MARCH 6, 2012 - 3 YEARS BEFORE

BARTLEY'S PLACE WAS typically slow in the afternoons, between the swells of the lunch and dinnertime rushes.

I liked the lull; it gave me a chance to tidy things up—to clear the tables, sweep the food remains on the floor into a dustpan, and wash the windows. The afternoon customers always seemed to be more relaxed, content to sip on a cup of coffee and read the Gazette, while I bustled around them, trying to get everything in the best possible condition before the next influx of people.

Sometimes kids from school came in on their free periods, or once class was done for the day, sitting in the booths by the windows and ordering a steady stream of milkshakes, and fish and chips.

When I applied at Bartley's, I knew seeing my classmates and having to serve them would be part of the job, but it didn't make me feel any less awkward. Duncan Fitzgerald was currently placed in one of those booths by the window with a gaggle of his friends, laughing boisterously as they chatted about teachers, and sports games, and fellow classmates. They were the faces of St. Mary's; the top athletes, the most charismatic, the ones who managed to maintain good grades despite frequently skipping classes, because they were just that likable.

I imagined if they were movie characters, they'd be typecast as mean, and vindictive, but to me, they mostly seemed oblivious, caught up in their own world. I didn't think Duncan had even recognized me when I took their orders and brought out their food, despite us being lab partners in chemistry last year on multiple occasions.

But it didn't bother me. I'd spent my high school career gliding through the background, and being close to the end of my senior year wasn't changing that.

My eyes flickered to their table when the volume level increased yet again, and I dropped my gaze to the counter I was wiping down, a blue cloth clutched in my hand.

Claire was sitting on one of the stools at the counter, slurping up a strawberry milkshake, and she peered at their table out of the corner of her eye. Her locs were skillfully pulled into a bun on the top of her head, her puffy, white overcoat making her look a little like a marshmallow in an endearing way. "Do you know those guys?" she asked around her metal straw.

"Not really," I muttered, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn coffee stain. "They go to my school."

She watched them in silence, observing their animated conversations. "The one on the end is cute," she said innocently, and I looked up to see who she was talking about.

The boy sitting at the end of the booth was Duncan's latest recruit, a transfer student from Australia. I was pretty sure he'd moved to Cape Vincent in September, though he wasn't in any of my classes, and I didn't know his name. He'd been quick to be swept up in Duncan's crowd. Claire wasn't wrong, though—he was cute. He was slender, with bed-head hair, kind eyes, and a charming smile. Just as the thought crossed my mind, he caught me staring, and I quickly looked away, trading my cloth for a broom.

"I guess," I admitted, keeping my back to him, my cheeks warm.

Claire didn't notice the exchange, her legs swinging absentmindedly as I swept the floor around her. "You should invite them to my birthday next week."

I stopped sweeping. "What? I just told you I don't know them," I remarked. "Besides, it's mainly going to be family, and a few of your friends. Why would they want to come?"

She pouted, slouching in her seat. "I'm going to have the lamest sweet sixteen ever," she lamented.

Tilting my head, I smiled at her, a loose curl slipping free from my ponytail. "Poor Claire Bear. It'll still be a good time," I told her, poking her forehead affectionately. "Maybe next year you can have a big party."

Swatting my hand away, she attempted to hold back a smile of her own. "Whatever." She glanced at the time. "Ugh, I should be at home studying for calculus." Fumbling in her pocket, she pulled out a coin, setting it on the counter. "There's your tip."

I quirked an eyebrow at the quarter sitting face up on the surface. "Gee, thanks."

Jumping down from the stool, she waved at me, sticking her hands into her pockets and heading toward the door. I chuckled to myself, tucking the coin into the pocket of my apron, and continuing to sweep. I supposed it was nice of her to leave me any tip at all, even if it was only twenty-five cents. I was saving up for a new camera, and any little bit helped. My mom had given me her ancient Fujifilm when I was fourteen, and as much as I loved using it, I knew I needed something more modern if I wanted to get serious about bettering my photography.

Moments after Claire left, the bell above the door chimed again, and I prepared to greet the new customer. My stomach dropped once I saw who it was, muscles tightening reflexively.

Wayne Jones was the type of person that never failed to make my skin crawl. He often chose to make his presence known when I was working, and he always looked at me a little too long. It made me feel like he could see through my clothes.

