One

by Mari Arden

  The applause is deafening when I'm nudged closer to Pax. The fine sheen of sweat glimmering over his back is like clear scales marking his physical exertion. Pax senses my presence and stops in mid motion. Without looking at me, he asks, "Ready?" I nod, and then I realize he can't see me.

  "Yes." I sound steady.

  I feel everyone's eyes pinned to me like a magnifying glass. I slip one leg over, and the second he feels my touch, he bucks, arching his back until he rubs against my center.

  "Wrap your legs tighter."

  I adjust myself, becoming more aware that my suspicions were right. He doesn't feel like a cardboard. He's the furthest thing from that. He's warm like an electric blanket, but this electric blanket is filled with iron, pulsing with life.

  "One… two…"

  A ripple of movement from him creates a pleasant friction between my legs. I gasp because being on top of him isn't like any sensation I've felt before. The undulated waves of skin I feel are a combination of soft and hard, slow and fast. Pax is so wide; my feet barely touch the ground as he moves. Straightening to gain a better balance, my hands clutch at his shoulders, unconsciously kneading them between my fingers.

  "Six… seven…" His voice shakes.

  I bend down to whisper in his ears. "You okay?"

  "Eight…" He pauses to whisper back, "Your hands are tickling me."

  I sit back. "Oh." Something sneaky comes over me, and my fingers find his shoulders again. I wiggle them into the space where his neck and shoulders meet.

  The crowd counts. "Nine… Ten…"

  "Hey," his even voice breaks. "Stop that." I bite my lips, but continue to let my fingers roam. "This is for charity!" he exclaims. My fingers still, but only because I feel his whole body quake. I don't want him to stop if he can still continue.

  "Eleven… twelve…"

  I pinch the skin on his back. "Spontaneous enough for you?" Something propels me to say. His low laugh is the only answer I get. We move up and then down.

  Up. And then down.

  "Sixteen… Seventeen…"

  Down.

  Up.

  I realize as I sit on top of him that my high is slowly fading. The alcohol is wearing off. I'm no longer on the peak, riding that wave, but I haven't fallen either.

  Up.

  I don't know how much that means to me until I hear myself sigh with relief.

  CHAPTER 5

  It's a gray day.

  It's always a gray day when I start something new.

  It was a gray day for my first kiss. It was a gray day for my first date. The clouds covered the skies my entire trip from Minnesota to Wisconsin. It's as if the universe hasn't made up its mind about me yet; not enough to offer encouragement like sunshine or maybe a break once in a while. It's as if it’s still waiting for me to prove myself. Like they're waiting for me to just do... something.

  I'm trying! I think with exasperation as I fumble with the hood covering my head. It's why I applied here. It's why I risked everything just to try for a normal life. Light rain falls with just enough pressure to feel each splash. A flash of lightning is seen against gray clouds. I continue walking, praying the clouds won't drop a load on me. I'm down to my last pair of tennis shoes, and I'd prefer not to walk around with wet shoes all day. I quicken my steps.

  It's only nine thirty in the morning, but I want to get to work early. I want to make a good impression. I read somewhere managers like timely employees. It was hard finding this job. I learned during countless interviews that jobs like waitressing and retail aren't just for students anymore. More and more older people are vying for the same positions, fighting for a way to feed their families. In some cases, the older adults are often more dependable, and will work harder because there's more at stake for them.

  The woman who told me that was stern. Her name was Anna and she was the manager for "Maddie's" a local restaurant and bar not too far from campus.

  "How old are you?" she asked me when I first walked up to her for a job. I'd been applying to several places all day, and it was futile but I hoped I didn't look as exhausted as I felt.

  "Eighteen."

  Her eyebrows shot up. "You don't look a day over fifteen."

  "I'm eighteen." I tried to make my small body taller. I know what she saw when she looked at me: brown-blonde hair, dull gray eyes, and small lips on top of a body too petite to be attractive.

