by R. L. Stine
chapter 7
Chelsea mopped the counter halfheartedly with a wet cloth. She glanced through the open window into the kitchen. No one there. Ernie, the brawny, tattooed fry cook, must have stepped out back for a smoke.
I hate working here without Dad around, Chelsea thought. Come to think of it, I hated working here when he was around. She sighed. At least the job paid her enough for some new clothes and an occasional CD.
After four days Mr. Richards was still in intensive care at Shadyside General, but the doctors were encouraged by his progress. Chelsea glanced up at the pink-and-blue neon clock. Twenty to seven, nearly closing time. If she hurried, she’d be able to see her dad at the hospital before visiting hours ended at seven-thirty.
She let her eyes roam slowly over the empty coffee shop. It was kind of scary being alone in there. What if those three creeps came back?
“Hey—Ernie?” she called, suddenly frightened. Ernie was big and very tough looking. He’d protect her if there was any trouble. But where was he?
“Ernie?”
No reply. He must still be back in the alley, she realized.
The big stainless-steel refrigerator clicked on loudly, startling her. She decided to think about Will, the new guy at school, to help pass the time.
So far, neither she nor Will had managed to get a real conversation going. Chelsea had rehearsed and rehearsed what she was going to say to him. She had imagined countless conversations, playing both parts in her mind.
In her mind their conversations were easy and fun. They kidded each other and laughed at each other’s jokes.
But when she was actually sitting beside him in homeroom in the morning, she panicked. Or Mr. Carter had a full page of announcements to read. Or Will was busily writing in a notebook. Or it just didn’t seem to be the right time.
He had smiled at her several times, and even said good morning twice and asked how she was doing. But then he returned to his notebook or a book he was reading.
He’s never going to ask me out, Chelsea thought dispiritedly.
Despite this slow start to their relationship, she found herself thinking about him a lot. Even while practicing the saxophone, she sometimes pictured his shy smile, his dark, soulful eyes.
She was imagining a conversation with him when the door swung open and two tough teenagers swaggered in, their eyes nervously surveying the empty restaurant.
One of them was big and wide, with his blond hair shaved so close to his head it was like peach fuzz. The other was lean and lanky with a pockmarked face and an unpleasant grin. Both were wearing faded jeans and, despite the autumn cold, only T-shirts with the names of heavy metal groups emblazoned across the fronts.
Gripped with sudden fear, Chelsea stepped back from the counter, edging her way to the kitchen. “Ernie?” she called in a frightened whisper.
No reply.
I can’t believe we’re being robbed again, she thought, her back against the wall, her eyes searching the two thugs, trying to determine if they were carrying weapons.
The cash register contained less than fifty dollars, she knew. They’re not going to hurt me for that amount of money, are they?
She decided she’d give them the money, hand it over without a word of protest.
Once again she pictured her father arguing with the three toughs just days before, trying to fend them off, trying to block their way to the cash register.
If he hadn’t resisted, if he hadn’t tried to fight them, if he hadn’t tried to block their way to the cash register, they probably wouldn’t have hit him, Chelsea told herself.
I’m not going to be brave, Chelsea decided. I’m going to be as cooperative as I can.
Having made certain that the coffee shop was deserted, the two young men stepped up to the cash register. “You all alone here?” the lean one asked Chelsea, his grin in place but his eyes tense.
“No,” Chelsea said, trying to keep her voice steady. “I’m not alone.”
The two creeps exchanged glances and laughed.
“We’re just about to close up now,” Chelsea said, her voice trembling despite her determination not to sound frightened. She raised her eyes to the clock. Ten to seven.
“Just about?” the skinny one asked.
They laughed again.
“What can I get you?” Chelsea asked.
“You’re kind of cute in a way,” the big one said, scratching his fuzzy blond head. His partner’s grin grew wider.
“Really. We’re closing now,” Chelsea said, feeling her throat tighten. Her mouth felt dry as cotton.
