one put in a quarter for a song. Maybe the low hum made me nervous.
But my gaze came to rest on John, and I knew he was making me nervous. Chatting to me like he was talking to a dead girl. Trying to trap me here.
I said quickly, "It's a better reason to leave."
"You don't feel any loyalty to your parents? Don't you want to stay here and help them out?"
"I've helped them out plenty. They make me work here, and they don't pay me. It's basically slave labor. Kind of like following you around."
He went back to eating like my snark didn't concern him. But he looked hurt. Those worry lines appeared between his eyebrows. I couldn't resist him when a little bit of boy showed through the tough exterior.
I lowered my voice. "They don't need my help. They just pretend to need my help so they can keep me close. They're overprotective. It'll drive you crazy. It honestly will."
"Overprotective, why?" he asked without looking up from his plate. "Only child?"
"Beats me. Anyway, they say they need me, but they don't. They'll hire somebody, just like they hired people to fill in this week while they're out of town." I took my last hell-bite.
"What if you leave and they go out of business? Won't you feel like it's your fault? Oh." He put down his fork. "I didn't mean to upset you."
"It's the pepper, John." I drained his water, then sniffed and dabbed at my eyes with a paper napkin from the holder. "Of course I won't feel like it's my fault. It's the biggest kindness I can do them. If they can't run a restaurant by themselves, they need to go back to selling vinyl siding. I can't do it for them. We'd always be dependent on each other and always unhappy, feeling pressured and letting each other down."
"Mmph. What are you going to do when you grow up, then?"
I glared at him. "Nice. I got a tuition scholarship to UAB."
He put his fork down again. " You? Got a scholarship?
"It's not a scholarship for good grades," I assured him. "It's a scholarship for having two loser parents who can hardly keep a diner out of bankruptcy."
"For a needs-based scholarship, you still have to make good grades." He sat back and stared at me like he'd never seen a blue-haired girl before. "Don't worry. I won't tell anyone."
"Ha."
"Rut how are you going to pay for the rest of it? Room and board?"
"I'll find a job. Rent a cheap apartment on the Southside with a roommate or two."
He nodded. "Tiffany."
"I hadn't thought about it," I said. "That would involve planning and commitment."
"Right." He continued to look at me very seriously. "What are you going to major in?"
"Management, so I can run hotels and restaurants."
He laughed.
"What the hell's so funny? I enjoy doing this. I just don't want to do it here."
He laughed harder. "I'm sorry. I just can't imagine you managing anything." He kept laughing until he looked up and saw my face. "What."
“I’ve been keeping the books for this place since I was eleven years old." With a few months off when I was thirteen.
"Well, how was I supposed to know—"
"I just sat here and told you I got a scholarship to the university, and you act like I'm At Risk."
"If you would just tell me this stuff in the first place—"
"Why should I? I never intended to wow you with my credentials. You're the one who set out on this quest to save the children."
He drew himself up in his seat to look more threatening. "You would think someone in your position, in as much trouble as you're in, would try to make a better impression on the police."
"You would think." I couldn't remember why I'd had a crush on this ass. "In fact, I managed just fine until you showed up at that bridge."
He gaped at me in disbelief. I felt myself cringe under that dark, hard gaze. "Meg, you were drunk, stoned, letting Eric Wexler feel you up, and five minutes from getting hit by a train."
I rolled my eyes. "I suppose I should point out to you yet again that I did not get hit by a train. I made a mistake. If I turn in my proposal to the Powers
But my gaze came to rest on John, and I knew he was making me nervous. Chatting to me like he was talking to a dead girl. Trying to trap me here.
I said quickly, "It's a better reason to leave."
"You don't feel any loyalty to your parents? Don't you want to stay here and help them out?"
"I've helped them out plenty. They make me work here, and they don't pay me. It's basically slave labor. Kind of like following you around."
He went back to eating like my snark didn't concern him. But he looked hurt. Those worry lines appeared between his eyebrows. I couldn't resist him when a little bit of boy showed through the tough exterior.
I lowered my voice. "They don't need my help. They just pretend to need my help so they can keep me close. They're overprotective. It'll drive you crazy. It honestly will."
"Overprotective, why?" he asked without looking up from his plate. "Only child?"
"Beats me. Anyway, they say they need me, but they don't. They'll hire somebody, just like they hired people to fill in this week while they're out of town." I took my last hell-bite.
"What if you leave and they go out of business? Won't you feel like it's your fault? Oh." He put down his fork. "I didn't mean to upset you."
"It's the pepper, John." I drained his water, then sniffed and dabbed at my eyes with a paper napkin from the holder. "Of course I won't feel like it's my fault. It's the biggest kindness I can do them. If they can't run a restaurant by themselves, they need to go back to selling vinyl siding. I can't do it for them. We'd always be dependent on each other and always unhappy, feeling pressured and letting each other down."
"Mmph. What are you going to do when you grow up, then?"
I glared at him. "Nice. I got a tuition scholarship to UAB."
He put his fork down again. " You? Got a scholarship?
"It's not a scholarship for good grades," I assured him. "It's a scholarship for having two loser parents who can hardly keep a diner out of bankruptcy."
"For a needs-based scholarship, you still have to make good grades." He sat back and stared at me like he'd never seen a blue-haired girl before. "Don't worry. I won't tell anyone."
"Ha."
"Rut how are you going to pay for the rest of it? Room and board?"
"I'll find a job. Rent a cheap apartment on the Southside with a roommate or two."
He nodded. "Tiffany."
"I hadn't thought about it," I said. "That would involve planning and commitment."
"Right." He continued to look at me very seriously. "What are you going to major in?"
"Management, so I can run hotels and restaurants."
He laughed.
"What the hell's so funny? I enjoy doing this. I just don't want to do it here."
He laughed harder. "I'm sorry. I just can't imagine you managing anything." He kept laughing until he looked up and saw my face. "What."
“I’ve been keeping the books for this place since I was eleven years old." With a few months off when I was thirteen.
"Well, how was I supposed to know—"
"I just sat here and told you I got a scholarship to the university, and you act like I'm At Risk."
"If you would just tell me this stuff in the first place—"
"Why should I? I never intended to wow you with my credentials. You're the one who set out on this quest to save the children."
He drew himself up in his seat to look more threatening. "You would think someone in your position, in as much trouble as you're in, would try to make a better impression on the police."
"You would think." I couldn't remember why I'd had a crush on this ass. "In fact, I managed just fine until you showed up at that bridge."
He gaped at me in disbelief. I felt myself cringe under that dark, hard gaze. "Meg, you were drunk, stoned, letting Eric Wexler feel you up, and five minutes from getting hit by a train."
I rolled my eyes. "I suppose I should point out to you yet again that I did not get hit by a train. I made a mistake. If I turn in my proposal to the Powers
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