Getting Over Garrett Delaney (6 page)

“Sorry,” I apologize quickly, handing my card over. She scans the stack of novels, raising her eyebrows slightly as she notices the theme: long, bleak, Russian. “I’m embracing my inner pain,” I tell her.

She smiles sympathetically. “Bad day?”

“More like bad year.” I sigh. “Do you ever feel like fate is playing a cruel joke on you?”

Ms. Billings pauses a moment. “In that case …” She looks around, then takes a book from the recently returned stack and shows it to me surreptitiously as if we’re covert spies or something. “
Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day.
Never fails to cheer me up. You look as though you could use it.”

I turn the slim volume over in my hands. “Thanks,” I tell her, and add it to the stack. “I’ll take everything I can get. Wait,” I add, suddenly hopeful. “You don’t need anyone working here this summer, do you?” A job at the library would be the least painful of all possible options.

She shakes her head. “Sorry. There used to be a part-time gig, but with the funding cuts … Volunteer positions only these days.”

“Oh, OK.” I sigh. Volunteering might keep my mom quiet, and look good on college applications, but it won’t get me any closer to that distant dream of my own car. “Thanks, anyway.”

All over town, I hear the same story again and again: the summer jobs were snapped up weeks ago by enterprising students who didn’t have their hearts set on literary camp. Even the
HELP WANTED
sign at the Dough Hole is out of date — there apparently being no end of willing candidates ready to risk death-by-deep-fat-fryer on a daily basis for the sake of minimum wage.

I slink into Totally Wired and look over at our usual table with a sigh. Without Garrett around, it’s not ours anymore; it’s just mine.

“What can I get you?” LuAnn asks at the counter.Today’s vintage dress is a blue gingham print, open low enough at the neck to show a scrolling tattoo across her collarbone, with text I can’t quite read. It’s a
Wizard of Oz
–meets–prison-yard look.

“Coffee. Please. Black.”
Like my heart,
I add silently.

“Sure thing.” She grins and pushes sweaty strands of red hair back from her forehead. “And a double espresso, right? For your boyfriend?”

I blink.

“Tall, cute, joined to you at the hip?”

“Oh. No.” I blush. “He’s not … I mean, he’s not my boyfriend, and he’s not coming. So, just the one coffee.”

“Whoops.” LuAnn grimaces, already reaching for the machine. “Bad breakup? Sorry. I have foot-in-mouth disease — can’t help it.”

She bustles off to make my order, leaving me with a fresh pang of loneliness. See? Even complete strangers think that Garrett and I belong together.

I linger at the back table all afternoon, watching the buzz of activity as morning Mommy & Me groups shift to a stream of junior-high gigglers in search of ice-blended sugar hits. I start and then discard half a dozen letters to Garrett — from the simple
What’s up at camp?
to
I love you I love you I love you,
but none of them seems right. What am I supposed to do now? Sure, he said he’d call when he’s settled in, but how long does it take to throw five T-shirts in a drawer and line up his volumes of Proust?

I slump lower in my seat. He’s probably off having the most fun of his life, while I’m stuck exactly where I have been for years. Not moving at all.

“You have got to be kidding me!”

I — and everyone in the place — look up. One of the waitresses, an angular blonde in a plaid shirt and skinny jeans, is staring outside, where a skeezy hipster dude is smoking a cigarette — and flirting with a couple of sophomore girls. They twist their hair and giggle while he leans in close, playing it up.

The waitress turns an interesting shade of pink and dumps the tray of dirty dishes on the nearest table — right next to some poor businessman’s half-eaten BLT.

“Hey!” he cries, but she ignores him, already stalking toward the doors. The sophomores see her and flee.

I watch, fascinated. Through the window, their yells are muffled, but she’s gesturing angrily, and he’s shrugging, sullen. It’s a knock-down, drag-out fight, right in the middle of Main Street for everyone to see — the most excitement this town has seen since Becca Larsen had an “accidental” wardrobe malfunction in the middle of the Founders’ Day parade (which earned her the few dozen extra votes necessary to clinch the homecoming crown. Coincidence?)

“How about some muffin samples?” LuAnn calls brightly, but everyone stays riveted to the drama unfolding outside. With a final yell, Crazy Blonde Waitress turns away, then Skeezy Hipster grabs her arm, and just like that, they leap on each other, kissing furiously. Well, not so much kissing as swallowing each other whole. Her back is pressed up against the window so hard, it rattles with every new wave of passion.

