“Addie! Tell me everything about your new school! Are the teachers nice? Is the caféteria food as good as they say it is? Did you meet anyone?” she fires off in one breath.
“Hold on, Camille,” I say, holding up my hands. “Let me get through my shift first. I promise I’ll tell you everything after.”
She pouts but nods, retreating to help at a nearby table. Rick hands me a tray of food and gestures toward table four. “She’s been waiting a while,” he says.
As I approach table four, my eyes fall upon the girl who sits there, engrossed in her textbook. A girl who looks around my age, probably a bit younger. Her long brown hair falls in soft waves, framing her face, but it’s her eyes that catch my attention. Amber, almost golden, and shimmering in the light like liquid sunshine. There’s something achingly familiar about her, though I can’t place where I’ve seen her before. Strange.
She’s completely absorbed in her studies, her brows furrowed in concentration. It’s obvious that she’s deeply invested in her work, yet her leg bobs up and down with restless energy.
She’s nervous.
I clear my throat. “Excuse me. I have your order.”
She looks up, momentarily breaking free from whatever it is she’s studying. “Thanks,” she says curtly, her tone distant.
Before I can stop myself, I ask, “Studying?”
Why do I always do this?I internally scold myself for starting another pointless conversation.
I’m so pathetic it shocks me.
She nods, her focus already drifting back to her book. “Maths.”
She’s clearly advanced. Pages and pages filled with equation after equation. I don’t even understand some of it.
“Oh, I love Maths,” I say, my enthusiasm slipping out before I can rein it in. Her gaze lifts, mildly surprised, but her expression doesn’t soften.
“It’s alright,” she replies flatly, flipping a page.
“Well, happy studying,” I say, feeling the awkwardness settle over me and making me a little nervous.
“Thanks,” she says, her attention already elsewhere.
As I turn to leave, her phone rings. She answers it quickly, her voice low and clipped. Something about her changes—her posture stiffens, her leg bounces faster under the table. When she hangs up, there’s a storm in her expression—frustration, weariness, and something else.
Fear.
I glance away, reminding myself it’s none of my business. But when I look back, her table is already empty.
ELEVEN
Rule Number Eight ofAdeline’s Guide to Overcoming Loneliness:Adeline, don’t be too hard on yourself. In reality, your harshest critic is just a scared child who needs reassurance. Speak to it kindly, and the annoying voice in your head will leave you alone. Treat yourself like you would treat a friend. If you really think about it, it’s like practice for the real thing.
I must look so drunk right now.
No, seriously. I’d be surprised if people don’t look at me in complete horror as they pass, the way I’m shuffling down this path.
Did my limbs suddenly get heavier?
Probably because I got absolutely zero sleep last night. The idea of sleep seems impossible lately. Hours at the café, followed by a relentless barrage of homework, and helping Mum. Of course I’m drained, but you’d think I’d be used to it by now. There was a time, though, when I had help. Back when Mum wasn’t so broken.
The truth is, the day Dad died, part of her died too.
We lost her that day too.
Sam says she was always “a mess”—her words, not mine. But so was Dad. So was Mason. I’m no fool; I knew they weren’t normal. I knew they were involved in shady things. I just never asked what.
But even so, Dad was a good man. At least, that’s what I choose to believe.