“Yeah. You’re the cutest thing in here,” the big one said, resting a meaty hand on the counter just a few inches from the cash register. He stared into her eyes, waiting for her to react.
“What do you want?” Chelsea asked, more of a plea than a question.
“Well …” the big one started. Then he and his partner exchanged glances and giggled again.
Chelsea’s heart thudded in her chest. If they’re going to rob me, why don’t they just do it and get it over with? she thought impatiently.
“Well, what do we want?” the big one asked, smirking at Chelsea.
“Good question,” his partner added.
“What time did you say you get off work?” the big one asked, leaning over the counter, his face close to Chelsea’s.
Her terror choked her.
What are they going to do?
Aren’t they going to rob the store and leave?
Why are they asking me these questions? Why are they grinning at me like that?
“When do you get off?” the big one repeated.
Chelsea stared up at the clock. She opened her mouth to say something, to tell them to leave, to get out, to stop frightening her.
Before she could utter a sound, the door swung open and another boy stepped into the brightly lit restaurant.
He walked quickly up the narrow aisle beside the counter, his hands at his sides. It took Chelsea a minute to recognize him. She had seen him only once before.
“Sparks!” she cried.
Then she hesitated.
Is Sparks with them? she wondered.
No.
The two toughs reacted with surprise as Sparks made his way into the restaurant. He stopped at the end of the counter and stared back at them, his powerful-looking arms tensed, his hands at his sides, his dark eyes staring from one to the other.
“You still open?” Sparks asked Chelsea.
“Just closing,” Chelsea replied softly. She didn’t move.
“Can I get a cup of coffee?” Sparks asked, staring at the two toughs.
“Okay,” Chelsea said. She stepped toward the coffee machine.
“Later,” the big guy said. He and his partner exchanged glances. Chelsea noticed that the smile had finally faded from the lean one’s face.
“Yeah. Later,” the lean one said, trying to make the words sound menacing.
They turned and ambled slowly past Sparks and out the restaurant.
Chelsea didn’t move until the door had closed behind them. She breathed a loud sigh of relief and collapsed against the counter as she watched them walk away.
“Were they holding you up?” Sparks asked. He had taken a seat on the counter stool at the far end.
“Yes. I mean, I don’t know. I’m not sure,” Chelsea said shakily. Holding the coffeepot over the white china cup, she struggled to keep her hand steady as the coffee splashed into the cup.
When she set the cup down in front of him on the counter, she noticed him studying her with his dark eyes, his expression serious and thoughtful.
She slid a small stainless-steel pitcher of milk toward him. “They were acting real tough. I don’t know what they were going to do. Rob me, I guess.”
She pulled off the apron and bundled it up. He took a sip of the coffee, black, his eyes still on her.
She tossed the rolled-up apron into the corner. “They seemed to be afraid of you,” she said, sm
iling uneasily.
“They should be,” Sparks replied. He stared down at the coffee cup.
What does he mean by that? Chelsea wondered. Is he making a joke? Or is he serious?
His expression didn’t reveal any answer.
He took another sip of coffee, steam rising above his black hair, then quickly disappearing into the lights. “Dangerous around here,” he said, still avoiding her eyes.
What was he trying to say? Was he just making a comment? Or was he trying to warn her?
Chelsea heard scraping sounds from the kitchen. She turned to see Ernie, the fry cook, cleaning off the grill, a stub of a cigarette stuck between his teeth. “Time to knock off?” he called out to her in his gruff rasp of a voice.
“Yeah,” Chelsea told him. “I’ll close up.”
Sparks took a long sip of coffee. Chelsea waited for him to say something, but he appeared lost in thought.
She wanted to say something to him, to thank him for saving her from the two grinning toughs, to keep the conversation going. But her shyness interfered. She couldn’t think of anything to say.
Is he going to ask me out again? she wondered.
If he does, will I say yes?
She realized she was frightened of him and drawn to him at the same time.
Why can’t I think of anything to say? Why can’t I just say something? Why is it so easy for other girls, girls like Nina, and so hard for me?