As LuAnn strides outside to try and break up the amorous couple, for the sake of onlooking children (or, more to the point, public decency laws), I can’t help but let out a wistful sigh. OK, so I don’t want a boyfriend with nicotine stains, commitment issues, and a high risk of communicable diseases, but something about the way they’re pressed up against each other, oblivious to the entire world … Even when LuAnn taps them on the shoulder, they keep necking until she’s practically yanking Crazy Blonde Waitress away from him.

Oh, to be young and in (requited) love!

Crazy Blonde Waitress clearly thinks it’s the most important thing in her life, because without even a moment’s pause, she strips off her green apron and shoves it at LuAnn’s chest. Then she takes Skeezy Dude’s hand, and off they saunter to their blissful world of skinny black denim and graphic PDAs.

“Can you believe her?” LuAnn fumes, banging mugs into a tray as she returns to bus the forgotten tables. “Three days on the job and she just waltzes off. And now I’m stuck on shift alone, and Josh still isn’t back from his lunch, and the espresso machine is this close to crapping out on me. Again!”

“Sorry,” I offer quietly.

She takes a breath. “Thanks, kid. I didn’t mean to rant.” She looks at my long-since-empty cup. “You need a refill? Least we can do after scarring your impressionable young mind with that floor show.”

“No, I’m fine.”

She’s halfway back to the counter before I realize what a shining, golden opportunity has presented itself to me. Salvation, in the form of Crazy Blonde Waitress and Skeezy Hipster Dude!

I leap up and dash after her.

“I can do it!” I say quickly. “I mean, the job. Waitressing. I can replace her.” I put on my best responsible employee face, but LuAnn doesn’t look convinced.

“I don’t know, kid — it can get kind of hectic in here. And we don’t usually hire high-school kids… .”

“But I’m seventeen! Practically graduated. And I’ve worked in food service before.” I thank the Gods of Work Experience for those long, dough-filled months manning the sprinkle station. “I could help you out this afternoon, as, like, probation,” I suggest desperately. “You said it yourself, you’re on your own.”

Suddenly, I want this job more than anything in the world. It’s my only chance for a summer of non-suckiness — I just know it. Never mind what my mom will dream up if I don’t manage to find honest employment; this gig would change everything for me. I wouldn’t be Sad Sack Sadie, stuck pining for her true love during the long, empty days of summer. No, I’d be Badass Barista Sadie, casually dishing out pastries and eavesdropping on conversations to use in that novel Garrett is always saying I should write.

I want to be that girl. The world wants me to be that girl! And I could, if LuAnn would just give me a chance.

“Please? Pretty please?” I beg, crossing my fingers behind my back for luck.

She looks around. And at that moment — like messengers from the Gods of Excellent Timing — the door swings open and a stream of elderly customers enters the café. Ten or twelve of them maybe: wrinkled and blue-rinsed and wearing matching yellow Doolittle Falls Walking Club sweatshirts. They bustle around the space, prodding at the notice board, peering at the cake stands, deliberating whether to get a pot of tea to share or individual cups.

Ding!
goes the bell as more of them arrive.
Ding, ding, ding!

I’ve never heard a sweeter sound.

“Fine!” LuAnn relents, in the face of divine intervention — and a host of fussy customers. She plucks CBW’s apron from the counter and tosses it to me. “You take register and bus tables. But no promises. This is just for today, OK?”

“Yes!” I cry, bouncing on the spot. “I won’t let you down — I promise!”

I’ve never been so thrilled to clear dirty dishes in my life.

And there I was thinking that flair, wit, and diligence would be my tickets to greatness. Sure, that’s what they tell us in school, but in the end, it’s my ability to bus tables without running off with the nearest dirty hipster dude that seals my fate. After an afternoon’s probation, in which I demonstrate my superior table-wiping skills (not to mention that all-important “Do you want that muffin warmed?” delivery), LuAnn agrees to make me a real live member of the Totally Wired team.

And then, as if things weren’t working out well enough, bright and early the very next day, I get a message from Garrett that sends sunshine streaming through the dark clouds of my loneliness.

Camp is amazing. So busy w/ classes. But I miss you!

