“Just once,” she replied. Then she sighed. “But once wasmorethan enough.”
Dave laughed, then looked at me again, and I felt this little rush. Like a tiny flame flickering.No,I thought just as quickly.I’m not staying here long. He’s not my type.
“So, Deb,” Dave said. “You coming to Luna Blu this afternoon to work on our model project?”
“It’s notouranything,” I said. “I was just there that day to help Opal. It’s for delinquents only.”
“Not true,” he corrected me. “It’s a service project for anyone who has a hankering to serve their community.”
“A ‘hankering’ ?” I said.
“I love volunteering!” Deb exclaimed. “Is it really open to anyone? ”
“Yep,” Dave told her. “And don’t listen to Mclean. She’s practically spearheading the entire thing.”
“It sounds like so much fun! I love group projects,” Deb said.
“Then you should come by some afternoon. We work from four to six,” Dave said.
“Are you speaking for me?” I asked him. “Because I won’t be there.”
“No? ” he asked. We looked at each other for a moment. Then he said, “We’ll see.”
Deb looked at me, then at Dave, then back at me again, her expression a question. Before I could say anything, though, the bell rang, its sound ricocheting around the courtyard, making my ears ring. She jumped up, reaching for her bag, but still kept her eyes on Dave, intrigued, as he eased himself to his feet, then turned and looked down at me.
“You didn’t have to take a punch for me, you know,” he said. “I’m a lover, not a fighter.”
“You’re a freak is what you are,” I said.
He stuck out his hand. “Come on, slugger. Walk with me. You know you want to.”
And the thing was, despite everything I knew—that it was a mistake, that he was different from the others—I did. How he knew that, I had no idea. But I got up and did it anyway.
That afternoon, when I got home, my dad’s keys were in the door. When I pulled them out and pushed it open, I heard voices.
“Stop it. Seriously. This isn’t funny.”
“You’re right.” A p="1em" ali“It’s pathetic.”
There was some giggling. Then, “Look, if we rank everyone on the staff with the point system, and incorporate the evaluations like we discussed, then go off of that, then . . .”
“. . . we’ll have official numeric confirmation that we do, in fact, have the worst staff in town.”
I heard a snicker, then a full-out burst of laughter. By the time I got to the kitchen doorway to see my dad and Opal at the table, a bunch of papers spread out between them, they were in hysterics.
“What are you guys doing?” I asked.
Opal picked up a napkin from the bowl on the counter, dabbing at her eyes, then opened her mouth to answer me. Before she could, though, she broke down again, waving her hand in front of her face. My dad, across from her, was sputtering.
“Corporate,” Opal said finally, or rather gasped, “wants us to decide who our weak links are.”
“And the answer,” my dad added, snorting, “is everyone.”
They both burst out laughing again, like this was the funniest thing in the world. Opal put her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking, while my dad sat back, trying to catch his breath.
“I don’t get it,” I said.
“That’s because,” my dad said, wheezing, “you haven’t been at it for four straight hours.”
