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She waited.
“Look, I wasn’t trying to mess with your friend.” Chris looked away for a moment. “I wondered if you were doing anything after school. Gabriel’s got a soccer match, if you want to come watch—”
“Are you kidding?” She could barely hear over the heartbeat in her ears. Gabriel must have figured out who she was, must have told Chris. If he hadn’t known already.
“Ah ... no.” He scratched his head, pushing hair out of his eyes. “I’m actually pretty serious—”
“Look. Chris.” She dropped onto the bench again and gripped the edge of the table. “I’m not going to sleep with you,” she whispered fiercely, feeling her cheeks flush. “I’m not going to mess around with you under the bleachers. I don’t give hand jobs in the men’s room, or—”
“Wow. You like to get all this out of the way up front, huh?”
“Whatever you’re playing, someone else has tried it, okay?” she said. “I wish you all would just stop screwing with me and leave me alone.”
The table was dead silent for a moment.
Then he stood up. “Sure.” He paused. “You can have the lunch.”
She didn’t look at him.
He hoisted his bag onto his shoulder, then tossed some paper onto the table in front of her. “I’ll see you around, Becca.”
When he was gone, she looked up. An envelope sat on the tray, the corner stuck in the greasy cheese of the pizza.
She picked it up and opened it. Three twenties.
You’re probably thinking I owe you my life.
No. Just sixty bucks.
Becca stared at the money, feeling the crispness of the bills under her fingertips. She had no idea what it meant.
The physics kids stood up, taking their notebooks with them. “At least he didn’t leave it on the dresser,” one said.
Becca flinched, but they were gone, swallowed by the swarm of students. Typical. She was used to drive-by one-liners.
She reached out to seize her water bottle—then gasped and dropped it.
It was freezing. She could hear bits of ice swish inside the plastic. Cold crystals clung to her fingers before melting.
She stared at the bottle, now sweating on the table, droplets of water collecting below it.
Then she swiped her hand on her jeans and turned to lose herself in the crowd.
CHAPTER 7
Work sucked. But at least tonight she got to work the floor. You were supposed to be eighteen, but when people called in sick, Becca got a reprieve from cleaning kennels and scrubbing the pet baths, and instead put on a service smock and a name tag.
Working sales paid a full two dollars more per hour. Not like she needed the money this week, with Chris’s sixty bucks securely stashed in the employee lockers.
She didn’t want to keep it, but she sure as hell didn’t want to have another conversation with him. Maybe she could just never spend it. She’d stick it in the domestic violence jar at the front of the store, or the homemade can for that kid with leukemia.
Then again, gas wasn’t cheap. Or maybe she could replace her cell phone. Or save it for a Homecoming dress.
Homecoming. OMG, Bex. You’re hilarious.
Becca stacked cans of cat food on the shelf, a practiced motion she could do blindfolded. A couple rows over, some guys were jostling each other in the dog food aisle, and Becca sighed. She’d been listening to their bullshitting for ten minutes, and she’d bet her paycheck they were counting on a five-finger discount.
Pets Plus wasn’t exactly well patrolled. It was a PetSmart wannabe, without the big-box budget or the floor space. The only other person working the floor was Jerry, the night manager, and he’d stepped out for a smoke.
