Needy Little Things(4)
“I’m sorry.” I gather up the dirty spoons and toss them in the trash. “This is going to sound ridiculous, but I promise I did not hear you … or see you.”
“Is that supposed to be comforting?” He laughs and pours a ladle of batter onto the hot waffle iron. “It’s all good. I may have only transferred to East Lake at the start of the semester, but that’s long enough to process the social hierarchy. Of course someone with your celebrity status would overlook the new guy.”
I snort because none of that is what it seems. Someone like me, endlessly distracted, doesn’t make a good friend. I got told about myself enough times to stop trying. People know my name. I get invited to parties. I even made homecoming court in ninth and tenth grade. But I don’t go to things like that anymore. Music plus everything else going on in my head turns my brain into a worthless mass not dissimilar to what Corbin pulled out of his mouth earlier. And what do I look like wearing noise-canceling headphones to a party? My popularity hasn’t been earned from a stellar personality, or amazing academic performance, or innate athletic ability. People like me because I’m convenient to be around.
“I didn’t overlook you. I mean, I did, but not because I think I’m something special. I have ADHD—inattentive and distractible.” Not a lie, but my prescriptions do little to address the root cause. “School is hard for me.” I finally look him dead in his annoyingly attractive face, and there it is. His muffled need breaks through whatever was holding it back. “You can look at my grades. You aren’t the only one I haven’t been paying attention to.” I scrunch up my face apologetically, knowing my explanation still sounds conceited as hell.
“I can help you. With your grades, I mean.” He puts two fingers to his glasses, then directs them back at me. “Laser focus.” He gestures at Santa Bag, which I keep shoved under the counter by the cash register during my shifts. “So, did you get bitten by a radioactive spider or what?”
I frown. “Spider-Man? Really?”
He snaps and points at me. “You’re right. X-Men would make way more sense here.”
I snatch up an ice cream scoop and point it at him aggressively, a dollop of Fruity Freedom dropping to the floor.
He holds up his hands and laughs. “Sorry, sorry! But can you blame me for being curious?”
“It’s just the way I am.” And the way my grandmother was, but I’m not about to get into my family history with some nosy boy I just met. I don’t care how cute he is. “Maybe you should target your curiosity at how to properly make waffle cones before you burn the shop down.”
Jude whips around and uses the rag draped over his shoulder to fan the smoking waffle iron. While he deals with that, I sneak his need from my bag and tuck it into the pocket of my apron.
“Going to grab some more spoons. Be right back.” On my way to the prep room, I slip a brand-new hairbrush into his book bag. It’s got Hello Kitty all over it, but needy little things can’t be choosers.
Jude and I work, finding an easy groove and getting to know each other. He even starts in on his promise to tutor me, quizzing me on Spanish verb conjugation between customers. I learn he and his mom moved here from Florida. He learns that Spanish might be a lost cause for me.
At closing, I leave him to start cleanup. There’s a commotion from out back as I fill the mop bucket with fresh water. I turn off the tap for a better listen. Jude appears in the doorway.
“Did you hear that?” I ask.
We both jump when the dead bolt suddenly turns. The door opens slowly and Miss Jess stands there, white as a sheet.
“Are you okay?” I take a few quick steps toward her but freeze when I glimpse the scene behind her.
A man.
Writhing on the ground.
With a metal nail file lodged in his neck.
CHAPTER 2
“Tell me everything.” Malcolm sits with me and Jude at the sun-bleached picnic table across the street from Sweet Pea’s, fresh iced coffee in hand. A few people hover right at the edge of my range, but I can usually count on this park to be decently quiet. Deja sits cross-legged on a beach towel, convenience store bag full of snacks in her lap, ready for the story. Neither Jude nor I went to school today. We were caught up at the shop well past closing talking with the police. Both our moms were worried the whole thing traumatized us, and maybe it did. But it also bonded us. It sounds cheesy, but it’s true. Jude’s mumbling needs went dead silent the second Ms. Jess opened that back door and, despite being with him most of the day today, I haven’t heard a peep. It’s never happened that fast, and it hasn’t happened in years. Not since Malcolm—who’s currently helping himself to a handful of Jude’s Takis. Any friend of mine is a friend of his.
“Well?” he pushes. “You send a few vague texts about somebody getting stabbed, leave us on read all day, and still being stingy with the details?” He sucks the dusty red seasoning from his fingers. I toss a few individually packaged wet wipes from Santa Bag onto the table.
“You’ve seen the news report now. We don’t know much more than they’ve been saying there. Ms. Jess left early, came back because she forgot something, and on her way inside, this man came out of nowhere and attacked her. She defended herself.”
“Was there a lot of blood?” Deja asks hesitantly, like we’re sitting around a campfire sharing scary stories.