  I tried to look friendly. I tried to smile. I tried to do everything I thought a normal eighteen-year-old would do, but it was hard to maintain my façade when all I saw was the coral on her lips, and the analysis in her eyes that reminded me too much of someone I wanted to forget.

  "You go to UW?"

  "I will, yes."

  "We're very popular with the college crowd and others during the day," she informed me. "But at night we host events for businesses. It's where we get the bulk of our money." Her eyes traveled the length of me, lingering on my short legs and small waist. "Our waitresses are the highest quality." The way she said it made me feel like I wasn't what she was looking for. Her eyes narrowed on my chest, further confirming it.

  "I'm a hard worker," I told her quietly. I folded my fingers in front of me. "You wouldn't regret it." Her gaze is cool, and continued to assess me.

  "We're only looking to fill one position and someone just got hired for it this morning," she finally told me. My heart sank, and I resisted the urge to flinch. Rejection shouldn't sting so much, but desperation makes everything hurt twice as sharp.

  "Thank you for letting me know," I say softly. "Thank you for your time." I remember to be polite. My hands fell to my side.

  "You have neat nails," she told me, nodding toward my fingers. "Short, clean, ready to work." A faint smile touched her lips. "My grandmother always said that was the difference between a wife and a gold digger."

  "Your grandmother must have been friends with my grandmother. It sounds like something she would've said." A hint of emotion in my voice betrayed me, and she nodded thoughtfully.

  "Maybe."

  There was no need for me to be here any longer. I took a deep breath, and turned to go.

  "You're hired."

  I paused, unsure I heard correctly. "What?"

  "You're hired," she repeated again, sending a dizzying relief spiraling through me. Quickly, I turned around. Her thoughtful gaze pierced me, prodding even as she already made her decision. "You start on Sunday. Don't be late."

  I stared at her, almost frozen with shock. Was she serious? I almost blurt it out, but beat the words back down at the last second, and instead say, "Thank you."

  She nodded. "This is just a trial run," she warned me. "You can be let go at any time if we feel you're not doing your job properly."

  "I understand."

  She folded her arms across her chest. "I don't like tardiness. And I don't like excuses."

  "Yes."

  "We're a reputable organization and I want it to stay that way. That means everyone is on their best behaviors at all times." Her voice turned harder. I wonder if she was remembering something.

  "I understand."

  "I hope you do." Her shrewd glance swept over me once more. "One more thing."

  "Yes?" I resisted the urge to glance toward the doorway. I wanted to leave as soon as possible in case she changed her mind again.

  "Don't grow out your nails."

  That was the first smile I felt all day.

  The memory sparks another faint grin as I spot the "Maddie's" sign. A second flash of lightning whips across the sky, lighting the sign up even brighter, like the glow of a savior.

  I can't count the number of times Grandma and I have been desperate for a job. I was four years old the first time I felt it. Hunger, the deep, bone-gnawing type where you feel like your stomach is eating itself because it's so desperate for food. It was the type of hunger where it hurt to speak about it; where it was better to suffer quietly than to remind myself of how much my stomach burned for nourishment.

/>   I got very sick. I remember because our Hispanic neighbors wanted to bring in a priest. I recall the familiar melody of Spanish, but in my haze it sounded different- frantic, insistent. I was hot and cold at the same time. I was tired and numb. I don't know how long I lay in our makeshift cot. I dreamt of dry, cracked soil that swallowed me up. I dreamt I saw my mother. She was a dark shadow I couldn't reach.

  I dreamt black eyes looked down from the sky, and my stomach disappeared until there was an empty hole where my insides used to be. A hand full of stars reached down and started to fill me with fire. I lay in flames, burning to death. When I was nothing but ashes I woke again. Grandma's cool hands palmed my forehead, and we stayed like that, connected, still alive against every odd.

  The next day we moved, and the cycle began again. We followed the harvest, traveling all over the country. During the winter months I went to school, and Grandma tried to find little jobs to tie us over. Winters were the hardest for us. By the time I was ten I'd lived in almost every state in the country. When I was twelve, we settled in Minnesota.

