“I’m serious. The apron cinches you in at the waist and accentuates your curves. I’d kill for half your boobs.” She grabbed her own admittedly smaller boobs and looked down at her modest cleavage. The table of college guys started squawking and carrying on, nudging each other like a flock of seagulls.
We all rolled our eyes at them.
“What are you guys doing here?” I asked, changing the topic.
“We went shopping after school and thought we’d grab dinner before heading home,” Donna said, perusing the menu.
“Oh, OK. What can I get you?” I pulled my pen and pad out of my apron pocket, fighting to keep my smile from shaking. I knew they did things without me, had their own lives—how could they not when we went to different schools and had other social circles? Or rather, they had other people they hung out with. I was just alone all the time. It still hurt to be reminded of it.
“You mentioned you were working tonight, so we thought we’d come see you,” Harlow added. My smile became more genuine.
“I’ll have the cheeseburger with a side of fries and a strawberry milkshake, and do you guys wanna share the loaded nachos?” Amaya looked up to find us all staring at her. “What?” She dropped the menu and crossed her arms. “I’m fucking hungry.”
I had no idea how that amount of food would even fit into her tiny stomach, but I recovered first. “Hey, no judgment. The nachos are really good.”
The others ordered, and Donna asked when my break was. I put their order in and, when it was ready, told Chelsea I was taking my break and went to sit with them for a little while.
I stole some of their nachos, Amaya playfully batting my hand back, but the ding of the bell over the door yanked my attention away.
Jayden’s dad walked into the diner in a suit but no tie, the top few buttons of his shirt undone. He was off the clock.
He paused at the door and scanned the room, then smiled and walked forward when he spotted someone. Chelsea. I frowned, completely tuning out the girls as I focused on their exchange.
She smiled widely, as if he’d just handed her a million dollars and not a folded-up scrap of paper. She slipped the paper into her apron pocket, and they spoke briefly before Boyd extended his hand. Chelsea took it, and he covered her hand with his other one, holding on for an inappropriately long time while leaning in to speak into her ear.
Then, as unexpectedly as he’d appeared, he walked back out the door.
What the hell was going on? Was Chelsea having an affair with Jayden’s dad? My stomach rolled at the thought. He was at least fifteen years older than her, but it would explain her sudden good mood and positive outlook. Was he even married though? I’d never cared to learn about Jayden’s family life.
“Earth to Mena!” Harlow waved a hand in front of my face as the others laughed.
“Huh? Sorry!” I snapped out of it. I had enough problems of my own to worry about, and I didn’t want to waste what time I had left with my friends thinking about anyone with the last name Burrows.
We talked shit, discussed the latest episode of the webtoon we were all reading, ranked the college guys in order of hotness. My break was over way too soon, but it was nice to spend time with them and feel normal for half an hour.
“I would’ve said to just hang out with your friends, Philly, but . . .” Chelsea smiled apologetically as she picked up two plates from the servery.
“It’s all good.” I waved her off. A few more people had come in for dinner, and we really couldn’t slack off anymore.
The girls hung around a bit longer, then came to say goodbye when there was a lull.
“It was so nice to see you guys.” I held on to them each a little longer than I had saying hello. I hated saying goodbye, even though I knew I didn’t mean as much to them as they meant to me.
“Same. Come over on the weekend.” Harlow bounced on the spot, her big headphones jostling on her chest.
“Yeah, we can have another pool sesh before the weather turns to shit.” Donna rolled her eyes.
“I gotta work.” I huffed. The weather was already getting cold. Fall was beginning to turn the leaves golden, and I needed a cardigan to sit out on the balcony in the evenings.
“What about during the week?” Amaya asked.
“Homework, and I don’t have a car . . .” I couldn’t get to their place on the nice side of town without a car, and my parents were never home early enough to drive me.
“God, I keep forgetting. I’m such a bitch.” Donna looked guilty. “We’ll come pick you up one night. We’ll sort it out later, OK? Get back to work.”
“Sounds good. I can tell you about this guy I’ve been talking to.”
“What?!” Amaya stopped midturn and faced me again. “Way to bury the lede.”
“Yeah, we’ve been here all night, and you only mention this now?” Harlow whacked me on the arm.
Donna’s eyes just sparkled, her smile brilliant and greedy. She wagged a finger in my face. “You’re not getting away with this. There will be questions, missy. So many questions.”
“And I will provide answers,” I promised. “But I really gotta get back to work. Bye!”
I rushed away without waiting for a response. When I looked over my shoulder, Donna was dragging the other two out the door as they glared at me.
I held in a laugh and went to clear a table. It was nice to have them so interested in something going on with me—even if it was more because of the boy-related gossip than anything else. But as my shift came to a close, I started to worry about what exactly I would tell them. “Oh, I started talking to him on my balcony, and he goes to my school, and I’ve seen him (he’s really hot, BTW—way out of my league), but he has no idea what I look like. Also, we’ve kissed. Also, I’m pretty sure I’m falling in love with him.”
Fuck my life . . .
