The Unexpected Everything - Morgan Matson Page 0,119
we wanted the keys back, and if he didn’t do it, he was dead.”
“But what’s with the sneaker?”
“Toby,” she explained in a patient voice. “Toe-bee. Come on, Andie, think about it.”
“But this is my phone,” I pointed out. “You’re texting as me. I think you could use actual words and still win the bet.”
“Oh,” Toby said, suddenly looking nervous. “I . . . I’m not so sure about that.”
“Why can’t you text with actual words?” my dad asked as he sped through a yellow.
“Palmer’s betting Toby she can’t go the whole summer only using emojis,” I said, shaking my head. “We tried to talk her out of it.”
My dad glanced down at my phone, then threw Toby a sympathetic look in the rearview mirror. “Well, I think that’s very clever,” he said to her, and Toby smiled as she took my phone back from me. “Maybe you should have tried harder,” he said to me in an undertone.
I fought back a smile as I looked down at the list. “Well, if we win this, she’s in the clear again,” I said. I glanced into the backseat. “Tobes, how are we on time?”
“Hour and a half. We’re going to need to move.”
“On it,” my dad said, grinning as he sped up. We screeched to a stop in front of the diner five minutes later, and I turned to Toby.
“Ready?” I asked, and Toby yelled, “Break!” and bolted from the car, not waiting for me to follow.
“Be right back,” I said to my dad as I unbuckled my seat belt.
“I’ll keep the car running.”
I ran full-out toward the diner, taking the steps two at a time. Most of the other items on the list could be acquired at a variety of places—or at least more than one—but for Diner Menu, I was pretty sure Palmer meant one of the actual, fake-leather-bound menus, not the paper ones for to-go orders. We’d also discussed that this might be our best chance to pick up a Blue Gum Ball from the candy machines in the waiting area. As I pulled the door open, I saw Toby was already feeding coins into the candy machine and cranking the knob. “Just check the dates,” I reminded her as I continued in to the restaurant. “Anything before 1980, don’t waste on the gum ball!” Toby gave me a withering I know look, but I noticed that she started checking her coins.
I approached the hostess stand, which was deserted as usual, even though the restaurant was pretty full, mostly of families crammed into the booths. I glanced under the hostess stand, where I’d seen extra stacks of menus in the past. But was I actually going to be able to just steal one? This immediately became a mute point, though, since the podium was empty. I looked around the restaurant, and spotted Carly sitting at the nearly-empty counter, with a stack of menus and a bottle of Windex in front of her.
I headed straight over, grateful that she was working and not one of the waitresses who hated us. I knew we would have had no luck at all with them.
“Hi there!” I said in my friendliest voice, as Carly looked up from where she was cleaning the menus—Windexing and then wiping off with a towel.
“It’s self-seating right now,” she said, giving the appetizer page a wipe-down. “Anything that’s open.”
“No, it’s not that,” I said, taking a breath. I needed to be charming and ingratiating, or we didn’t have a chance. I realized that I hadn’t had to do this in a while, since I hadn’t had to go to any fund-raisers or meet with potential donors. It was like trying to flex a muscle I hadn’t used in a long time. “I was just wondering if possibly we could just borrow one of these menus for an hour or two? We’ll bring it right back. And you can even give me one of the ones you haven’t gotten to yet, and I can clean it for you!” I smiled brightly at Carly, who just looked at me and gave the menu another spray.
“This about the scavenger hunt?” she asked, nodding before I’d had a chance to answer. “They already beat you in here. Clark and . . .” Carly frowned, and there was a long pause—a much longer pause than was normally needed to come up with someone’s name. “Phil?” she finally asked, sounding very unsure of her answer.