The Summer I Learned to Dive - By Shannon McCrimmon Page 0,23

my body wanted me to. I needed to try this, to see what it was like to have a job. I hobbled on my feet and quickly got dressed. My grandparents were talking in the kitchen.

“Bless your heart. Finn, how are your feet?” Nana asked watching me hobble.

“Sore, but I’ll be okay,” I said seeing my grandfather smirk.

“I went out and got you a pair of shoes last night. I could see I wasn’t going to wake you and knew you couldn’t last another day in those awful shoes of yours.” She stared at my feet and shook her head slightly.

“Thank you. What do I owe you?” I asked.

“Nonsense. They didn’t cost much,” she said.

“Please, let me pay you for them. I’m already infringing by staying here,” I said.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said and kissed me on the head. She left the room and came back with the tennis shoes. They weren’t pretty, that’s for sure. Stark white with some type of orthopedic element, they belonged on an old person or a nurse, not an eighteen year old girl. I already had a difficult time with boys. Wearing these shoes would only make that problem worse.

“Thank you,” I said taking them. The last thing I wanted to do was appear unappreciative. I sat down and put them on. They were bulky but comfortable. The soles felt spongy, as if my feet were on top of marshmallows.

“I know they’re not pretty, but your feet will thank me,” she said. “The first year I worked at the diner, that’s all I wore and I was awfully glad I did,” she added.

“How come you don’t work there now?” I asked.

“Oh, I work there from time to time. I still make the pies, though,” she said and laughed quietly.

“We don’t have time for small talk. Love you,” my grandfather said standing up and kissed her quickly. He motioned for me to follow him. I stood in my new shoes, feeling like I was walking on air. Nana was a lifesaver; the shoes would get me through a treacherous day of standing on my feet for hours.

“Nana, they’re great! Thanks,” I said and hugged her before walking out the front door. My grandfather sat in his truck, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel staring at me impatiently.

“They must fit alright,” he said.

“Yes. They’re very comfortable,” I said smiling, looking down at them, stretching my feet, moving them in circles.

“Good,” he replied and said nothing more the entire ride to work.

***

I walked into the office to put my purse in a locker. Jesse walked in and stood beside me opening his locker. He closed the door and then looked at me. I attempted to smile at him. “New shoes?” he asked staring at my feet.

“Yes,” I said.

“You won’t get blisters. Those are orthopedic shoes. They’re made for old people with major foot problems,” he said.

“That’s what I thought they were for. I feel like I’m walking on sponges,” I said moving my feet up and down, feeling absurd once I did.

“Did Lilly get those for you?” he asked.

“Yes. How’d you know?”

“She bought me a pair like those when I first started here.” He pointed to his shoes, which looked like mine, only they were black. “She takes care of everyone like that,” he added. I was about to say something but he left before I could.

***

The next few days flew by quickly. The work didn’t get any easier. I still had a hard time with the diner lingo and gave my orders literally which frustrated both my grandfather and Jesse. Calling eggs “Adam and Eve” rather than eggs didn’t make sense to me. It takes more effort. But they insisted that I learn the crazy phrases. Meg and Hannah created a study guide for me. For once, I was not motivated to study and was too exhausted to do so by the time I got home anyway. My day at the diner ended around 4 o’clock every afternoon. By that time, all I wanted to do was take a hot shower and lay on the couch. Nana encouraged me to go out, to be with people my own age, but I wasn’t good at making friends. I didn’t know how. I had lost that ability a long time ago and didn’t know how to gain it back.

I’d had one girl friend in my life—Chloe Saunders. Throughout elementary school, we were inseparable. I met her the first day of school my first grade year. She was