About an hour later, a boy rushes through the door, half running into the kitchen and yelling, “I know, I know, I’m late, goddamn car wouldn’t start, but I’m here, I’m on it.”
“Don’t swear in front of the customers,” Sam chides him.
“Like they give a fuck,” the boy mutters under his breath. He looks toward one of the booths with a wide smile. “Hi, Sally!”
I swivel the stool around to see an older woman waving at him cheerily. When I turn back to the counter, the boy is staring at me with frightening intensity.
And that’s when it hits me.
This is the boy. The boy who was with Noah at Kristen’s party.
“Why the hell is she here?” he asks.
I’m frozen in place. All I can do is stare back at him, my stomach in my throat.
“That’s Chelsea,” Sam explains. “She’s—”
“I know who she is,” he snaps. He hasn’t taken his eyes off me for a second. “I’m asking what she’s doing here.”
Oh, God. Oh, God, I might actually throw up. This is too much.
“Andy, come on. Be cool, okay?” Sam assures him. He puts his hand on Andy’s back and gives him a little shove. “Go ring up the customers. I just boxed their order. It’s cool.”
The look on Andy’s face tells me it is anything but cool. But after a lingering second he tears his piercing stare off me and moves to the register at the other end of the counter.
I gaze down at my open textbook, my eyes blurring with unshed tears. My breath comes out all shaky and uneven. I can’t even be justifiably upset at his reaction—Andy has every right to hate me. I’m fuzzy on some of the details, but when the cops interviewed me, they did say he was inside the convenience store when Warren and Joey pulled Noah out of that car.
If he’d been there—if he hadn’t gone inside—it could’ve just as easily been him. It could’ve been even worse.