Rebel at Spruce High (Spruce Texas Romance #5) - Daryl Banner Page 0,91
quickly, he seems to change his mind about continuing where we left off at all. “If you got anything you’re goin’ through—anything at all—you come straight to me. You are not alone, no matter what.”
“Got it.” I take hold of my backpack off the floor. “Can I go?”
He studies me a second longer. “I’ve really noticed a change in you lately, Toby. It … worries me.”
I frown. “What is there to be worried about? I don’t let people walk on me anymore.”
“Well, I won’t reprimand you for a little confidence, but …” He winces. “It’s somethin’ else I can’t put my finger on. Toby, I don’t want you wrapped up in bad influences, if you get me.”
Jimmy got to him. Cookie-cutter brothers. “Vann’s a good person.”
“I’m not sayin’ he isn’t. I’m just—”
“And I’m doing better than I’ve ever been. And I wish people would see that instead of just seeing … something different.” Yet again, the spirit of Vann’s defiance surges into my bones. “I’ve got to get to my study hall. Can I go?”
He seems to want to say something else, then lets it go with a lighthearted sigh. “Only after you answer me one last thing.” He squints critically. “You got a date to Homecoming tonight?”
His unexpected question hits me as a joke, and I crack a smile. “Sorry, Coach Strong.” I can’t ‘Tanner’ him. It just doesn’t feel right. “Shift at Biggie’s. Gotta make money.”
“Bummer. Just promise me you’ll stay true to yourself, Toby,” he says. I give him a nod, then make my way for the door. “And I’m serious about seein’ me anytime about anything!”
His words and our strange conversation linger in my head all through the rest of what remains of seventh period. And when I’m joined by Vann for rehearsal right after, I can’t help but fret over what Coach Strong meant by taking action regarding Hoyt. What is he planning to do?
What has he already done …?
I’m still thinking about it during my shift at Biggie’s, where we repurposed the restaurant with candles and mood lighting so as to appeal to all the Homecoming couples stopping here for a bite before or after the dance—and also to compete with the fancy, distant restaurant of Nadine’s. Twice Mrs. Tucker asks me what’s on my mind, and twice I paste on a smile and tell her I’m fine. And I’d say she’s at least halfway convinced, if it wasn’t for the sassy look she keeps giving me each time I rush back to the kitchen to deliver an order, or take one out.
When 11:15 rolls around, Vann comes in, having parked his bike because he got impatient waiting on the curb. I apologize to him. “Forgot I work late tonight because of the whole—well, all this.” I gesture at the busy place, post-dance.
“There’s nowhere to sit,” Vann realizes. “I guess I’ll just circle the block a few times, or—”
“I might be here ‘til one.”
“Oh.” He fidgets, pocketing his keys and frowning.
“I’ll understand if you don’t want to hang around. But if you do, maybe you could, like … just sit back in the office? Behind the kitchen? I’m sure Mrs. Tucker wouldn’t mind at all. She knows you’re my ride.”
Vann gives me his usual shrug coupled with a, “Sure,” then follows me back through the kitchen, where he claims an empty overturned tub for a seat in the back, then pulls out his phone and busies himself. His happy moment of peace only lasts five minutes before Mrs. Tucker is upon him. “Y’know you aren’t allowed back here since you aren’t an employee, but don’t you see how busy we are out there? Y’know what, I think you could be put to some good use. Mick,” she calls out at the sink where he’s working, “get out on the floor and improve your social skills!” Mick stares at her, wide-eyed. “S-Social skills?” he asks before she goes shooing him out of the kitchen like a confused fly. Then she smirks at Vann. “Y’know how to wash dishes, don’t you?” She nods toward the sink expectantly. “And don’t forget your apron!” she clips before magically producing one and pitching it at him. Vann gives me a bewildered look, slips the apron on, and strolls up to the sink.
A whole hour or so later, I’m honestly shocked to find Vann still being put to work here and there in the kitchen. I figured by now he’d have stormed out the back door and thrown his hands.