Damaged and the Beas(3)

The classes at New Hampton tended to be small with desks like in high school. The more popular classes were held in large rooms. My English Lit class was in one of those big halls, and I had trouble getting comfortable with so many people whispering around me. Most of my classes were smaller, though, and I knew with enough time that I would get used to the crowded ones too.

I also liked how a majority of instructors preferred to be addressed by their first names. With such a relaxed atmosphere, I was finally getting the hang of things by the time I reached my final class.

Spanish was my elective for the semester. My plan was to become fluent and make myself a better job candidate for the many areas where non-English speakers lived. Plus, I had always wanted to learn another language. I'd started taking Spanish in high school, but we moved, and it wasn't offered at the new school. This year with no unexpected moves, I would finally learn Spanish. Just one of the many things on my checklist for my new life.



       
         
       
        

Running late after taking a wrong turn, I entered the room to find it mostly full. The class was heavy on girls who appeared to be lifelong friends. I found a spot towards the front where only the nerds sat including a very cute guy to my right. Glancing casually towards him, I pretended I was looking around so that I could check him out. Tall, lean, maybe a little on the underdeveloped side, I suspected he wasn't done growing yet. His brown hair fell over his eyes and I caught him swiping it away a few times. I wasn't sure his eye color until he caught me looking and the green-eyed Sweetie Pie grinned. Giving him a quick smile, I hid behind my hair and pretended to look for a pen.

Behind me, the BFFs laughed and talked about their summer fun. I was used to being on the outs with the cliques. Most of the time, the girls had been friends since kindergarten. As the motel kid who wouldn't be around by the end of the year, no one wanted to be my best friend. In the end, it had always been just Tawny and me. The girls behind me were tanned, pretty, and confident. Pack mentality gave girls power, and I wished to find a pack of my own in college.

The back of the class was the spot for the cool and/or indifferent people. One guy was already asleep while two chairs down was a stoner who kept looking behind him as if someone was lurking. Three chairs down from the stoner was Hot Guy.

This was a guy who got what he wanted. When I pretended to tie my shoes, I noticed the girls grinning at him. He gave them a wink like he wasn't in the mood right then, but later he would allow one of them the privilege of servicing his needs. His dark blond hair was all kinds of messy like maybe he just came from being serviced and didn't have time to clean up afterwards. I couldn't see his eyes, but they were dark and menacing. Even when he winked and gave the girls a grin, Hot Guy looked ready to hit someone up-side the head for blocking his view or simply breathing.

He was exactly the kind of guy that scared the shit out of me. Wide shouldered, muscular, casually scary, tattooed, and stunning, he made my stomach flip with both lust and terror. If he ever showed interest in me, I'd both shiver with excitement and likely wet my pants.

While Hot Guy was bad news, Sweetie Pie was more my style. He looked like the kind of guy I could marry. We would have a few kids, a dog, maybe a cat. We would spend our weekends fixing up the house and yard while the kids played. We'd have a routine of a family meal out on Saturdays or when kids ate free. Then after the kids wore themselves out from a day of play, hubby and I would enjoy dull un-terrifying sex and fall asleep thinking about our taxes.

Anyone else would find this fantasy lame, but I always got myself a little hot and bothered imagining it. A safe, calm life with a man who loved me in a safe, calm way. Sweetie Pie would never gamble away our Christmas money. He would never forget my birthday. Although he might need hinting to remember our anniversary. He was the kind of guy who wanted to buy himself lots of electronic toys, but wouldn't if the kids might lose out on getting something great from Santa. 

Sweetie Pie was boring to some, but he was the kind of guy who wouldn't make me cry or fear his moods. He was the kind of guy I would enjoy in my life as a teacher, mom, and wife. I was a good person and deserved to have my simple dreams come true.

Once class began, the Spanish instructor Manuel kept smiling at me. He smiled at everyone in the front rows and pretty much ignored the rest of the class that likely wasn't paying attention anyway. The girls whispered about upcoming parties, stoner still thought someone lurked behind him, sleepy guy barely stirred during class, and Hot Guy looked bored whenever I casually glanced back at him.

