharing with him. “What about sociology?” I take a few steps back toward his table.
He looks at the chair across from him, jerking his chin toward it. “Sit, please. I don’t think I want this conversation to be public.”
The whole hush vibe and visible discomfort are enough for me to take the bait and sit down. “I don’t have long,” I warn him, and it’s the truth. I have to go home, shower, change, and then hope to catch Eva in time for a lift to my mom’s, where I’ll spend the evening looking after my brothers.
He nods. “I see you’re already the professor’s favorite in class. Mrs. Mitchell is a hard-ass, but she’s always pleased with your answers.”
“Okay…” I trail off, confused. “It’s only been two weeks.”
“I’m aware, but…” He rubs his neck before sighing again.
“To the point, please!” I snap. He had used the last of my patience when he played whatever game he was playing at the counter.
He slides a paper across the table, his words brisk. “Complete my assignment. The details are here.”
I lean back in my chair, letting out a surprised huff. “You want me to… What?”
“Do my assignment. I’ll pay you… well.”
I snort in disbelief. “Is that a joke? You don’t even know if I’m good, and why do you even take sociology if you don’t even try?”
I see the muscle in his jaw budge. “No, trust me, it’s no joke. I had to pick one social science class, and sociology is supposed to be the simpler one.” He shakes his head. “I don’t have the time for this.”
And I do? I think sarcastically. “Why me?”
“I think you are smart, and I think you’re desperate enough to do it,” he adds, looking pointedly at the flip phone I hold.
“Listen, thanks for the compliments,” I say with mock appreciation. “But I value my time, and I don’t intend to waste it.”
“I’ll pay you five hundred per assignment.”
Five hundred dollars. This could be a game changer. This is also my monthly salary!
“I might be terrible,” I insist as my mind screams to shut up and take the money.
He shrugs. “Let’s give it a try.”
I pause, my mind racing as I weigh the offer. I barely have any time for myself between classes, work, and my brothers, but at the same time, it is five hundred dollars! I can only imagine how much it would help my mother, and it would help ease some of the guilt I feel at moving out, no matter how much she insisted I do it.
“Fine, but I’m only doing it once for now. If it’s taking too much of my time, we’re done. Deal?”
“Yes! Thank you! Here.” He pulls out five fifty-dollar bills from his wallet and pushes them toward me. “I’ll give you the rest on delivery.”
I nod, feeling like a James Bond villain. The saying that principles are a luxury of the rich never made sense to me until now. A few years ago, I would have laughed it off. Five hundred dollars, not even the price of my latest shoe purchase, but now…
I grab the money, not ready to dwell any more on how ready I am to walk on some of my principles for money.
“Three weeks, same spot. Your assignment will be ready.”
He grins. “I knew you would come around.”
Yep, being poor really truly sucked.
Today is really the day that keeps on giving. After missing my bus and making it back to campus late, I notice Cherry Bomb, which is what Eva affectionately calls her car, is not in the parking lot.
I groan, getting my phone out of my pocket, and start shooting her a text.
“You were not easy to find, Pauper Donovan.” Ethan’s voice carries a dash of amusement. He leans casually against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, a self-assured smirk playing on his lips—a smirk I long to wipe off.
My thumb freezes over my keyboard, and my heart follows suit. Ethan stands by the main door, his dark blue jeans and dark-green Henley accentuating his tall frame. The tattoos on his forearm peek out, a silent reminder of the mystery that surrounds him. Ten days since I saw him, and I had almost managed to convince myself that I would be able to avoid him forever. My breath hitches as I spot him in front of my building. I force my expression into one of indifference, refusing to let him see the surprise flickering in my eyes. No, I will not give him the satisfaction.
“I didn’t realize you were looking for me,” I reply, my voice steady and cold. Inside, my mind whirls, scrambling to figure out his game.
It was always so infuriating how I reacted to him. It was enough for his hazel eyes to be on me, and I was all flustered.
“And if you did?”
I shrug before reaching up to rub my thumb on my locket, something I always do when I am apprehensive and nervous, something I hope he never really noticed. “I would have been trying harder to avoid you.”
He frowns, and I know I hit a nerve. “Avoid me? What am I? The bogeyman?” He scoffs, running his hand through his perfectly styled hair. “I’m not the one who betrayed the trust of my employer.”
Here we go again. The never-ending war of who is to blame in the whole scandal. Except that this is so trivial for me now. I’m not in high school anymore. I couldn’t care less about image and perception.
