Young Annabelle (3 page)

“Don’t know,” I told her as we approached the
door. I craned my neck to take one last look before going inside.
The windows were tinted so I couldn’t see anything. I heard the car
lock click and I quickly twisted back around. Jenna and I unlinked
arms and went into the change room to put our bags in our
lockers.

*****

An hour and a half later I was back in the
employee change room, opening the purple lunch box from my
childhood.

My first break was only fifteen minutes. In
this time I could use the bathroom, eat, socialize, rest or chill
in the locker room. What I couldn’t do was buy food in the club’s
restaurant because employees weren’t allowed in there. The stands
that offered food outside had yet to open; mine was the only stand
that opened early. Apparently it was never too early for freshly
squeezed lemonade.

My stomach was growling and I knew that
whatever my mom had packed me wouldn’t even come close to
satisfying the hunger pains.

“Fucking great!” I muttered quietly as I
peered in at what I would unfortunately be faced with
consuming.

The first glance wasn’t shocking nor was it
quite what I expected. Mom had given me a banana; she was trying to
be nutritious yet playful at the same time. I hadn’t been called
‘Anna Banana’ in a while and the feeling of Mom and Dad attempting
the whole ‘we just want our baby girl to be healthy’ thing was
rubbing me the wrong way. My parents didn’t do sweet and cuddly;
they were in your face, rash, and to the point despite your
feelings. At least that’s how it’d been for the last few years.

So I got a banana. First break snack.
Check.

For my second break, I pulled out a
strawberry yogurt and turned it around so I could check the
calories. Right under the nutritional information there was a red
circle around total calories.

I shook my head; my mother’s antics were
driving me mad. There was a bright side though – the entire yogurt
was only 80 calories. Perhaps that was why it was circled; Mom
thought it was an indulgence and a healthy choice at
only
80
calories
.

Look at all the things like this yogurt that
I could choose to consume that were only 80 calories. Gee, if I
just continued to make great choices like this, well, I bet I’d be
losing all this weight in no time!

And just for that, I threw the yogurt in the
trash. The banana stayed though. There was no red marker on it
indicating the calories, besides I was hungry. Plain and
simple.

I glanced up at the clock. My break was
almost over. I must have been obsessing too intensely over the
delicious contents of my lunch box. I quickly tucked it back into
my locker and shut the door. I unpeeled the banana and shoved it in
my mouth. Half a minute later, the peel hit the trash and I was out
the door.

*****

“You’re late,” Shelby, the snack stand
supervisor, said as I returned to my stand that still had the ‘Be
back in 15 minutes’ sign up.

I glanced down at my watch. I was thirty
seconds late.

Those poor club members!

They had to wait a whole extra thirty seconds
on top of the fifteen minutes I had for break. I was truly the most
insensitive employee this club had ever seen.

Not!

I glanced around; the lot was empty. My eyes
circled back, catching the burn of Shelby’s impatient glare. I was
sick of people giving me glares. What the hell did she want? Maybe
I had cramps. Maybe they were really bad. I wondered what she’d say
I divulged a detail like that as my reason for being late.

I’m not late, so suck it!

But I wasn’t in the mood to start anything
with her so I didn’t fight it. It wasn’t worth the second scowl
Shelby would give me, or the lengthy lecture about punctuality. And
I was on my own today; the other girl, Denise, had quit yesterday
and they hadn’t had time to find a replacement to work alongside
me.

“Sorry,” I said, watching her play with the
papers on her clipboard. She grabbed the pencil that was
perpetually tucked her ear and circled something on the sheets.

“You’re training today.”

“I’m training?” I repeated.

“Yep,” Shelby said flatly. “Got a newbie
today. Young like you. Great, huh?” She tilted her head to the
side, indicating to guy lifting up a crate of lemons.

How did I not notice him there all this
time?

“Yeah, that’s great,” I replied with
sarcastic enthusiasm, watching the new guy carry the crate into the
stand and set it on the table.

Shelby took that as an okay and left to
bother one of the other snack stand operators.