These questions flashed through her mind as she stared at him from behind the counter, her eyes studying his dark, serious face.
“Need a refill?” she asked, clearing her throat first.
He shook his head. “No. Thanks.”
Ernie came out of the kitchen, his jacket slung over his muscular arm. “See you tomorrow,” he said, giving her a little nod, then turning his eyes on Sparks.
“Okay. Bye,” Chelsea said and watched Ernie go out the door.
I’m alone with Sparks now, she realized.
The thought sent a small, cold shiver down her back.
Sparks took a final sip of the coffee, pushed the cup away, and dropped a dollar onto the counter.
Is he going to say something? Chelsea wondered. Is he going to ask me out again?
I’ll say yes, Sparks, she thought, trying to send brain waves from her mind to his. I’ll say yes.
He pushed himself up, his big biceps bulging. Standing, he flashed her a shy smile. “Thanks.”
“Welcome,” she said, reaching for the cup.
“See you,” he said. His sneakers moved silently over the linoleum floor. He left without looking back. The door closed quietly behind him.
Chelsea’s shoulders slumped forward. She sighed, disappointed, and dropped the coffee cup into the dirty dish tray.
Her mind whirred. She felt terribly mixed up. As she made one final inspection, turning out the lights as she went, she realized she was disappointed. And relieved.
A few minutes later she stepped outside into a cold, clear night. She carefully locked the front door and pulled the metal grate across it, as she had seen her father do. Then she hurried to the hospital to see how he was doing.
A few blocks from the coffee shop, Sparks pulled open the door to his third-floor walkup apartment and stepped into the cramped living room without turning on any lights. Closing the door left him in near darkness; only pale yellow light drifted in through the window from a streetlight just below.
Pacing the small, hot room, he slammed a fist repeatedly into his open palm. After a few minutes he uttered an angry cry, continuing to pace like an agitated zoo animal.
Why didn’t I ask her out? he asked himself.
Why didn’t I do it? I wanted to. I planned to.
Why did I just sit there like a jerk, sipping that bitter coffee?
We were all alone. All alone.
Why did I blow this opportunity?
What’s wrong with me?
Furious with himself, he jerked the phone off the table, pulled the cord out of the wall, and heaved the phone with all his might against the window.
The glass shattered noisily. But he couldn’t hear it over the angry roar in his brain.
chapter 8
The next day after school Chelsea slammed her locker shut and checked down the crowded, noisy corridor for Nina. It took her a while to spot her friend. A stray dog, a large German shepherd frantically waving its tail, had wandered into the school. A crowd had gathered around it, blocking the hallway. The dog was barking loudly, the sound echoing off the walls.
What’s the big deal about a dog? Chelsea wondered. Everyone’s acting as if it’s the most exciting thing that ever happened!
A couple of kids were leading it to the principal’s office, not an easy task since the dog had no collar. A crowd of kids followed behind it.
Finally Chelsea spotted Nina standing at her locker, her blue wool coat in her hands, staring back at her.
“Hey—Nina!” Chelsea made her way through the still-buzzing hall. She had decided to ask her friend’s advice about Sparks and Will.
Mainly she wanted to ask, How can I get one of them to ask me out?
But to her surprise, Nina’s expression was glum, her eyes red rimmed as if she’d been crying. “Hey—what’s wrong?” Chelsea asked, slinging her backpack onto her other shoulder.
“It’s that stupid Doug,” Nina said angrily. She slammed her locker door shut, pushing it so hard the door bounced back open.
“What’s with Doug?” Chelsea asked.
“I saw him at lunch,” Nina replied unhappily, “talking with Suki Thomas.”
“I don’t know her,” Chelsea said, turning her eyes up the hall where the big barking dog was fleeing the group of kids chasing after him. “But what’s wrong with him talking to someone?”
“It’s the way he was talking,” Nina said, slamming her locker door again. This time it stayed shut.