“So you dug into my life to resurrect old ghosts?” The accusation hangs in the air, a palpable tension between us.
It is not a random encounter, not after he came here calling me “Donovan.” He wants me to know that he knows. “For me to admit my family wronged yours? Fine!” I wave my hands up. “My family is the one to blame, and you are the perfect lamb. Can we move on now? Good!” I add, giving him my back and walking to the door.
“Why are you a freshman?” he asks as if I’d not just dismissed him.
I turn around. Apparently, he was not done with me.
“How come you’re not at Harvard like Daddy Dearest?” I retort. I, too, am able to pretend I didn’t listen.
He shrugs. “Things change. We need to talk.”
About what? I’d like to ask, but instead say, “I don’t think so. I granted you victory. I can do it in writing if you want. I would rather we go back to what we should have always been. Perfect strangers. I don’t know you, and you don’t know me; how about that?”
“No, that won’t do.”
“We’ve got nothing to say to each other, Ethan Hawthorne. I hate you and everything you represent. Even your name feels like poison on my tongue. Do you understand that?” As I utter the words of hatred, I notice a brief flicker of something in Ethan’s eyes. Is it hurt? Anger? It’s gone before I can decipher it, replaced by the same cool indifference.
His eyes scan the modest surroundings. “Why are you living here?” His question, laced with genuine curiosity, catches me off guard.
I touch the side of my head. Am I having a stroke? It feels like he’s not hearing a word I’m saying.
Despite my clear dismissal, Ethan stands his ground, his gaze unwavering, a stubborn resolve hardening his features. “I’m not leaving until we talk, Poppy.”
My heart beats erratically against my chest, a confusing mix of annoyance and an unwilling curiosity about his sudden appearance and insistence.
Relief washes over me as Nessa appears down the path. Her black-and-purple dress and leather spiked choker stand out, a way of escaping from this uncomfortable encounter.
My eyes lock with Nessa’s, a silent plea etched in my gaze. Escape, my eyes scream as Ethan’s voice continues to drone in the background.
Nessa walks over to stand beside me, even nudging me a little out of the way to stand directly in front of Ethan, eyeing him with her steel-blue eyes. She’s far more impressive than me, standing at five foot ten.
“Small prick,” she greets him, her voice dripping with disdain. She squares her shoulders, her stance protective and defiant, ready to shield me from Ethan’s unwelcome intrusion.
“Morticia,” he replies. “The Emo Anonymous meeting is down the road. You better run along.”
Nessa straightens up even more. “No thanks, I’m back from the Wiccan store, and I have new voodoo dolls and hexes to try out. Do you want to be my guinea pig?”
“This isn’t over, Poppy,” Ethan warns, his voice low and menacing. He backs away, his glare lingering on me, a silent promise of a continued argument. He turns and strides down the path, his departure as abrupt as his arrival, leaving behind a trail of unease as he disappears into a shiny black SUV.
Nessa keeps her eyes on the car until he drives away and turns toward me. This is something I love about her. She always concentrates on you when she speaks, her blue eyes staring at your face as if she is trying to hypnotize you.
“Should I hex him?” she asks, eyebrows merging in genuine worry.
I can’t help but smile. “Do you know how?”
She exhales, looking down at her phone. “No, not right now, but I’m sure Google can help.” Her fingers are already dancing over her phone, ready to search for the most potent hexes.
She looks up and grins.
I laugh earnestly now. “No, he’s part of a past I’d rather forget.”
“Ah, the past has a way of coming back and hitting you in the face like a shovel when you least expect it.”
I wince. “That’s graphic.”
She shrugs. “That’s life.”
Life… I do know how unexpectedly things can change. That realization steers me back to my current predicament. Without Eva, my only option is to take an Uber home. I was a little embarrassed about not being able to do something as basic as ordering transportation.
“Can you—” I stop mid-sentence as I see Eva turn into the parking lot, a wave of relief washing over me at her timely arrival. “Oh!” Sometimes, fate does show a little reprieve. “Sorry, I have to go,” I call as I start running toward Eva’s car. “I’m late!” I add, but she doesn’t reply, and I turn just as I reach Eva’s passenger door and see her disappear into the building.
As I slide into Eva’s car, I glance back at the building, half expecting Ethan to emerge again, his presence like a storm cloud. But the path remains empty, and as Eva drives away, I let the moving scenery blur in my vision.
His sudden appearance, the cold confrontation, and the unresolved tension all hint at a looming complication in my already tangled life. Is there an escape, or am I ensnared in a web of past mistakes and conflict?
