Mike, Gabe, and Raffy were all working when I arrived at Tucker's for my shift, though the arcade had yet to be filled. I soon realized Mike was the only one working behind the concession counter, while Gabe and Raffy were just there to annoy him and play games.
"Hey, Aly, how are you feeling?" Raffy called out as I entered, and he jumped down from the counter. He took a step forward, zipping up his sweater, and then backtracked to sit on one of the stools, leaning his back against the counter.
"Meh, I'm here."
"Feeling better?" Gabe asked from his chair, and I could have sworn there was actual concern lacing his words.
I smiled. "Usually."
"I don't get it," Raffy said, confused. "How do you usually feel better? Isn't it an either-or answer?"
I laughed and cocked my head to the side and darted my eyes between Mike and Gabe. They both rolled their eyes and I shook my head, straightening. "Too easy."
"You good to work the restaurant tonight?" Mike asked, and I felt the weight of all three sets of identical blue eyes fall on me.
"Yep." I looked up to the second level and smiled.
"It's Friday."
"No really? I thought it was Mother's Day." I rolled my eyes. A busy Friday night earning a pocketful of tips was exactly what I needed to take my mind off my... Well, mind. "I'm good, Mike. Promise."
"Really?"
"Do I have to do cartwheels without puking before you believe me?"
"No," he said as Raffy nodded and said, "Yes."
"She can't do cartwheels in those boots."
I narrowed my eyes on Gabe. Peanut gallery. "And you shouldn't be able to get a date with that face, but you make do."
"Okay then." Mike clapped his hands together. "Feisty is back, which means Aly is working upstairs." He clasped his hands together in front of his chest, his t-shirt stretching tight across his muscles, and he darted his eyes between Gabe and Raffy. "Now, which of you two are planning to work Raffy's shift on the floor tonight?" Still shifting his gaze between them, he spread his hands wide, keeping his elbows tucked in at his sides. "Come on, guys."
Gabe and Raffy shared a look and then stuck out their fists, shaking them in the air. Gabe became paper; Raffy became scissors. But instead of conceding defeat, Gabe grabbed his jacket, pulling it on over his grey t-shirt as he strode to the door with a grin, and then paused.
"You said Raffy's shift, right?" He looked at me for a moment and winked. "See you guys in the morning. Except..." Wiggling his finger in my direction, he laughed. "Hopefully not you, Alyssa. I don't think my jaw can take another morning with you."
"You mean your ego?" I raised my eyebrow at him and smiled.
"Funny girl." He cupped his jaw and winked at me again before leaving.
I turned back to Mike and Raffy. "So, who do I have to beat up to work in the morning?"
And just like that, with a few laughs, the evening climate was set. Easy, fun, always warm. It was almost therapeutic with its calming vibrations. Even on a Friday as children squealed, teens fought, and couples... Well, that was the downside. Seeing couples sneak off to catch a moment of solitude in corners triggered memories of David, but I could handle it.
Mike came upstairs to help once the first wave of gamers decided they were hungry. It was a familiar routine. He sat people and cleaned tables while I took orders and served the food, and whoever was free handled the till when customers were ready to pay. Even if he was running the restaurant with our roles reversed, we always split the tips.
Except tonight, now that the rush was over, and the restaurant was about to close, he wasn't letting me do what we had always done.
"What's wrong, Mike?" I asked, holding out his half of the tips. "We always split."
He shrugged and stopped cleaning to look at me with a little half smile. "We can split it next week."
"Why not now?"
"Because you had to miss work Wednesday night."
"So?" I took ten dollars away from his portion. "There. That is what I missed out on Wednesday. Now take your share."
He looked at the money and then shrugged and resumed cleaning the table he'd been focused on without looking up. "I know how much earning enough to pay for dorms away from Hidden Springs means to you, and I want you to have it."
"This is ridiculous! I got sick. It happens. It's a pretty safe bet to say that Raffy will skip out on a shift before I'm done saving, and I can make it up."
He stopped cleaning again and met my gaze, but I couldn't make out how to read his. "Take the money, okay?"
"But—"
He walked away before I could finish. I grabbed the bar cloth and spray bottle and moved on to clean the next table. And the next. I cleaned every table except for the two being occupied in the right-hand corner of the restaurant.
I hated stragglers, but if I kicked them out nicely, I might get a decent tip. Plus, it put off going home to be alone with my thoughts. Thinking of it that way made me wish for a few more stragglers to serve and, hoping to prolong them instead of rushing them, I grabbed the coffee pot from its burner and headed back to offer refills. Mike would be too busy closing downstairs to notice, and I doubted he would care. I would just bring up tips if he did.
"Would anyone like some more coffee?" I asked with as much of a smile as I could fake. Please say yes.
"Okay," said a girl, her voice high and familiar.
Oh, God. Please change your mind. Say no, say no, say no.
"Yes, please?"
Damn.