He gave me a yellow-toothed grin when he saw me standing by the counter. "Well, if it isn't my favorite girl," he greeted in his raspy voice, starting to saunter in my direction, and I instinctively took a small step backward, though I forced a polite smile on my face.

"Have a seat," I said hurriedly. "I'll be around to take your order in a moment."

Following my instruction, he took a seat in a booth two tables away from Duncan's group, and I exhaled, grateful he hadn't come any closer. I didn't think he would ever actually try anything, he was more like the creepy uncle at a family gathering that nobody wanted to be around. Steeling myself, I emptied the dustpan into the trash bin and walked over to him.

I pulled my tiny notepad out of my apron and came to a halt next to his table, wanting to keep our interactions as short and breezy as possible. "What can I get for you today? The usual?"

He gave me another sly, toothy grin. "It always makes a guy feel special when you remember."

I scribbled his regular order of fish and chips down on the lined paper of my notepad. "The usual, it is. It'll be ready right away."

"Hold on a second, missy," he said as I began to turn back toward the counter, and I paused, shifting my weight between my feet. "I've been meaning to ask ya, where are you from?"

"I grew up here, Mr. Jones."

He waved a hand dismissively. "No, no," he persisted. "Come on, you know what I mean. Where are you from? You're gorgeous, sweetheart. They don't make 'em like you in America."

My skin bristled, and I gripped the notepad tighter. Having a black father and a white mother meant that I was just racially ambiguous enough to receive questions like that on the regular, but it was a million times worse coming from such a creep.

I fixed a wooden smile onto my face. "Well, I was born and raised in Maine."

Wayne laughed patronizingly. "I'm not stupid. Someone on your family tree made you exotic. I've always had a thing for exotic women."

"I'll bring your food to you soon," I blurted.

Before he could say any more, I quickly turned around to deliver his order to the kitchen, shuddering. Dealing with customers like Wayne was the worst part of the job, and I'd take the awkwardness of seeing my schoolmates over him any day. It was disgusting that he had no qualms about trying to put the moves on a high school girl, not to mention being so open about his fetishes. He must've been at least forty years older than me. But he was a loyal customer, and until he did something that truly crossed the line, there wasn't much I could do about it, despite serve him with a smile as best as I could.

When I returned from the kitchen, I kept my distance from his table, wanting to avoid Wayne until it was absolutely necessary that I talked to him. That didn't stop him from staring as I began to mop the floor. The table full of students continued to chatter away, and it seemed like they hadn't even noticed Wayne come in. At least it saved me from the embarrassment of them seeing him hit on me.

Or so I thought, anyway. Until I noticed another pair of eyes watching me.

The boy on the end had quieted down, though his peers hadn't seemed to notice, and he looked between me and the old man sitting in the booth a couple tables away. My cheeks burned with mortification.

The cook rang the bell, letting me know Wayne's order was done, and I quickly went to retrieve it, wanting to ignore the gazes of both men. While in the kitchen, I braced myself for whatever creepy comments I would receive next, shaking out my arms, and rubbing my suddenly clammy palms on my apron.

Picking up the platter of steaming fish and chips, I headed back out to the tables. I was halfway to Wayne's when I stopped short at the sight in front of me, nearly dropping the plate.

Duncan's friend was now sitting directly across from Wayne.

Before they could notice me gaping, I found my footing once more and slowly approached the table, setting the platter down. "Here's your meal," I mumbled, but this time, the older man ignored me.

"Need something?" he asked bluntly, directing the question to the boy across the table.

"It seemed like you were feeling chatty, so I thought you might want someone to talk to," the younger boy explained, an edge to his voice despite the nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. I looked at him in awe, lips parting.

Wayne grunted, shaking his head, and rasping out a laugh. "You're not really my type, kid."

"So you only like teenage girls, then?" he persisted. "Thought it might just be anyone underage." He had the audacity to give Wayne a challenging, close-lipped smile, tilting his head to the side.

The man looked flabbergasted, his already red cheeks growing even redder. "Don't get smart with me," he argued. "I know the law. As far as I'm aware, she's eighteen."

"Of course, your grandchildren must be around that age, too."

"What gives you the right to—"

"Ah, I see. I'm not exotic enough for you. Is that right?"

Wayne spluttered, seeming to be lost for words. "You know what? I didn't come here to be harassed by a mouthy teenager," he spat, placing his hands on the table to push himself up from his seat. "You can keep your fish and chips," he told me angrily, brushing past me on his way to the exit.