I took down the break sign from the front of
the stand. The new guy’s back was still to me. He was tall.

Maybe 6’1”… 6’2”…

“Hey,” he called out, jolting me out of my
haze.

“Hey!” I practically shouted back. I
instantly looked away, feeling embarrassed.

Great, I probably look mental
now.

I glanced at him briefly from the corner of
my eye. His green eyes had widened at my volume and his expression
read ‘Whoa, what was that?’

THAT WAS ANNABELLE!

Did I mention I love green?

Nervous butterflies began awakening in my
lower stomach. I had made a hideous first impression. I used his
stunned moment of taken aback-ness to quickly check him out.

He was definitely 6’2” now that I could fully
see him – a sight I knew I’d be daydreaming about for days to come.
Besides being the perfect amount of tall, his body was
well-proportioned. His lean, muscled physique was evidenced by the
way the club’s black and green polo fit him. Tight, but not too
tight. The curves on his arms, chest, and back took on a life of
their own. You’d need a map to guide you around those roadblocks.
Only in my wildest dreams would I ever be given the chance to try
navigating my way around so much man.

Geez! Like I’d ever get that map!

Did I mention his hair? He had really nice
hair. A dark brown mop that flowed at an angle around his beautiful
eyes. Along the lines of Justin Bieber in his earlier days. But
messier and way sexier.

My fingers needed a play-date with that
hair.

Snap out of it,
creep!

I shook my head subtly. I did not need him
thinking I was a head-twitcher too.

I went around the stand and came inside; the
crate of fresh lemons was between us.

“Sorry, I was just shocked they got someone
so quickly,” I explained as I dunked my hands into the mass of
lemons.

He leaned forward and grabbed a lemon from
the crate and tossed it in the air with a quick flick of his wrist,
catching it again with ease. “What happened to the other girl?”

“How’d you know it was a girl?” My eyes
narrowed. His cool demeanor showed its first signs of cracking as a
hint of a cocky smile broke out from his firmly bored
expression.

That didn’t take long…

“Simple,” he replied, “I’ve never seen a guy
work in a place like this. Unless he was a fruit.”

My brows rose instantly at his sexist
remark.

“Then why are you here? You’re a guy and this
is a lemonade stand. We make fresh lemonade here. It’s very girly,
obviously,” I told him, locking my arms across my chest.

His hint of a smile spreads out wider, his
full grin showcasing his perfect white teeth.

I could melt…

“I’m a different case,” he stated as if it
should qualify as an answer.

“That’s not saying shit, so I’ll make it
easier, since you’re circling the issue at hand–”

“I’m not circling anything, I’m
different–”

“Yeah, I bet you are,” my tone was rising,
“but in this day and age, we don’t call gay guys fruity; that’s
discriminatory and incredibly rude!”

He immediately took a step back, his grin
disappearing.

“You’re words not mine, fireball.” His grin
instantly returned.

I let out an exasperated grunt and shook my
head at his choice of nickname for me.

Wow, I didn’t think it was possible, but
asshole can trump cute… That’s a damn shame!

“What now?” he teased with a laugh.

Clearly he’d noticed my response to the
inaccurate name he’d branded me with. It didn’t even begin to
describe my personality, not that fireball was beyond my realm of
expression though. Perhaps I should show him what a fireball really
looked like.

He grabbed another lemon from the crate.

“So are you gonna ride my ass every time I
say something stupid or are you gonna teach me this shit?” He held
out the lemon in the space between us.

Ignoring his extended arm, I leaned down to
grab a lemon. “How about both, douche!”

He dropped his lemon back into the crate.

“Both,” he echoed, which meant he knew he was
an asshole and didn’t care. Well that wasn’t going to fly with
me.

“That’s right,” I snapped, “if you say
something stupid I’m going to call you out on it but, if you’re a
good little boy, I just might teach you how to make freshly
squeezed lemonade.” I offered him a faux sweet smile.

I turned toward the juicer on the table and
dropped the lemon beside it. “Come here and bring your lemon.”