No, Manuel knew his audience, and he worked hard to make Sweetie Pie, me, and a dark skinned girl feel comfortable. He helped us try a few phrases and didn't get mad when I would only whisper my answers.

After class as I walked the half mile to the bus stop, I suspected Spanish would be my favorite class. The day went exactly how I imagined. Feeling special to attend New Hampton, I smiled about how my future wasn't so unattainable anymore.

So many nights I cried in the dark and worried my dream was the stupid fantasy of a poor kid hoping for too much. Now my dreams were coming true, and I'd help them come true for Tawny too. Life wouldn't be a mess of dependency and violence like with my parents. Life would be safe, dull, and happy.

Still thinking about my future, I dressed in the Denny's uniform. I'd taken my first waitressing job when I was twelve. Using fake documents, I worked at an I-HOP in Colorado. Dad had trouble getting legit jobs after he served time for theft back in his early twenties. Mom had trouble getting legit jobs when she showed up for interviews stoned. I never minded working for the family in the summers, but spending six hours working at night on top of schoolwork made me resentful.

Having plenty of good references from the jobs I worked legally, I never found it difficult to get a shot from managers. They said I had an honest face. A lot of girls in my high schools didn't want to waitress. They frowned at the uniforms and thought it was cooler to work at the GAP or somewhere else in the mall. Discounts for overpriced clothes were useless to me. I wanted cash and made it with my tips. Without those tips, I wouldn't be in college now. That was the deal Dad made with me when I was fifteen and complained about being the only one working. His first solution was to get Tawny a job, but she looked her age and most places checked her documents too closely.

His second solution was to take my pay, but let me keep the tips for college. I opened an account in a bank and deposited my tips every day because keeping cash around a motel wasn't safe. At the very least, I had to worry about my dad's sticky fingers.

Unsure how a Denny's in a college town would rate when it came to tips; I made five dollars in two hours. Half was from college kids who tipped me in quarters. The other half was from an older regular who bossed me around a lot and was really particular. Smiling a lot, I gave him what he wanted and he tipped me well. Especially considering he only spent four dollars.

The other waitresses were broken down between the pros and the college brats. I overheard one of the pros tell another one how I was the newest night shift brat. They made wagers on how lazy I'd be. The other night shift brat was exactly what they were expecting. Piper frequently disappeared into the bathroom where I suspected she was texting. I kept an eye on her tables, cleaned whenever I wasn't working, and constantly checked the ketchup levels in the bottles.

Despite what my family thought, kissing ass wasn't shameful. While Dad's side of the family would especially disagree, most of them couldn't keep a job for more than a few months. In fact, they were often fired for texting in the bathroom.



       
         
       
        

At eight, while I was wiping the other brat's empty tables, Hot Guy from Spanish class showed up alone. He carried a bag and strolled to a corner table to plug in his laptop. The spot he chose was Piper's table, but I didn't know where she was so I decided to help out. I also wanted to talk to Hot Guy, but that was neither here nor there.

"Root beer," he said, without looking up.

Maybe it was best if he didn't look at me. Wearing a black shapeless shirt and slacks with ugly shoes, I barely wore makeup, having wiped off much of it when I sweated on the walk to work.

Even if I had looked good, I probably didn't want Hot Guy checking me out. He was the type of guy who didn't do white picket fences or potlucks. He probably didn't know who Paula Deen was and wouldn't want kids until he was too old to bang jailbait any longer. Not much older than me, he had a long way to go be-fore settling down out of necessity and playing tattooed family man with his twenty-year-old biker babe wife named Bambi.

"Do you know what you'd like?" I asked, torn between wanting him to pay attention to me and hoping he never looked up.

The moment I leaned fully into hoping he wouldn't notice me, Hot Guy looked up. His brown eyes were such a rich color that I felt both drawn and repelled by their darkness. No matter the beauty of those eyes, his gaze possessed the kind of directness common with assholes. They didn't look at people, but through them. They knew extensive eye contact was viewed as a challenge, and they didn't give a shit. They enjoyed making people uncomfortable and watching girls squirm.