The next time I saw Turner, the sight of his broad shoulders, encased in a dark gray hoodie, stopped me in my tracks before I made it around the corner. I’d spent so much time silently observing him I’d know his build, his mannerisms, anywhere.
I just wasn’t expecting to see him at the bottom of the back stairs in the dingy end of the English and humanities wing. The last two classrooms had busted windows or other issues and weren’t even used. I went out of my way to take these stairs from time to time to avoid bumping into Madison and her friends, or Jayden and his friends. I could count on one hand the number of people I’d seen in this part of the school.
“Just tell me what to do to prove . . . please!” I missed half of what he said as I silently plastered myself against the wall, tightly gripping the strap of my bag.
I was about to walk away, risk the main stairs, but the desperation in his voice kept me glued to the spot.
“. . . that simple.” The small voice that responded was female. Now I definitely wasn’t going anywhere.
“OK, then how about—” Turner’s ocean-deep voice had some ripples in it now, but a sharp shush cut him off.
He resumed talking, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying.
I chewed on my bottom lip and tried to make myself walk away, but curiosity got the better of me. I took a deep breath and leaned around the corner.
Turner had shifted against the railing, revealing the person beyond: the sad little girl from the library the other day.
Jayden’s little sister? What the actual fuck?
He was holding his hands out, palms up, as if he was pleading with her . . . or maybe threatening her? Her arms were wrapped around her waist, her head hanging. She looked so vulnerable—especially next to Turner’s height and strength. He was easily twice her size.
Why the hell was he talking to a freshman in an abandoned part of the school, making her look as though she might burst into tears at any moment?
It killed me to even consider that the sweet, funny guy I was falling for wasn’t who I thought he was, but I couldn’t just stand there and do nothing . . . even though that’s what all my classmates had done for year
s as I’d endured Madison’s and Jayden’s torture.
I was about to bust my cover. He’d know who I was as soon as I opened my mouth. He’d had nothing to focus on but my voice for weeks.
I didn’t care.
I took a step around the corner, but Turner beat me to it. He leaned down and whispered something to Jenny, his big hand engulfing her delicate shoulder, then rushed away up the stairs.
Jenny lifted her face to the ceiling and sighed, unshed tears glistening on her lashes. She lowered her head and immediately spotted me.
Her eyes widened in fear—of me? Of him?
With one hand still gripping the strap of my bag, I cautiously reached the other out to her, taking small measured steps forward. “Hey, Jenny. Remember me? We met in the library the other day.”
She nodded and glanced at the stairs. The tears spilled over.
“I just want to make sure you’re OK. That looked kind of intense, and—”
“I’m fine,” she interrupted, squaring her shoulders and swiping at the tears on her face. “Just leave me alone.”
She started to move past me, and I let her, not wanting to make her feel any less safe.
“Was that guy bothering you?” That made her stop and face me again. “Did he do something to hurt you? Is he—”
“No,” she interrupted me again. “Leave him alone too. He’s just . . . just don’t say anything to anyone, OK? It’ll only make everything worse. I just . . . I need to think.”
She rushed off, leaving me standing at the bottom of the stairs, confused.
She’d seemed afraid of him when they were talking, but I’d caught only a glimpse of it. Was she just upset? Maybe he was trying to comfort her? He did look as though he was pleading with her at one point. And the way she demanded I leave him alone . . . it was fiercer than the way she’d defended herself.
Was I reading this all wrong? Or was my connection with Turner making me search for any explanation that put him in a positive light?
Mom and Dad were both working late, and I didn’t even attempt to do any homework when I got home. I dumped my bag at the foot of my bed and immediately reached for my makeup case. I needed to clear my head, calm my racing heart, get lost in the precision and focus required to execute a full face of makeup.
I set up in my room, retrieving the circle light I’d had out on the balcony all summer. It was getting too cold to sit out there at night anyway, but really, I was avoiding Turner. My phone had lit up with several messages from him, and it took a Herculean effort not to read them. In the end, I put the damn thing on silent and shut it in my bedside drawer.
I ended up doing a split-face makeup—definitely not something you’d ever wear in public but fun to experiment with. One side was fierce, with a strong brow and smoky eye, a defined deep red lip, and contouring around the cheeks—the bitch you didn’t mess with. The other half was youthful and vulnerable, with light makeup around the eyes, soft blush on the cheeks, and a gloss on the lips—the naïve young girl who needed protecting.
I was neither.
I was both.
It spoke to my confusion and conflicting feelings about the day.
I snapped a few photos and wiped it all off just before my dad walked through the front door. While he was in the shower, I started dinner, needing something to occupy my hands and my mind.
“Er . . . you feeling OK, Sweet Chilly?” He eyed the knife in my hand with wide eyes.
I gave him a withering look and got back to chopping the pepper. “Stir-fry, right?”
“I was gonna say we should get a pizza since your mom and I both worked late, but you’ve already done half the work, so sure!”
He put the rice on, and we had dinner ready in no time. Dad chattered about mundane things, asking about school and work. I managed to respond just enough to show I was listening, but half my mind was still in that stairwell with Turner and Jenny, my gut churning about what I’d seen and heard.