He took a few extra seconds to select the
perfect lemon before coming to stand next to me. His shoulder
grazed mine ever so lightly.

Okay, a little too close.

Normally it wouldn’t have bothered me if a
hot guy stood beside me, I’d be all ‘yay me’, but the asshole
persona was a major turn off.

My head dipped down slightly and, for a
brief second, I caught a whiff of his scent: a mixture of shampoo
and cologne. It was
nice
.

“You like how I smell, huh?”

WHAT! How on earth did he notice?

My ponytail flew through the air as my
head jerked back up. I shook my head in di
sbelief. “I didn’t smell you!”

“Did so, fireball,” he replied smugly. “You
got all quiet and the only thing I heard was the sound of your
nostrils sniffing my sweet scent!” He was laughing at me.

“I was not–” I tried to defend myself but he
interrupted me.

“Yes you were. I don’t blame you, I’d smell
me, too, if I wasn’t me.”

“Oh my God! Get over yourself!”

I reached down and grabbed my lemon so
brutally that a bit of juice leaked into my hand. I held it in
front of him and shook it to get his attention.

“Watch how I do this!” I ordered.

“Got it, boss.” He saluted.

I took a deep breath and decided to ignore
his remark. I placed the lemon on the cutting block and sliced it
in half. I then demonstrated how to use the juicer with half the
lemon. As one cup was filling with juice, I grabbed another and
walked over to the giant juice jug that contained the club’s
signature water-sugar syrup. I explained how much to pour in
(approximately half the cup); he watched closely and didn’t make
any smart-ass comments. I mixed the syrup in with the fresh lemon
juice then grabbed the other half of the lemon and cut it up.

“The other half we cut it into five wedges
and put in the drink along with a scoop of ice,” I told him. I
crouched to open the electric freezer underneath the juicer’s table
and scooped some ice into the lemonade. Then I pulled out a few
frozen pieces of mint. “We add these on top, as a garnish and for
taste. And voila, freshly squeezed lemonade with frozen mint.”

He was staring blankly at the drink.

“Can I drink it now?” he asked then suddenly,
before I could say ‘no’, he picked up the drink and downed it. I
stepped back in surprise at his level of thirst; I had never seen a
person drink so fast. He was obviously a growing boy.

“Easy there, tiger,” I suggested softly.

He put down the cup and looked at me with a
gentler expression.

“I’m ‘tiger’ now?” He was grinning again.

Oh shit!

I stood silent, at a loss for words. I hadn’t
intended to give him a nickname.

“Um, no, that didn’t come out right, I didn’t
mean it!” Minor-ly humiliated, I snatched the cup and walk away
from him to the garbage can on the other side of the stand. He
followed right behind me.

“Umm, yes.” He mimicked my flustered voice as
I threw the cup in the trash. “It’s okay, fireball. If it makes you
feel any better, I’m okay with ‘tiger’. You can call me that
anytime you want.” He sat on the edge of the table and smiled wryly
at me.

Great, could I have boosted his ego
anymore?

“Can you please act serious? I’m not going to
call you tiger.” I put my foot down, catching myself before I did a
childish stomp.

He pushed himself off the table and towered
over me, invading my personal space. I bit back my bitchy comments
about personal space, instead tilting my head back to look up at
him. I could play too, with the best of them, and I’d crush them
all. So who the hell did he think he was, trying to intimidate me
with his height?

“Well if you aren’t going to call me tiger,
what are you gonna call me?” He leaned in closer and I
instinctively leaned back.

Putting my hands on my hips, I replied
coolly, “I’m going to call you by your name.”

“Yeah, well go ahead. What’s my name?”

I opened my mouth but quickly shut it when I
realized I’d never asked him his name.

We’ve been going on like this and I didn’t
even get his name…

“Well, you don’t know my name either.
Hypocrite much?” I jerked my chin to him.

He straightened back up and played with the
collar of his shirt. He didn’t say anything. It was obvious now
that this boy was a child. And since one of us had to be the
professional adult, I decided to break first and ask.

“Fine, what’s your name?”

“Tiger!” he declared and began to laugh.