I pause outside the café on my way to my first-day orientation, rereading those few, precious words.

I miss you
.

I miss you
.

I miss you
.

Were sweeter words ever texted?

I hug the phone to my chest with glee, and right away, I can see that I’ve been thinking about this all wrong. This summer apart isn’t a hurdle in our destiny to be together; it
is
destiny! After all, what better way to make Garrett realize what I mean to him than for us to be split apart? Absence makes the heart grow fonder — that’s what everyone says — and sure enough, after only a few days apart, Garrett is missing me. Whatever second thoughts he had about confessing his feelings will soon be swept away — I’m sure of it. At this rate, he’ll be declaring his love by the end of summer. I just have to make it through without him until then.

Easy!

I bounce into the coffee shop full of new hope and determination. It’s before official opening hours, but the rest of the staff is already gathered around the tables at the back, slumped over coffee and pastries. LuAnn waves me over, a nail-polish wand in her hand.

“Am I late?” I whisper, slipping into a free seat beside her. I recognize some of the other staff from the café, but nobody seems too concerned to have a newcomer in their midst, they just mumble among themselves, yawning and scratching as if seven a.m. is way too early to drag their scruffy, hipster asses out of bed.

“Don’t worry,” she says at normal volume, applying purple sparkles to the nails on her right hand. “Carlos isn’t awake yet.”

She nods toward a guy who’s practically comatose at the far table. He’s in his thirties, maybe — unshaven, in wrinkled denim and a black T-shirt that has definitely seen better days.

“Who’s Carlos?” I ask, curious.

“The boss man,” LuAnn replies. She sticks her tongue out with concentration as she finishes up the nail-polish job. When her last nail is sufficiently sparkled, she continues, “He was in a minorly successful indie band ten years ago. They split, but one of his songs got used on a car commercial. Big money. Hence, he opened this place.”

“Wow,” I whisper. “At the donut shop, my boss was this balding guy named Kenny. He’d scream at us if we ever switched the radio from Top Forty.”

“Carlos is OK.” She shrugs. “As long as you don’t talk too loud when he’s hungover. Or ever call him in for something before noon.”

“People, can we get this done already?” Carlos finally pulls himself out of his chair and pushes a stack of printed sheets at the nearest person, a petite girl with blue streaks in her hair and rubber-band bracelets on both arms. “New time sheets, yada, yada, I don’t care if you switch shifts — just fight among yourselves.” He yawns. “Anything you guys want to share? No? Good.”

“I do!” LuAnn waves her hand in the air. “Katy quit on me yesterday.”

Carlos swears. “Another one? What are you doing to them?”

“It’s not me!” she protests.

“Sure, but I’m the one who has to find a replacement.” Carlos doesn’t seem happy at the prospect, which is when LuAnn pushes me out of my seat.

“I know. See? That’s why I already hired her! Everyone, this is the new kid.”

“Sadie,” I say, waving awkwardly. A dozen faces stare back at me. “Um, hi.”

Carlos gives me the once-over, frowning. “Wait, who are you?”

“She’s a total lifesaver!” LuAnn interrupts. She pats me on the head and beams at Carlos. “New waitress, no fuss. Everyone wins!”

“I’m sorry,” I add quickly, feeling everyone’s eyes on me. “I thought it was OK. I can fill out an application if you need me to. And I have references! Or if you want to interview me for the position … ?”

“Interview?” Behind me, someone laughs.

Carlos stares at me sternly for a second. “You got experience?”

I nod eagerly.

“Criminal record? Drug problem?”

I shake my head. “I … I’m seventeen,” I tell him, suddenly panicked. I knew it! I’m not old enough to work here for real. And I’m clearly not anywhere near cool enough. I may as well just resign myself to a summer with my mom’s Positivity Now! road show, handing out name tags and pamphlets until —

Carlos suddenly laughs. He takes a gulp of coffee and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Relax, kid — it’s cool. You’re hired.”

“OK!” I collapse back into my seat with relief.

“Not OK!” someone says, her voice ringing with disapproval — and a French accent. Which is kind of the same thing, I think. I look over to find a polished, preppy girl glaring at me. She’s wearing a crisp button-down shirt and tortoiseshell glasses, her Afro shaped in a small perfect sphere. “Does this mean I have to swap shifts? Because I’m not swapping. Not for anyone.”