He is not running one play.
He is running all of them simultaneously.
I push off the door, walk down the hallway, and I am completely calm on the surface.
“Are you staying for dinner?” my mother asks.
I glare up at her, and she can see the answer in my eyes.
“Theo,” she warns.
I walk out, not wanting to hear it. I get in my car and sit.
I pull the note out of my pocket.
You took the book. I know it was you. Bring it back.
I fold it once more, slide it back into my pocket, and start the engine.
He is running all of them.
So will I.
Chapter 39: Adela
ProfessorAldridge'sTuesdaylectureruns seven minutes over.
I know because I check my phone twice under the desk — not for messages, just for the time, to track the window I have before the afternoon closes in and the free hours disappear. I've been planning this since Sunday. Three coffee shops, face to face, because the applications I sent two weeks ago have gone into whatever void applications go into when no one is in a hurry to fill a position.
I need something that is mine. Something that has nothing to do with Cody or the library or masked men or the suffocating weight of a life I didn't fully choose. A shift. The smell of coffee. Regular faces that know my name. An apron. Four hours when I am simply a girl who shows up, does the work, and goes home.
That's all I want.
The lecture ends. I pack my bag and walk out into the cold.
The first café is on University Ave.
Bright, busy, the kind of place that has its aesthetic figured out and its staff already full. The manager is polite and apologetic and hands me a card with the website to apply online. I already applied online. I smile, thank her, and leave.
The second café is quieter. The man behind the counter listens to me for 45 seconds, then tells me they're not hiring. I thank him too. I walk back out into the gray afternoon and consult the list on my phone.
The third one is two blocks further than I planned to walk in this cold, but I walk it anyway because I told myself three and three means three.
I push open the door.
It's the café where I met Beckett.
I almost stop walking when I realize it. Almost turn around. But the warmth hits me, and the smell of good coffee hits me, and the girl behind the counter looks up with a kind smile. I could use a kind smile.
"Hi. I'm looking for the manager to see if you’re hiring."
The girl blinks. Then she turns toward the back. "Jordan!" she calls. "Someone's here about a job!"
Jordan turns out to be a man around twenty-five with flour on his sleeve. He comes out from the back, wiping his hands on a cloth, and looks at me with an expression that is direct without being unkind.
"You have experience?" he asks.
"Some," I say. "I'm a fast learner. I'm reliable, and I don't call out."