For several beats, I was too stunned to react. The boy remained in the booth, taking a chip and popping it into his mouth. Duncan and the others got up from their table, apparently unaware of what just transpired. Duncan gave his friend a confused look when he saw him sitting at a different table.

"Tucker," he said, "you coming with us?" The group paused by the door, waiting for his response, and I suddenly felt invisible again, stepping to the side.

"Nah, mate." The boy shook his head. "I'll catch up with you guys later."

Duncan shrugged, pushing the door open and causing the bell to jingle overhead. "Suit yourself."

With that, the majority of the customers had cleared out. Except for him.

"Um," I stammered in the sudden quiet, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "Thanks for... scaring him off."

He met my eyes. His were a bright, oceanic blue, and it made me wonder what he thought of my deep, brown ones. His lips lifted in a kind, half smile, and annoyingly, I felt my heartbeat falter. "My pleasure," he told me gently, a contrast from the tone he'd used when speaking with Wayne. "He shouldn't be able to get away with saying shit like that. I'm sorry I didn't step in sooner."

"I really appreciate it," I told him honestly, rubbing my arm. "Thanks. Again." I looked at the food the older man had ordered. "You definitely don't have to eat that, by the way. I can just take it back to the kitchen."

"Nonsense. I wouldn't want it to go to waste," he remarked, taking a bite of another chip, looking mildly amused. He paused, giving me a sidelong glance. "Are you hungry?"

My lips twitched again, and I couldn't stop a quiet laugh from escaping. "I'm not really on my break yet. . ."

"Right, right." He nodded, raising his eyebrows innocently, gesturing to the nearly empty restaurant. "It looks like it's pretty busy now."

I laughed again, louder this time. "Fair enough," I said, my cheeks still feeling warm. "I guess it wouldn't hurt to sit down for a little while."

He grinned at me, gesturing for me to sit down on the bench across from him, and I obliged, my pulse a little quicker than normal. I couldn't deny how good it felt to give my feet a break. Sitting down was nice, even if I was still technically on duty. I hadn't planned on eating anything, but I felt a sudden pang of hunger in my stomach, something that tended to be hard to ignore when constantly being surrounded by food, so I plucked a chip from the plate.

"I'm Will, by the way," he said. "You go to St. Mary's too, right? I think I've seen you around."

"Vivienne. I thought I heard Duncan call you Tucker."

"Pretty," he mused, before lifting a shoulder in a shrug. "It's my last name, he just uses it like a term of endearment. You know Duncan?"

Nodding, I picked at one of the breaded fish-sticks. "I think everyone does. But we were lab partners last year."

"Oh." He raised his eyebrows, surprised. "He didn't mention anything."

"I genuinely don't think he remembers," I remarked wryly.

"Hm," he hummed thoughtfully. "Well, that's his loss, then."

I held back a laugh, fully aware that Duncan was doing just fine without my presence in his life.

"So, pardon me for eavesdropping. . ." he started, amusement once again gracing his handsome features, "but I think I heard something about a birthday party? Sounded like more guests were needed?"

"My cousin's sweet sixteen?" I gave him a strange look. "Why? You want to come?"

"Sure," he said promptly. I realized then that if he'd heard that conversation, he most likely heard the discussion about whether or not he was cute as well. Embarrassment flooded my cheeks. "Why not? You'll be there, right?"

In less than an hour, he'd gone from a complete stranger, to wanting to accompany me to family gatherings. I floundered for words for a few moments as I stared at him, and he reached into his pocket for his phone, pulling it out and tapping away for a few seconds before sliding it across the table to me.

"You can text me the details. If I'm invited, that is."

After merely gawking at the phone for several beats, I slowly picked it up, looking at the New Contact screen. "Um," I murmured. Then I thought of Claire, and her disappointment over her party. She'd certainly like it if a cute, older boy made an appearance. "I mean, yeah. If you want to." I typed in my name and details, then slid the phone back to him.

His grin widened, and it was infectious. "Great. I'm looking forward to it." Will popped another chip into his mouth, seeming to genuinely mean the words.

"So am I," I said, meaning my words, too.

┅

song: she's got you high - mumm-ra

the timeline of this book is going to jump around a lot, so be sure to always pay attention to the dates at the top!

will and vivienne meet for the first time!! what do you think?

thanks so much for reading ミ☆