GREED(104)

I stood and took a shower in my three-by-three-foot bathroom, brushed my teeth before dressing in my uniform of jeans and a t-shirt. I grabbed my starched apron and keys and left, locking the door behind me.

I left my truck with my mom and Bridge, but got a place close enough to campus that I could walk without any issues. I passed a guy I remembered from my freshman year and waved. He looked surprised I’d done so but waved back. It made me think of the impression I gave off when I was here as the “other” Spencer.

The little coffee shop had an outside kiosk during the warmer months, so I was assigned to it since it didn’t get quite as busy as the shop inside the campus. I was greeted by a senior named Jason. He showed me the ropes, taught me how to make the more difficult drinks, where the supplies could be found and everything else. I could run the kiosk by myself just with an hour’s worth of training.

After he showed me the entire kiosk and their procedures, he leaned against the counter.

“Is there nothing else to do?” I asked him.

“Nothing, man, just chill and wait for people is all.”

Coming from the grueling day-to-day of the ranch made it feel like I was being lazy just setting back.

“Wait a minute,” he said, snapping his fingers. “I know you.”

“You do?”

“Hell yeah, you’re that rich bastard who takes all the girls.” He narrowed his gaze at me. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I’m, uh, I’m not rich,” I laughed.

“Bullshit. You’re filthy rich, dude. I saw the cars you drove around here.”

I held up my hands. “I need to clarify. I was just using my dad’s money and he cut me off.”

“Oh, shit! Got in deep with daddy, huh?” he ribbed. “What? He made you slum it with us lowlies to teach you a lesson?”

“Nah,” I said, ignoring his attempt at getting a rise out of me. “It’s a little more complicated.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I told him and relayed everything that had happened to me during the past six months, since we had the time.

When I was done, the guy’s mouth gaped wide open.

“What?” I asked, uncomfortable.

“That’s harsh, dude. What he did to you is messed up.”

“Nah, I helped a lot of people and changed myself in the process.”

“That’s pretty righteous.”

“Thanks.”

When my first shift was over, I yanked off my apron, folded it and stuck it in my back pocket. I cut toward College Hill and stopped in at Louis Restaurant for some dinner. Although I had always loved the place, I found myself wanting the ridiculous food of the ranch. I looked up from my seat and called it what it was. Homesick. I was homesick something awful for Cricket.

I sat back and recalled all the times I made myself memorize her, utterly grateful that I had. Vanilla. Grapefruit. Clever smiles. Ballet walks. Swishing hips. Witty conversation. Humble attitude. Talented. All-around perfect. I sighed, leaving my food as it was and left enough for a generous tip.

I walked home, determined to trudge through it all, determined to give the Hunts a life free of any drama, and that was not going to happen if my dad had anything to say about it.

The night air felt thick. It was starting to get really warm and humid and I was ready for school to start, ready for the distraction. Summer bugs began chirping in the trees on my walk home. I studied the sidewalk, wishing it was field and snow.

I swung open the iron gate to my complex and let it slam shut behind me. I descended the walkway that led to my door and pulled my keys out of my front pocket. I swung them in my fingers, whistling “Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots.”

“That’s my jam,” someone beside me said.

I stopped walking, my keys dropping to the sidewalk below me. My heart started racing.

“You like The Flaming Lips?” I asked her, the same question I had that day she delivered the calf.

She sat on the retaining wall in front of my apartment, one knee against her chest, and watched me. She made my blood furiously pump through my veins. I wanted to seize her.

“Why did you go?” she asked.

“I had to.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“My dad won’t stop trying to destroy me, Cricket, and he’ll take down everyone in my path, including your family.”

“You are my family, Spencer.”

My eyes closed at her drugging words.

“Did you mean it?” she asked, holding up my crinkled letter. It looked so worn, like she’d read it over and over.

“Every. Word.”

“Come here,” she said.

I walked toward her.

She had a soft canvas bag beside her. She reached her hand inside and pulled her hand out. Perched on her palm was the sculpture of the three little birds. On a ribbon of metal, it read “Smile with the risin’ sun.”