I looked up slowly, as though drawing it out would relieve the experience we'd shared. But erasing it from our minds so we could start over—waitress to customer—wasn't possible. The horror and death that they had taken part of the credit for creating was too embedded to forget. I knew, just as they must know, nothing could change or diminish it.
Death was too final to erase.
"It's you," the girl said, her smile replaced with shock.
Of course, she knew me with long hair without streaks. I'd been weak, timid... devastated. Seeing them now made me feel like I was still the girl they had met instead of the strong girl I'd become. My height, my hair, even my tanned skin instead of a pasty white that had somehow added to my weakness as though I was fragile porcelain primed to crack, had changed.
My gaze slid across every face, fleeting but critical. All but one—Josh, the boy who killed David—was here. Suddenly, it was like all of the progress I'd made since that day evaporated like it was a foreign object that had to be removed.
She looks so sad.
Wow. The librarian grew up.
No. I squeezed my eyes shut. Not now.
I wonder if she knows what happened to Josh. Should we tell her? Say sorry?
I looked to the boy they had called Duke. He'd been so small before, but like me, had changed over the past year—they all had. Even sitting, I could tell Duke was taller, just an inch or two shy of his other friend, who had never seemed like he belonged to the group. He was too clean, preppy, and if circumstances were different, could have fit in at Royal Academy instead of Elixir High School.
Duke looked up and I swivelled my gaze from the group as a whole to meet his.
I'm sorry.
He wanted to apologize? What. An. Idiot. I clenched my teeth and said, "Saying you're sorry won't bring David back."
He flinched like I'd struck him. I wished I had.
Lifting the coffee pot up, I drew it back, closer to my hips, and shook my head. Dizziness threatened like dark clouds without rain, and I felt myself sway, but the idea of falling down in front of this group kept me from giving in. "I'm sorry. I can't serve you."
Bitch.
I drew in a calming breath, exhaling slowly. They killed my boyfriend and I was a bitch for not serving them? Wow. Shaking my head, I started to turn.
"Josh is gone, you know," Duke burst, reaching out to touch my arm, and I paused to look down. He let go and I moved my gaze to meet his. "He won't be back."
Because of you.
The hatred aimed at me was so much more than words. The feelings, raw with loathing, made me want to wretch. The worst of it was that I didn't know which girl it was coming from. In the end, hadn't they both helped? They had given statements against their friend so that I could leave the scene and wash David's blood from my hands.
"I know," I said, looking back to Duke. "The police told me when I, uh... When I wasn't needed for testimony. Josh pled guilty."
"Are you okay?" Duke asked.
"Seriously?" I scoffed. "Did you just ask me if I was okay?" My voice rose, and my breathing grew shallow, like I was gulping in the air from a limited supply and running out. "Your friend killed my boyfriend and wound up with a reduced sentence because he was willing to admit it and the government wanted to save money by not having a trial." Shifting the coffee pot to my other hand, I shook my head. "Josh is behind bars now, but for how long?"
Drama queen.
I jerked my head to the right and held the gaze of the girl who'd been so wispy, she had looked like a strong gust of wind could carry her away. Now, she'd filled out and discovered shampoo, but she seemed mean. It was like she'd switched roles with the other girl, who looked like she'd lost weight and now hid behind clothes that concealed her once-ample curves. Guilty conscious?
The girl staring at me folded her hands in front of her on the table and, smiling, raised an eyebrow at me, her thoughts clear. Bitch. It's not like we threw her boyfriend into the wall and cracked his head like an omelette. I wish Josh had cracked her—
"Everything okay?" Mike came up from behind me and placed his hands on my shoulders.
The voices faded like a switch clicked off with his touch, but the tension remained. I flexed my hand, trying to drain the urge to hit the girl, and forced myself to glance away from her stare.
"They were just leaving," I said, turning to give him the coffee pot with a shaking hand. "And so was I."
I stepped back and then turned away. The moment Mike's hand left my shoulder, the thoughts returned. I couldn't block them on my own, which made me want to beg for the silence his touch provided. But then going back would mean I would see them, and it was easier to forget when they remained out of sight. So, I kept walking, ignoring their thoughts, and hoped that soon there'd be enough distance between us for them to subside.
Bitch.
Chicken.
I'm sorry.
Picking up my pace, I didn't bother stopping to get my coat or wallet or keys. Nothing. I just needed to get away, to run. Fast. As far as these stupid boots would take me. I nearly collided with Gabe as I raced out the front door with Mike, still holding the coffee pot, hot on my tail.
He paused long enough to pass the pot to Gabe and pointed behind him. "Take Raffy and get that group gone."
"What?"
"Just do it!" He yelled over his shoulder and slammed out the door already closing behind my exit.
But I had too much of a head start. Even in my boots, he couldn't catch me, and I was glad. Too much was off-the-charts-weird to explain. Way. Too. Weird.
"Alyssa! Stop!"
I kept running.
"Alyssa! Damn it! Stop and talk to me!"
I cut through back alleys and his voice faded, and then stopped. Was he too far away to realize he'd lost me? Or I'd lost him? Whatever way it worked. I found silence once I was alone.