  At twelve I was wise beyond my years. I'd felt hunger, pain, and fatigue, even the brush of death. I didn't think there was more to feel. I thought I was numb to everything.

  I was wrong.

  My fists clench, and I stare at the Maddie's sign, desperate to engrave it in my head, to light up the black hole my memories are creating. I force myself to be motionless, to be like the trees I used to climb.

  Someone opens the door to exit, and a bell rings, jerking me from my stillness. "Excuse me," I say softly, stepping away from the person exiting.

  "No problem," a male voice answers. Suddenly, a hand clasps my arm. "Decided not to roll today, huh?"

  My gaze crashes with his. I almost take a step back when I see whom it is. Green eyes meet mine head on, and in the daytime I see the emerald color more clearly. The dark tousled hair from last night is actually black. Pax smiles and I see the dimple Nat talked about; a perfect indentation on his cheek that looks like a wink every time he flashes it.

  "Apparently rolling can be hazardous to one's health," I reply.

  "Maybe you should try riding," he suggests with a grin.

  "Been there, done that. The ride doesn't get me where I need to go." I don't hear the double meaning until both his eyebrows shoot up. His eyes are glowing with amusement when I feel a faint blush wash over my face. "Um, er, what I meant was…I was referring to the fact that we don't really move forward, just up and down-"

  "Maybe we need to try that ride again," he interrupts mischievously. "Maybe this time you'll get to… where you need to go."

  "Um-" I stammer, feeling another shade of red creep over me.

  "Maybe we'll do more than just up and down. Maybe we'll try other… positions as well."

  I swallow nervously. Now I know what it means when someone says they wish the ground would swallow them up. That's how bad I want this conversation to end right now.

  "What do you say?" he asks in a teasing tone.

  "I have to go to work," I answer honestly, shifting from one foot to the other.

  "You work here?" he sounds surprised.

  I nod in affirmation. "Today's my first day, and I'd really like to make a good impression so I should probably go."

  "Hmm." I can't read the expression on his face. Did I sound rude? "It was nice bumping into you," I add.

  "Was it nice riding me too?"

  My mouth drops open. Pax's index finger taps my chin, and my lips close. He flashes me a sheepish smile. He holds his hands up, palms facing me. "I'm sorry, I couldn't resist," he tells me.

  "Try," I reply, noticing the warm green flecks in his pupils. The corners of my lips tug further apart, wanting to break into a smile.

  "You've got the best facial expressions though. It's really hard to resist."

  I shake my head, trying to side step him, wondering why my face is itching to split into a grin. Looking at him, it's obvious he's got charisma. He probably had a normal childhood, and went on vacations every summer. He probably grew up in a house with more than one bedroom, and got to eat three meals a day. He probably doesn't know what it feels like to almost die from hunger. He probably doesn't know what hunger is. I look away.

  "I should get to work," I say.

  "Yeah, you probably should," he agrees, his gaze still focused on a part of my face.

  I'll probably never see him again so I say, "See you around."

  He lets me walk past him. "See you."

  I don't turn back.

  CHAPTER 6

  It doesn't smell like a restaurant. It smells like a fancy department store, with a mild hint of something possibly roasting. The odor is interesting and curious at the same time. My nostrils flare out. The space is larger than I remembered it being, maybe because there aren't any customers right now. I notice workers are dressed in black slacks or capris and a snug white top. I see them milling around as busy as bees. The fast rhythm is something I'm used to. For a moment, everything feels right again.

  I walk up to a waitress cleaning one of the tables. I tap her lightly on the shoulders. "Excuse me," I begin politely. She turns to look at me. Her red hair and green eyes are the first things I notice. A second later I register how beautiful she is. Suddenly, it all makes sense; the way Anna was looking at me when I applied for the job, as if there was something missing about me. Now I know what that absent piece is: jaw-dropping beauty.

  Her wide eyes blink. "Yes?" She sounds a little annoyed. I wonder how long I've been staring at her.