Chelsea started to say something, but the dog came flying by just then, its paws sliding across the hard tile floor, its eyes wild and excited.
“Let it go! Open the door and let it go!” someone was yelling.
At the end of the hall someone pushed open the double doors, and still slipping and sliding, the grateful dog bounded outside and disappeared.
A happy cheer rang through the hall. After a few more minutes of laughter and excited buzzing, kids pulled on their coats, picked up their books, and started to leave.
“I want to tell you about this boy who came into the restaurant a couple of times,” Chelsea said, jostled by two guys in hockey uniforms, carrying hockey sticks, trying to squeeze past her.
Nina turned the combination lock on her locker, making sure it was locked, then she remembered a book she needed. With a frustrated groan she started turning the combination wheel again.
“He’s sort of tough looking,” Chelsea continued. “His name is Tim Sparks, but he says everyone calls him Sparks. He seems moody. I mean, sort of angry. But maybe he’s just shy or something. The first time he came into the restaurant, he asked me out. But I didn’t say anything. I mean, we were interrupted. By my dad. So then—”
“I just don’t believe Doug,” Nina interrupted. Her face was hidden by the open locker door. She was squatting down on her knees, searching for the book on the floor of the locker. “I mean, Suki Thomas is such a tramp.”
“Anyway, I think he’s kind of interesting,” Chelsea continued. But then she stopped. She realized she was wasting her breath. “You haven’t heard a word I said,” she accused Nina.
Nina climbed to her feet and closed the locker door. “Huh?” She wrinkled her forehead in consternation. “Sorry, Chelsea. I was thinking about something else.” And then her eyes grew wide. “Hey, there he is. Hey—Doug!” she called. “Doug, wait up!”
Struggling to shove her books into her backpack, she hurried down the hall to catch up with her boyfriend.
Feeling let down and disappointed, Chelsea stood staring after Nina for a while. Then she clo
sed Nina’s locker for her, made sure it was locked, and trudged toward the front door of the high school.
Nina’s a good friend—when Doug isn’t around, she thought unhappily. But when he’s around, I’m invisible.
She was a few steps from the door when a hand touched her shoulder. Startled, she stopped abruptly and twisted back.
It was Will Blakely.
His cheeks were bright pink, and he was smiling shyly. His black hair was poking out from under a navy blue Dodgers cap. He was carrying a large looseleaf binder and one textbook under the arm of his black and tan wool jacket.
“Hi,” he said, his smile growing wider.
“Oh. Hi,” Chelsea replied. “How are you?” He shrugged. “Okay.”
“That’s not a Shadyside jacket,” Chelsea said, pointing.
What a dumb comment, she thought. Of course it’s not a Shadyside jacket. Nothing like saying the obvious.
“It’s—uh—from my old school.”
“Where was that?” she asked, shifting her backpack on her shoulders.
“Down South,” Will said, staring past her. “You doing anything?” He continued to avoid her eyes.
“I was just going home,” Chelsea said. Two kids from their homeroom pushed past them, waving as they headed out the door. “I have to go to work in a couple of hours.”
“Oh.” His face filled with disappointment. “Then I guess you don’t have time to take a walk.”
“Oh. Sure. Sure, I do,” Chelsea replied excitedly. “A walk would be nice. It’s a pretty day.”
She peered out through the doors as some kids opened them. Clouds had covered the sun. The sky was overcast and gray. “I guess it was a nice day,” she said, giggling.
“Oh. You don’t want to go?” he asked.
He’s worse than I am, she thought.
That thought cheered her.
“Let’s go,” she said. “Shadyside Park is behind the school. Have you been there?”
He shook his head, then followed her toward the back of the building. They walked through the long corridors without saying a thing.
It was colder outside than Chelsea had thought. A gusting wind made it feel more like winter than autumn. She stopped to zip her jacket up to the collar. Then they walked side by side past the teacher parking lot, past the baseball and soccer fields, and into the broad, tree-filled park that stretched behind the school.