sat scrunched in the far corner of the Vista Cruiser’s front seat. She had a lock of her hair wound tight around two fingers. She stared out the side window. Thoughts of killing Jeff flitted through her mind. She was going to call her best friend Olivia as soon as she got home. Liv wouldn’t believe this. Or maybe she would. She wasn’t much of a Jeff fan.
“You OK?” Dave offered as he piloted the car between the strip malls on Route 25.
“Yeah. Fine.” She kept staring past the passing businesses.
A few minutes of silence.
“Jeff has a lot going on,” Dave said.
Katy cut him off with a raised hand. “I know you’ll all stick up for each other. You’re an annoyingly tight little group. Don’t defend him.”
“I wasn’t about to,” Dave said. “I was going to add 'But he doesn’t prioritize the right things.’”
Katy looked over at Dave, as if seeing him for the first time. The little time she had spent with him had been in the company of the Half Dozen. She hadn’t heard a sentence from him that hadn’t dripped with sarcasm before. “Really?”
“Yeah, I mean we’re nearly done with Whitman High,” Dave said. “There are only two things that matter between now and then. Graduation and prom.”
Katy’s jaw dropped. “Didn’t I hear you describe the prom as ‘hanging out in the gym and listening to a shitty band’?”
“Actually it was ‘hanging out in the gym wearing rented clothes and listening to a shitty band.’ But that’s what it is to me. I don’t have someone worth taking.”
From the profile view, Katy could see behind Dave’s glasses. His eyelashes were long, with a graceful upper arc. His face seemed softer without the omnipresent smirk that accompanied his verbal barbs. Sunlight danced off his blond hair as the car passed through the shadows of overhanging trees.
She thought this outburst of sensitivity had to be a joke, but second-guessed herself. This was the guy who was going to go to forestry college to protect the environment and save Bambi from wild fires. A jackass wouldn’t want to do that as a job.
Dave spun the wheel and entered the parking lot of the Venetian, the restaurant Katy’s family owned. Her family lived on the second floor. She was the third generation to do so. Katy grew up in the Venetian. One week after her birth, Mom was back at work while Katy dozed in a crib in the office. Her father ran the kitchen, and he and his wife had ensured that Katy was rarely alone. Pre-kindergarten play time was rolling silverware into cloth napkins. The customers thought it was cute when she took it upon herself to wait tables at the tender age of nine. At sixteen she had a timecard. The lot was empty though the neon sign in the window burned OPEN. He pulled up to the entrance.
“And why is it you don’t have someone to take to prom?” Katy asked.
Dave shrugged. “All I’m saying," he said, still looking straight out the windshield, “is that if I was Jeff, I’d appreciate you a lot more.”
A strange feeling swept over Katy, like she realized she had walked inadvertently to the edge of an emotional cliff, jagged rocks staring up at her a hundred feet below. She popped open the door and slid out.
“Thanks for the lift,” she said.
“No charge,” Dave said. He flashed the familiar smirk at her. “Try not to poison anyone tonight.” The Vista Cruiser rumbled out to Route 25.
Was that some kind of pass from Dave? It sure seemed like it. Of course whoever that was didn’t seem like Dave until she got out of the car and broke whatever spell he was under.
The indomitable Irene Traina peered out from the Venetian’s bright red front door. She had a face wide as her signature pies and a figure that said she regularly sampled the same. She wore the white oxford shirt and shiny black rayon pants she favored when managing the evening dining room. Her black hair, the only physical attribute her daughter had inherited, was pulled back in a
“You OK?” Dave offered as he piloted the car between the strip malls on Route 25.
“Yeah. Fine.” She kept staring past the passing businesses.
A few minutes of silence.
“Jeff has a lot going on,” Dave said.
Katy cut him off with a raised hand. “I know you’ll all stick up for each other. You’re an annoyingly tight little group. Don’t defend him.”
“I wasn’t about to,” Dave said. “I was going to add 'But he doesn’t prioritize the right things.’”
Katy looked over at Dave, as if seeing him for the first time. The little time she had spent with him had been in the company of the Half Dozen. She hadn’t heard a sentence from him that hadn’t dripped with sarcasm before. “Really?”
“Yeah, I mean we’re nearly done with Whitman High,” Dave said. “There are only two things that matter between now and then. Graduation and prom.”
Katy’s jaw dropped. “Didn’t I hear you describe the prom as ‘hanging out in the gym and listening to a shitty band’?”
“Actually it was ‘hanging out in the gym wearing rented clothes and listening to a shitty band.’ But that’s what it is to me. I don’t have someone worth taking.”
From the profile view, Katy could see behind Dave’s glasses. His eyelashes were long, with a graceful upper arc. His face seemed softer without the omnipresent smirk that accompanied his verbal barbs. Sunlight danced off his blond hair as the car passed through the shadows of overhanging trees.
She thought this outburst of sensitivity had to be a joke, but second-guessed herself. This was the guy who was going to go to forestry college to protect the environment and save Bambi from wild fires. A jackass wouldn’t want to do that as a job.
Dave spun the wheel and entered the parking lot of the Venetian, the restaurant Katy’s family owned. Her family lived on the second floor. She was the third generation to do so. Katy grew up in the Venetian. One week after her birth, Mom was back at work while Katy dozed in a crib in the office. Her father ran the kitchen, and he and his wife had ensured that Katy was rarely alone. Pre-kindergarten play time was rolling silverware into cloth napkins. The customers thought it was cute when she took it upon herself to wait tables at the tender age of nine. At sixteen she had a timecard. The lot was empty though the neon sign in the window burned OPEN. He pulled up to the entrance.
“And why is it you don’t have someone to take to prom?” Katy asked.
Dave shrugged. “All I’m saying," he said, still looking straight out the windshield, “is that if I was Jeff, I’d appreciate you a lot more.”
A strange feeling swept over Katy, like she realized she had walked inadvertently to the edge of an emotional cliff, jagged rocks staring up at her a hundred feet below. She popped open the door and slid out.
“Thanks for the lift,” she said.
“No charge,” Dave said. He flashed the familiar smirk at her. “Try not to poison anyone tonight.” The Vista Cruiser rumbled out to Route 25.
Was that some kind of pass from Dave? It sure seemed like it. Of course whoever that was didn’t seem like Dave until she got out of the car and broke whatever spell he was under.
The indomitable Irene Traina peered out from the Venetian’s bright red front door. She had a face wide as her signature pies and a figure that said she regularly sampled the same. She wore the white oxford shirt and shiny black rayon pants she favored when managing the evening dining room. Her black hair, the only physical attribute her daughter had inherited, was pulled back in a
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