Obviously, I wasn’t the only one with secrets. I just couldn’t figure out if his were going to get me into trouble.
To both my parents’ astonishment, I sat on the couch with them and watched some TV for a while, then I went to bed early.
I took time with my evening routine before flopping into bed on my back, staring at the dark ceiling. With nothing left to distract me, I could no longer resist the urge to reach into my drawer and check my phone.
There were forty-eight messages in the group chat with the girls, mostly demands for more information about “the hottie you mentioned the other day.”
An anonymous message told me I’d looked like shit today and should stop making other people deal with having to look at me by just killing myself. I got out of that one quickly, but my heart still plummeted in my chest.
There were three from Turner.
The first was from barely an hour after school.
Turner: Hey, neighbor. Balcony?
The second was from about half an hour later.
T: Mena? I didn’t think you were working tonight. I miss you.
The third was sent about fifteen minutes ago.
T: Are you OK?
Was I? I supposed I was physically OK. Mentally, I was a confused mess. Emotionally? I didn’t even know where to start.
I stared at my phone, trying to think of something to say until it went dark and locked itself. I groaned and ran my hand through my hair, then rolled onto my side, unlocked it, and replied.
Mena: I’m fine. Just need to think.
His reply was instant.
T: About? Anything I can help with?
My fingers hovered over the keyboard, my gut churning. What was I supposed to say? Hey, are you doing something shady with Jayden’s little sister? It sounded insane, even in my own head, but I knew what I’d seen. I couldn’t just ignore it.
On the other hand, if there was a logical explanation and I accused him of doing something awful, I’d feel really bad.
Every time we spoke, Turner seemed to me like a good person—I just couldn’t reconcile that with how scared Jenny had looked while talking to him.
My screen went dark again, and he sent another message before I could.
T: Shit. Is it about me? About us?
M: Kind of. I don’t really know how to explain it.
T: Fuck, Mena, what did I do? Did I say something bad? The more I get to know you, the less filter I have.
M: No, you didn’t say anything or do anything to me.
But what did you do to her?
T: Then what is it? Can we talk out on the balcony? I want to hear your voice.
M: My parents just went to bed. I can’t.
T: Then can I call you?
Without waiting for a response, he did. I let it ring out and then replied.
M: They’ll hear me. I can’t talk to you right now. I just need to process some things.
T: I can’t fix anything if you don’t tell me what the issue is.
M: I don’t know if this can be fixed.
T: Fuck. You’re really scaring me.
M: I’m sorry. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. I need to get some sleep.
He didn’t reply for a long time. All I could think about was him in his bed, staring at his phone. Was he confused? Angry? Scared? Pissed off?
Maybe all of those things. I knew I was.
When he finally did respond, it was a simple “OK.”
I put my phone away and rolled onto my other side, facing the wall, as tears pricked the backs of my eyes. He was the best thing that had happened to me in a long time. But was he who I thought he was? Or was I so desperate for human interaction that I was seeing something that wasn’t there?
The next morning, I looked more like shit than usual. The lack of sleep and crying had left my eyes puffy and my nose red; even my birthmark looked worse.
Some concealer would’ve covered the imperfections, and a swipe of mascara would’ve made my eyes look more open and alert. But I just looked wistfully at
my makeup case and remembered how scratchy the fibers of that mop had felt and how the smell of bleach had choked me, and I settled for washing my face with cold water, hoping that would bring the swelling down.
Like every morning, I drank my coffee on the balcony and waited for Turner. He left later than usual—I guessed he hadn’t slept much either—his shoulders hunched, hood up, hands in pockets.
I waited until he was around the corner, then I left, pulling my own hood up and tucking my ponytail out of the way.
Most of the day passed in a blur as I went from class to class, took scattered notes that would probably make no sense later, and avoided Turner in the halls. I’d figured out his schedule—or at least which general area of the school he would be in at any point in the day. Usually I used this information to pass him in the hall, get a glimpse of him, hear his smooth, deep voice as he talked.
Today, I used it to keep as far away from him as possible.
Even Bonnie bumping into me and loudly declaring, “That was weird. I just knocked into thin air. Does anyone see anything?” didn’t make me feel as shitty as it usually did. A bunch of kids laughed as I walked away, but my mind was with Turner.
By lunch, my stomach was still churning, which meant I wasn’t even remotely hungry. But I was over feeling like shit.
School was shitty enough. I couldn’t have this hanging over my head too.
I sat down in the abandoned stairwell where I’d seen Turner talking to Jenny and got out my phone to text him.
He beat me to it.
T: Can we please talk? This is killing me.
M: Yes. I was just about to text you.
T: In person. Please. I want to talk to you.
M: Tonight? Balcony?
T: I can’t tonight. My dad needs me. Can I come meet you somewhere? Please, Mena!
M: Lunch is half-over. There’s no time.
T: I don’t care. Can’t fucking concentrate on anything anyway.
Like You Care: A Dark High School Bully Romance (Devilbend Dynasty Book 1) Page 6