cat.
She glanced up and saw me.
“Be right there, sweetie,” she called.
“Oh, okay,” I yelled back. I stepped back to the sidewalk, feeling awkward and intrusive, but Melanie (Melanie, right?) smiled sweetly as she unlocked the door.
“Well!” she said, planting her fists on her hips. “Somebody’s really ready for chocolate chip pancakes this morning!”
“Oh, uh, no thanks,” I said. “Chocolate chip pancakes really aren’t my thing.”
I smoothed down the marigold-colored cotton dress I’d chosen. On the plus side, it was very 1960s diner waitress. On the minus, it was horribly wrinkled. I hoped she wouldn’t notice.
“Well, maybe you’d like some cinnamon streusel coffee cake?” she offered. “You would not believe what the secret ingredient is.”
“Actually,” I said, pointing back at the HELP WANTED sign, “I’m here because of the job?”
“Oh!” Mel said. She wiped her hands on her apron. “Did you just move to town?”
“Uh-huh,” I said. “For the summer, anyway.”
“I was kind of hoping for someone longer-term,” Mel said skeptically. “What’s your experience?”
“Um, I babysit for one family back in California that has four kids,” I said. “Those kids can eat. Sometimes I feel like a short-order cook.”
Melanie bit her lip. “Let me talk to my sister.”
She looked over her shoulder and called, “Melanie!”
Oh! This sister wasn’t Melanie; she was Melissa. That’s right. It was Melissa who liked calico cats.
Melissa likes cats, I reminded myself. Melanie like the Cubs. Melissa—cats. Melanie—Cubs.
Then my stomach swooped.
I’d just remembered the other tip Josh had given me: Make sure you know the score of the Cubs game.
Okay, so I had no experience, I was here only for the summer, and I didn’t even know who the Cubs had played last night, much less the score. I had a dim awareness that the Cubs always lost. I think I’d heard Granly joke about it.
So I went out on a limb as Melanie—wearing cargo shorts, a sporty-looking T-shirt, and a royal blue baseball cap with a red C on it—came out of the kitchen.
“Hi, I’m Chelsea Silver,” I said, giving her a wave. “Shame about the Cubs last night, isn’t it?”
“What? That they broke their losing streak?” Melanie crowed. “Three to two, baby!”
She held out her hand to Melissa for a high five. Melissa ignored the hand.
“What?” Melanie said defensively. She crossed her arms over her chest, and I noticed how tan and sinewy they looked. Melanie looked like the kind of person who spent her free time hiking up mountains or biking fifty miles or some other ridiculously outdoorsy activity. “That’s a perfectly respectable score.”
I laughed a little. “You remind me of me and my sisters.”
“Sisters?” Melanie said, shooting Melissa a teasing grin. “You have more than one? You must have a strong constitution.”
“That’s why you should give me a job,” I blurted.
The Mels raised their eyebrows at each other. I felt a wave of nervous heat wash over my face. That probably wasn’t what Abbie and Hannah had meant when they’d said I should be more confident.
“She’s interested in waitressing for the summer,” Melissa said to Melanie.
“Just for the summer?” Melanie said skeptically.
I glanced at the cash register at the end of the counter. It was covered with photos of calico cats, each photo sheathed in a yellowed plastic sleeve.
“Oh, are those your cats?” I said desperately. “So cute!”
Melanie ignored that and motioned Melissa over for a tête-à-tête.
I leaned against the counter in defeat. It had only taken about five minutes for me to reveal myself to be a total spaz. An unqualified spaz. A spaz posing as a cat-lover.
The front door opened, and a couple with two little kids walked in. Melissa waved at them.
“Just have a seat anywhere,” she called with a smile. “I’ll be right over.”
I eyed the bin of menus mounted on the side of the counter, and shrugged. I had nothing to lose. Why not try to steal a run, as a baseball fan would (maybe?) say.
I grabbed four menus.
Then I glanced at the family as they settled into their seats, and I put two of the menus back, replacing them with kids’ menus. I brought them all over to the table.
“Hi there!” I said, way too cheerily. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“I’ll have coffee,” the dad said. He pointed at his little girl, who looked about three. “And she’ll have—Tally! Leave the salt shakers alone! Sorry. She’ll have—Tally! What did I say?”
“Tally,” I said, bending down to meet her pretty, round blue eyes. “Would you like some milk?”
Tally’s face lit up in a shy smile.
“Juice,” she