  "I'm looking for Anna," I tell her. She points to a black door that reads "Employees only".

  "Anna's in the office. Second door to your right."

  "Thanks," I mumble. She doesn't answer me. I feel self-conscious now as I push a loose strand of hair over one ear. My casual ponytail suddenly seems out of place. The red head I'd talked to had sported a sophisticated side braid. I push the door open and enter through a wide hallway with polished wooden floors. The first door to my left is noisy with the sounds of pots and pans being used. I go on my tiptoes and peek through the circular glass in the middle of the wide double doors. I see several people in white with chef hats moving around, oblivious to my gaze. The kitchen is large; I've never seen a kitchen that huge before. I remember Anna mentioning how the restaurant is used at night, and it makes sense that they would need a kitchen that size to cater to the parties they host.

  Stepping back, I slide my shoes over the wooden floor. I pause at the second door to my right. Taking a deep breath, I knock on the wooden door.

  "Yes?" I hear a feminine voice call out.

  "It's Julianna," I answer back.

  "Come in."

  Turning the knob, I push the door open. Anna's office isn't overly large. I see her sitting behind a half-circle desk. Her laptop is in front of her with another larger computer to her left. Shelves line the walls, and they're filled with books, and folders. She indicates the two chairs in front of her.

  "Take a seat, Julianna."

  "You can call me Jules," I offer as I move forward.

  "Jules," she repeats, watching me slide into a chair. The cushion is soft as if many people have sat there before. Her black hair is pulled into a severe bun just like the day I'd applied for this job. Her brown eyes are wide, and slightly slanted. Her sharp cheekbones make her look intimidating, and I resist the urge to look down on my lap.

  "Your papers?"

  I pull out the application packet from my backpack.

  "Technically you're already hired, but we need all the paperwork for pay roll, and for our files." I nod. "Julianna Hendricks," she reads my name out loud as she spreads the papers in front of her. I watch her eyes drift over each line of information. It's so quiet I can hear the noise from the kitchen.

  "No phone number?" she asks, breaking the silence.

  "I don't have a phone number, no." That would require having a phone, which I also don't have. As an afterthought, I add, "Why don't I gi
ve you the dorm number in case you need to get a hold of me?" I suggest.

  "That's a good idea." I recite the number to her as she pens it on the black line. There is silence again as she continues down my application. Her brows furrow. "You haven't indicated who we call in case of an emergency." Brown eyes crash into my hazel ones. I'm determined not to look away.

  "Correct. There isn't anyone to call."

  She folds her hands in front of her, leaning back. She watches me for several moments. "What about a boyfriend?" she finally asks. Against my will a picture of Braidon flashes in my head.

  "No."

  "A friend?" she presses.

  Nat's face appears in my mind, but I shake my head. I don't know her number.

  "No one?" Anna asks, pinning her eyes on me. She's like a laser, straight and unflinching. I slide uneasily in my seat.

  "No one," I confirm.

  She doesn't say anything more as she flips the page. Tense quiet. "You have not listed a reference contact."

  My fingers fumble nervously in front of me. "No."

  "Have you been employed before?"

  "Yes."

  "Is there a reason why you have not listed your previous employer?"

  Yes. My hands are shaking. I can't let my desperation show. My mind is reeling, trying to come out with a plausible explanation. "I'm a very hard worker, Anna. I can assure you that every employer I've ever worked for has seen that." My voice is soft, so soft she has to lean in closer to hear.

  "So I'm just supposed to take your word for it?" One eyebrow is raised. Her tone is frosty and filled with disbelief.

  "You said yourself this is just a trial run," I remind her. "Let me show you how hard of a worker I can be." I'm frantic, grasping at straws. "All I need is an opportunity."

  She leans back again. Her fingers scratch at the desk in front of her. A frustrated sigh escapes her lips. "It is not standard protocol to hire someone without checking with their references first. How do I know you're telling the truth about your work ethics? How do I know your previous employer didn't fire you because you stole from him? How do I know anything about you?"