I was sitting against mine, far enough down the hallway that I could still see the principal’s office.
I gestured to the office. “My dad’s in there. He’s fighting.”
“Why?” Channing kicked the Trapper Keeper out of the way, his knees pulling up. He leaned forward and locked his hands around them, staring at me.
All the girls in school liked him.
I mean, I guess I could understand why.
He was cute. Dark blond hair. I don’t know—how do you describe when you know a boy is cute? He’s just cute. But he was a pain in my ass. (Another phrase my mom liked to use.) He didn’t throw things at other girls, poke them, laugh at them, get their names put on the board. He only did that to me.
Pain. In. My. Ass.
Though maybe I should stop thinking like my mom. I mean…
I frowned at him. “They want us to go to Fallen Crest.”
“Why?”
I shrugged. “We moved there. My mom wanted to open a restaurant.”
Should I tell him? We were, like, mortal enemies—like in the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles way. I was a kick-ass turtle, and he was Shredder.
I dropped my head toward my lap and whispered, “She left last night.”
I tensed, waiting for…something. I didn’t know what. Questions? For him to blame me, maybe?
There was quiet instead, and I lifted my head to look at him.
He stared at me, his face totally blank, and then he shrugged. “Is it wrong that I wish she’d taken my dad with her?”
Um… I don’t know.
He shrugged again. “Don’t sweat it. Parents aren’t that super, in my opinion.”
“What do you mean?”
“I like my mom, but…” He shook his head. “Don’t get like other kids and start thinking the parent who left is Santa Claus or something. Your mom left. Get over it. Stick with the one who stayed.”
“Channing—”
He stood, grabbing his bag, his Trapper Keeper. He looked down at me. “I’m sorry about your mom, but if she left, she’s a bitch. She’s not worth remembering. If they hurt you, they never are.”
He turned and went to his locker, my brother’s Trapper Keeper tucked under his arm.
5
Heather
Present day
Channing took off after coming. Literally.
But I wasn’t expecting him to stick around.
Once he turned his phone on, the barrage of texts and alerts started. A lot of people depended on him so…yeah…it wasn’t long until I saw his taillights.
It was still midday before I went to Manny’s, crossing the small gravel alley and back area to reach the rear door of the restaurant.
There were a few trees for shade and five or six picnic tables set up. It used to be our only outside seating area, but last summer we did a renovation and expanded a side sitting area in the front. Because of that, the back part wasn’t used as often anymore.
But it was occupied today, and I spied a bunch of high-schoolers there, though none who had dark, doe-like eyes, a long dark mane of hair, and a kick-ass attitude. No one whose name started with a B and ended with an n, and whose older brother had just left my bed.
No one that I knew wouldn’t have been blowing his phone up. Bren rarely texted and even more rarely called. I wasn’t sure if she carried her phone on her half the time.
Recognizing one, I weaved over to him. “Alex Ryerson.”
He was a punk kid and looked like the typical jock type, but I didn’t know if he was actually an athlete or not. He ran a crew in Roussou, and I knew he’d tangled with Channing’s sister on more than a few occasions.
He turned, and a lecherous sneer started to form.
I waved my hand. “Stop. I don’t want to hear it.” He usually had some pickup line.
Because I was talking to their leader, all other conversations stopped. Heads turned our way—even some of the kids I thought were from Fallen Crest.
Not to stereotype, but most people from Fallen Crest were rich. Or they were getting richer as I aged. Most kids from Roussou were not, and they wore a hardened exterior. It was in their eyes, the way they walked, even how they failed to react when violence came their way.
“What are you doing here?” I asked him.
A cocky smile spread over his face, and he held his arms out, stepping away so his back was toward the group. He raised his voice, letting them know he was speaking for them. “Hanging out. We got a week left. It’s still summer, Ms. Jax.”
I snorted. Cripes. Now he was calling me my mother’s name.
I looked at every single person. Oh yeah. I counted maybe eight girls from Fallen Crest—I could tell by the fear in their eyes—and the rest were Roussou.
“You all Ryerson’s crew?”
I knew the boys who hung out with Channing’s sister. They were not Ryerson crew. They’d been best friends since elementary and middle school; that was the way Roussou people were.
They weren’t here.
I wasn’t sure if I should be relieved or worried.
Most of the crowd nodded in response to my question. The Fallen Crest girls edged away. Seeing their uncertainty and their second-tier fashion choices, I figured they weren’t from Fallen Crest Academy. That was the private school in town. The other school was Fallen Crest Public, where these girls likely attended, just like I had.
“Look,” I told Alex. “You guys start any fighting and you’re banned. You got it?”
“Of course, Ms. Jax—”
“I’m not fucking around, Ryerson. One fight and I’ll get a cop to park in this lot for his coffee breaks. Understand me?” I shifted closer, my eyes level and hard. But I didn’t need to do anything more than issue my threat.
He got it. His smirk faded and his tone changed too. “If we fight, we’ll leave. Promise.”
That was good enough for me, so I headed inside.
I’d gone two steps through the door before I heard my brother behind me. “You’re kinda all about banning people lately, huh?”
I threw him a glance but kept moving down the hallway to my office. “That was a high school kid slightly above being in a gang, and the other was your stalker. Are you really complaining?”
I pushed open the door to my office.
Brandon followed me in, shutting it as Suki, our day manager, rolled back from behind my desk. Her eyes lit up, and she almost jumped to her feet.
“Are you here for the day?”
It was obvious what she wanted.
Suki had first come to us a stand-in chef, but once I needed more and more help, she began taking over some other duties. Years had passed, and after we hired another couple cooks, she’d become our day manager.
And because I knew what Suki was really asking, I nodded. “Go ahead. Go forth and make gourmet magic, my Day Manager SparkleDust.”
She cocked her head to the side.
Suki liked cooking, but she was the furthest thing there was from a pixie.
She was built like a tank: short and muscular. She and Brandon had wrestled one night, and though he denies it, everyone saw her pin him. Short, black, spiked hair and the most sensible and environmentally friendly clothes (complete with hemp sandals and a bag made by orphans in Kenya)—she was our hippy-esque work family member. If she had a sense of humor, I hadn’t seen it yet, but I didn’t care.
She was one of mine. I take care of mine.
Which led me to say, “If you want a night off, go for it. I’m closing for Cruz tonight.”