Brody sighs. “Okay. Well, I’ll see you around then. Let me know if you want to do something, okay?”
“I will,” I say with a fake smile.
I’m not sure I will. I mean, Brody was my best friend for a long time, but lately we’ve been drifting further apart. He’s changed so much. I don’t know if I even want to spend more time with him.
“Yeah, I really have to go,” Hunter suddenly says.
When I turn to look at him I see him staring at a bunch of guys near the fence. They’re the same guys as last time, one of them the usual flowerpot hairdo. That guy Brody knows, too.
I wonder what Hunter’s doing with them. Were they involved in the fight? They must’ve been.
I don’t understand why he’s hanging out with them or what they want from him. One thing’s for sure, though: nothing good can come from it.
“See ya, Leafy,” he says, as he signals the guys.
“The name’s Autumn!” I shout after him, but he ignores me.
Chapter 8
Fight or Flight
I’m working in a Denny’s joint, selling customers sloppy burgers and cleaning their tables after they’re done. It’s an ungrateful job, with people whining for more sauce and complaining about the taste, which I have no control over, but it pays the bills. And I so need the money.
I work hard to make enough money so I can survive on campus. It’s not the most ideal job, but I’m happy I managed to snag it. I need it badly. There isn’t any other way to compensate for the lack of funds.
My parents do their best to support me. They raised me well, put all their savings in a bank account and gave it all to me so I could go to college. I can’t even begin to explain to them how grateful and happy I feel to have them as my parents.
Even if they’re poor.
They tried to give me as much as they could. They did everything for me. And they mean the world to me.
The only way I know how to thank them is by working hard. Their hard-earned money goes into my education, and I want to make sure they did the right thing. I study harder than anyone else I know, and I make sure my grades are top notch.
I don’t want to disappoint them. Not ever.
I need to make sure I graduate, find a good job, and make enough money so that I can support them. I want to give them back what they gave to me, and this is the only way to do it.
I want to help them. I want to give back to them.
So I’m glad as hell that I have this stinking job as a waitress in a sloppy burger joint.
Besides, working here lets me think of something other than homework for once in a while.
My hands hurt, and I’m tired, but I won’t stop serving customers and cleaning tables. I don’t want my boss to fire me, so I do my best and put up my biggest smile as I hand over the cash to one of the customers.
As day turns into night it gets harder to keep my eyes wide open. I have to, though. I’ve been watching a group of smug guys for some time now. They’re sitting in the corner of the restaurant, ordering burger after burger while throwing all their trash on the floor. Scary, nasty bunch.
Some of them have tattoos, others scars, and some of them even have shaved heads. Their clothes are ragged and the shirts they’re wearing have murderous phrases written all over them, probably from the lyrics of a song that would make me scream.
Just looking at them makes me feel icky.
When they finish eating they burp out loud and scare away the other customers with nasty jokes. My manager is in the back and doesn’t see what they’re doing. Throwing around food and wrappings isn’t my idea of having a nice time with your friends, but I guess there are real jerks out there who like that kind of stuff.
I stare at the clock and let out a sigh of relief when I realize it’s finally past my time. “You can go, Autumn. Thanks for working your ass off today,” my manager says.
“Thanks,” I say, and he hands me a few dollars.
“For your trouble. I know how hard it is,” he says with a wink.
I blush. “Thanks … But you don’t need to do that.” I want to push it back into his hand, but he clenches my hand together.
“Keep it. I won’t take no for an answer.” He smiles and I smile back. “I’ll close on my own. You go get some rest,” he says.
“Thanks. I appreciate it. See you,” I say.
I put on my coat and walk into the restaurant. There’s only one exit, and it’s in the front, so I’ll have to pass that annoying group of guys. As I walk past them, my heart rate elevates, because I feel like they’re dangerous. Guys like those are frightening. Too impulsive. Too worked up. Especially when they’re around friends.