shoulders. Dark pants, black t-shirt. I think he's the bad boy from the mismatched group this morning. So, he's who cheer girl was heading for.
“It's fine. I didn't know Mr. Adams would ask you to help me. Sorry he bothered you with that.” I should have just accepted his apology and moved on, but I find the words falling from my lips without thought. With my backpack over a shoulder I face forward, twining my fingers together in my lap. It's the most I've spoken to anyone in school in a while.
Sometimes I wonder why I bother anymore. Every town is the same, we roll in, find some seedy RV park to set up in. I find a small-time job that barely manages to keep food on the table.
Then there's school. Where I spend my time walking the halls like a shadow, just so my mom won't panic and pick us up and leave even sooner than the three months we usually average.
I can't count how many times I thought about quitting, and getting my GED so I wouldn't have to put up with going to school every day. Then I might get a better job.
Something stops me every single time I close to giving up. I know it's the false hope of being normal someday. Of finding a place where mom can actually relax and settle down. A place where I could graduate and find a small local college, a place where I could make a friend.
I catch movement from the corner of my eye. Dante is rubbing the back of his neck with his head leaning over the table, trying to look at me. No, that's wrong. He's trying to see me.
I turn my face just enough, a little confused about why he's watching me so intently.
My heart starts beating faster. I want to turn away from him. I want the bell to ring so I can stop staring at him. His mouth opens, his lips barely parted, and he stays like that for a moment, like he wants to talk but doesn't.
“I should have helped,” he mutters almost like he's speaking to himself, voice soft and deep all at once. It's a strange combination. Usually someone with such a deep tone sounds booming, louder than needed, but not him. Everything he says comes out more like a soft growl. You know the sound, when a dog is thrilled but growls anyway. That's what he sounds like to me. Not that I think he is overly happy, that's just the only way I can describe his voice.
I start to shake my head in denial. Ready to insist he shouldn't. He speaks before I can.
“I'll help,” he offers while we're still stuck looking at each other.
It's the longest I've let myself actually focus on someone in a long time.
His dark hair is a little messy, not styled messy, more like he ran his hands through it this morning instead of a brush. His eyes are a strange hazel color, almost amber brown. He has sculpted cheekbones and a strong jaw, leading down to a thick neck and wide shoulders.
He's definitely handsome. No wonder cheer girl’s so territorial.
The bell rings and I actually jump from the shrill sound.
Unnerved, I snatch my bag from the floor and flee the room like it's a blaze. The whole thing probably only lasted under a minute, but I feel strangely exposed. Like that was enough time for him to know my every secret.
The diner is slow, I don't think they really needed to hire me. I'm rolling silverware into paper napkins when the door tingles a happy chime.
Two guys come in—one talking over his shoulder, barely looking around—they nab the first booth.
I pull my note pad from my apron and approach.
“Hi,” they both peer up when I speak.
“Where's Maggie?” the boy with short dark hair asks.
Looking down at the table I answer, “She's in the back.”
“She hired someone?” he questions his friend, whose long blond hair slides over his shoulder when he shrugs, then looks back up at me. He's almost pretty, his bone structure is crazy masculine, but his features are undoubtedly beautiful. Soft full lips, long dark eyelashes, and a perfect nose.
Distracting myself, I scribble on my pad. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“When did this happen, when did you start?” the other guy asks. I know better than to stare at them again.
“Only yesterday,” I answer softly.
“Why didn't she tell us she needed someone? She knows we would have helped.”