to stay for a little while. If things get weird, I’ll just take off. No harm, no foul.
I flip the book open to tonight’s assignment. I hate math. I hate formulas and functions, especially when letters get involved. It’s so confusing. I don’t know how I’m supposed to relate to numbers. How learning any of this will ever come in handy in real life. Like, will I one day be in the grocery store, comparing the prices of toilet paper, and desperately need to find the square root of x in order to get the best deal? I highly doubt it. Geometry just feels like a waste of time.
My whole life feels like a waste of time.
I’m staring at the open page so hard my eyes cross when Sam walks up with a metal tub of sauce. When I see him, I jump a little, causing the stool to squeak as it turns. He looks even more startled than I feel.
“Chelsea? What are you doing here?” he blurts out.
I feel my face burning red. I point one hand to the left, where Asha went, and Sam follows the gesture with his eyes, seeming to connect the dots.
“Excuse me,” he says flatly, and takes off in that direction.
As soon as he’s out of sight, I jump off the stool and follow without thinking, hovering by the double doors leading to the busing area. I crouch behind a cart of clean dinner trays and spy through the dirty circular windows, catching a glimpse of Sam marching up to Asha, who is stacking some dry dishes into a rack. I can hear every word.
“You brought her here?” he exclaims. “What were you thinking?”
“Give her a chance,” Asha says.
“It’s not me I’m worried about,” he says. “If Andy sees her, he is going to freak out.”
Okay, who the hell is Andy, and why would he care about me being here?
Asha sets down the last plate and looks up at him. “I just think she could really use a friend right now.”
“And you’re volunteering for the position,” he says skeptically.
“I don’t think she has anyone else,” she tells him. “Everyone is mad at her.”
“I’m not saying we should be gathering the pitchforks or anything, but come on. Did it ever occur to you maybe she deserves it?”
“You don’t know, Sam. It’s not just about Noah…it’s about her ratting out those basketball players. There were these girls today, and they said these awful things to her… I mean, really awful. Then one of them said something to me—”
“ What? Who?”
“It doesn’t even matter,” she continues, “but Chelsea got in the girl’s face, and she didn’t say anything, obviously, but I could tell she was mad about it. And someone wrote something nasty on her locker. And you saw what they did to her car, and I know you don’t think that was deserved. I just want to be nice, okay? Can you please have my back on this?”
There’s a lengthy pause, and I hold my breath, trying not to make any noise that will give me away, desperately waiting to see what Sam will say to that.
“All right,” he says softly. “Just…be careful, okay?”
“I will,” she promises. “Will you do me a favor?”
“Depends. What is it?”
“I told her you’d make her a tuna melt. On the house.”
Sam groans. “The things I do for you, Asha.”
I decide I’ve heard enough. I bolt back to my stool, settling on it just as Sam reappears. He gives me a long, considering look, like he’s warring with himself on how to deal with me.
“Asha says I owe you a tuna melt,” he says. He’s not smiling, but he doesn’t sound angry. “Sound good?”
I nod, and he turns his back to me to grab ingredients. I shouldn’t have stayed. Now I know why Asha is being nice—I’m her charity project. It’s embarrassing, and idiotic because if she knew me at all, what I’m really like, she would hate me, not pity me. She’s too nice for her own good.
The way Rosie’s is set up, the grill is right there so you can see your food being made in front of you. I watch as Sam quickly assembles the sandwich then slaps it on the
I flip the book open to tonight’s assignment. I hate math. I hate formulas and functions, especially when letters get involved. It’s so confusing. I don’t know how I’m supposed to relate to numbers. How learning any of this will ever come in handy in real life. Like, will I one day be in the grocery store, comparing the prices of toilet paper, and desperately need to find the square root of x in order to get the best deal? I highly doubt it. Geometry just feels like a waste of time.
My whole life feels like a waste of time.
I’m staring at the open page so hard my eyes cross when Sam walks up with a metal tub of sauce. When I see him, I jump a little, causing the stool to squeak as it turns. He looks even more startled than I feel.
“Chelsea? What are you doing here?” he blurts out.
I feel my face burning red. I point one hand to the left, where Asha went, and Sam follows the gesture with his eyes, seeming to connect the dots.
“Excuse me,” he says flatly, and takes off in that direction.
As soon as he’s out of sight, I jump off the stool and follow without thinking, hovering by the double doors leading to the busing area. I crouch behind a cart of clean dinner trays and spy through the dirty circular windows, catching a glimpse of Sam marching up to Asha, who is stacking some dry dishes into a rack. I can hear every word.
“You brought her here?” he exclaims. “What were you thinking?”
“Give her a chance,” Asha says.
“It’s not me I’m worried about,” he says. “If Andy sees her, he is going to freak out.”
Okay, who the hell is Andy, and why would he care about me being here?
Asha sets down the last plate and looks up at him. “I just think she could really use a friend right now.”
“And you’re volunteering for the position,” he says skeptically.
“I don’t think she has anyone else,” she tells him. “Everyone is mad at her.”
“I’m not saying we should be gathering the pitchforks or anything, but come on. Did it ever occur to you maybe she deserves it?”
“You don’t know, Sam. It’s not just about Noah…it’s about her ratting out those basketball players. There were these girls today, and they said these awful things to her… I mean, really awful. Then one of them said something to me—”
“ What? Who?”
“It doesn’t even matter,” she continues, “but Chelsea got in the girl’s face, and she didn’t say anything, obviously, but I could tell she was mad about it. And someone wrote something nasty on her locker. And you saw what they did to her car, and I know you don’t think that was deserved. I just want to be nice, okay? Can you please have my back on this?”
There’s a lengthy pause, and I hold my breath, trying not to make any noise that will give me away, desperately waiting to see what Sam will say to that.
“All right,” he says softly. “Just…be careful, okay?”
“I will,” she promises. “Will you do me a favor?”
“Depends. What is it?”
“I told her you’d make her a tuna melt. On the house.”
Sam groans. “The things I do for you, Asha.”
I decide I’ve heard enough. I bolt back to my stool, settling on it just as Sam reappears. He gives me a long, considering look, like he’s warring with himself on how to deal with me.
“Asha says I owe you a tuna melt,” he says. He’s not smiling, but he doesn’t sound angry. “Sound good?”
I nod, and he turns his back to me to grab ingredients. I shouldn’t have stayed. Now I know why Asha is being nice—I’m her charity project. It’s embarrassing, and idiotic because if she knew me at all, what I’m really like, she would hate me, not pity me. She’s too nice for her own good.
The way Rosie’s is set up, the grill is right there so you can see your food being made in front of you. I watch as Sam quickly assembles the sandwich then slaps it on the
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