The shift is slow. Linus and Tanner, the waitperson with the neck tattoos, are discussing cover songs. Tanner is a stocky guy with short purple hair and a barky laugh.
Strands of damp hair stick to my forehead. Cold fish. That’s what Mikey said. Every day when I come here to wash dishes I listen to all of them as they banter and nudge and tease and yell and talk about stupid shit and smoke. I’ve caught them giving me sidelong glances, curious looks. Ellis always took the lead when we met people at a party or on the street; I was her silent accomplice. You’re so fucking still, a boy grunted at me in Dunkin’ Donuts once, the morning after a long, confusing party. Ellis had dragged us all there, bought a dozen jelly doughnuts and burning cups of coffee. The boy’s face was pimply and pale. What are you—you’re like made of fucking stone or something. He and his friend laughed. Sweet-tasting jelly sat on my tongue like a blob. I reached out and took another doughnut, crushing the gritty dough against his stunned face. His friend just kept laughing as the other boy sputtered and grabbed at his sugary face. Ellis glanced over from the counter where she was flirting with the cashier and sighed. Time to go! she called out to me, and we ran.
I’ve watched Mikey. I watched people in school. I watched everyone at Creeley. I’ve been watching the people here, and it seems like for some people, making friends is like finding a shirt or a hat: you just figure out what color you want, see if it fits, and then take it home and hope everyone likes it and you. But it’s never been like that for me. I’ve been on the outside ever since I was little, getting angry in school and picked on. Once all that happened, I was damaged goods. There wasn’t going to be any way back in, not until Ellis, and we kept to ourselves. I say the wrong thing, if I can bring myself to say anything at all. I’ve always felt like an intrusion, a giant blob of wrong. My mother was always telling me to keep quiet, not be a bother. “Nobody’s interested, Charlotte,” she’d say.
Ellis was interested. And she brought me Mikey, and DannyBoy.
I take a breath. Cold fish. I’m not a cold fish. I just don’t think I matter.
I want to make myself matter. And even if Ellis isn’t here with me, maybe she can still help me find a way in.
“Hey,” I say, perhaps a little too loudly. My voice is slightly hoarse and I have to clear my throat. “My friend once had this great idea for, like, a country cover of ‘You’re the One That I Want.’ ”
Linus and Tanner-with-the-neck-tattoos blink at me. The only person I really talk to is Riley, and even then, not much, and mostly on our walks to work. He’s been very careful with me since the vomiting incident.
They look at each other and then back at me. “You mean that song from Grease?” Tanner folds forks and knives into paper napkins, wraps them tight as sausages.
“Yeah.” I stammer slightly, twisting the hem of my apron. “J-just think about it for a minute. Add some, like, slow strumming, just the guitar and singer, and then at that point in the chorus where they all sing ‘Ooh, ooh, ooh…’ ” My face flushes, I lose sight of what I was trying to say, why it was even important. You have the shittiest singing voice, Ellis would laugh. No wonder you like all the music where people just scream. I turn on the hot water, run a hand under it quickly to force myself back to the present.
“Oh my God.” Linus nods, squints. “Yeah, I see it. I mean, I can hear it.”
Nobody laughed at me. I release my breath. That wasn’t so bad. It worked.
“You could do some wicked acoustic licks with that.” Tanner considers and then sings softly, making the Ooh ooh ooh sound like Owh owh owh, a slow, catlike growl.
Riley shakes his head. “No, no. There is no way to erase the cheese from that song. None.” He slurs a bit and Linus frowns.
She says, “Riley, that’s your fourth one this morning.”
“Fifth, pet. Maybe.” He lowers his beer can, out of her sight. “Our secret.”
He bumps up next to me, running knives under the hot water, taking longer than is necessary. Linus watches Riley’s back like she’s willing him to turn around. When he doesn’t, she walks off, the screen door clacking behind her as she leaves the café.
Water drips from the wet knives in Riley’s hands to the sloppy, dirty floor mats. He stumbles on the mats as he turns back to the grill.
I hesitate when I hear him open a fresh beer. I should go outside and tell Linus this has gone too far, but my feet are rooted to the spot as I listen to him take a large gulp. I mean, what will it matter? She’ll send him home, but he’ll be back tomorrow. Like Julie said, she’ll protect him forever. And what if I do tell Linus? What if I’m the one who gets in trouble and loses my job?
Instead, I help him. When his hands start getting too loose and slices of bread start slipping to the floor, I just pick them up and throw them away, and he starts over. When the orders come faster and he gets overwhelmed, I help him do plates, flip home fries on the grill, dish out scrambled tofu, and toast bagels. Be nice, right? He did give me this job. Not a cold fish.
And that afternoon, I get a brown paper bag filled with a turkey and Swiss sandwich on an onion bagel, with mustard and mayonnaise, and a slice of stale lemon cake carefully wrapped in foil. There are tiny flakes of ash in the sweet yellow icing, but I just flick them away with a finger before I take a bite.
