The Shameless Hour by Sarina Bowen Page B

food trucks in New York.” The professor rubbed his hands together. “The winning team will take the train down the Friday night before exams to have a food-truck dinner with Jimmy and his favorite vendors. You can even bring a date.”
    At that, I sat up straighter in my chair. I’d been trying to convince my mother that Tipico, our family restaurant, should have a food truck, too. Food trucks charged higher prices than we could get in Washington Heights. Parking that sucker on Wall Street at noon? We could double our take.
    But Ma listened to my uncles, who said that getting paperwork for a food truck was hard. And then there was the truck itself…
    I was going to have to win this contest and meet the dude who knew all there was to know about how food trucks worked.
    Professor Giulios was still talking about the rules. “Twelve teams, one for each house,” he was saying, “unless the houses are represented wildly unevenly.”
    That got my attention.
    “So, I’ll leave the last five minutes of our time today for breaking into our house groups.”
    The teams were by house? As the professor continued his lecture, I eyed the room. From Beaumont House there was me, Bella and Alison. And also a junior woman I recognized from Alison’s entryway.
    There had to be more, right? Oh, Dios . Let there be too many Beaumonters in the class, so I could join another team. I squinted at all the heads in the room, hoping for more familiar faces.
    But I found nada .
    At the end of class, my fears were confirmed. When the professor asked students from Beaumont House to gather in the front of the room, there was only me, my ex-girlfriend, the hook-up who now hated me and a single stranger.
    Jesucristo . My chickens had come home to roost.
    Alison cleared her throat. “I propose that we break up further.”
    We did that already, girl .
    “There should be two groups — one pair who looks at the design element and another that does the economics. I’m really more of a design person than a numbers person.”
    “I’ll do numbers,” I said quickly.
    “Fine,” Alison sighed.
    The junior who I didn’t know looked at Bella. “I’d rather have design. But if you really wanted it, I’d take the economic stuff.”
    Bella shrugged. “Okay. I’m not afraid of numbers.”
    Uh-oh.
    “I’m Dani by the way,” she said. “Short for Danielle.”
    Bella smiled. “I know you are. I’m Bella, short for a name I don’t like. And this is Rafe,” she jutted a thumb at me, “and that’s Alison.”
    “I guess we’re done for now,” Alison said stiffly. She hefted her backpack on one shoulder, taking care not to look at me. “Dani, let’s exchange numbers.”
    Dani followed her toward the door, which left me alone with Bella.
    “So,” she said.
    “So.” I swallowed. “Can we walk and talk? I have a shift in the dining hall.”
    “Sure,” Bella said. We walked outside together, and an awkward silence descended. “So,” Bella said once more. “We’re doing this project.”
    “Yeah,” I said, my voice low. “I need to win it, too.”
    Bella turned to me with the first smile I’d seen directed at me in weeks. “Well, that’s the spirit. Are you sure you want to work with me?”
    “Of course,” I said with more conviction than I felt.
    “All right,” she said, hiking her bag higher on her shoulder. “That’s good news. Because I hope you’re not the type of guy who can’t look me in the eye after he’s seen me naked."
    My throat tightened. “Bella…” Dios . It was me I couldn’t look in the eye. Not her.
    “That’s the worst kind of sexism, anyway. It’s not fair to have a one-night stand with someone, and then act like she’s trash because she had one, too. That would be hypocritical.”
    “Um,” I said, helplessly. Once again, she had me at a complete loss for words. “It’s just… I think we got it backwards. I wanted to start over.”
    Bella walked silently beside me for a second. “That’s