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“How was your first day?” I ask her. “Any budding evil scientists?”
“Couple. Good sign.”
I’m not sure she’s joking.
Ginger continues, “I’ll tell you all about what we exploded in class today when we go out for dinner. Do not try to say no. You cannot defeat me on this.”
I let her words roll over me, feeling energized and comforted by her company. Dinner. With a friend. Breathing comes easier just thinking about it.
“You’re coming out with me because you need it, and it’s a tradition for new teachers to eat at Lola’s on the first day of school. As soon as we hang up, I’m walking over from my building. It will take me a few minutes, so you can get yourself all straightened up. Well, at least you can get your classroom straightened up.”
I look at my watch. “Dinner? Now?” It’s 4:15.
“Trust me. Dinner now. Dessert later. See you in a minute.” I hear her phone crash down, and I lay the handset in the cradle. Maybe office phone technology has not advanced much in the past few decades.
Back at my desk in the classroom, I swipe a new layer of lipstick across my mouth and give my hair a shake. When I put my arms on the desk, I feel the deep urge to lay down across it and just take a five-minute nap. I fight the urge, but I lean on my arms for a minute and just breathe. It’s an effort to stand up straight. I’m not sure I’ve ever been this tired midafternoon. Maybe dinner will revive me.
Ginger said teachers go to this place. Maybe Dexter will be there. Not that I want him there. But if he happens to eat where teachers eat, I can’t stop him.
Lola’s turns out to be a tiny diner in a ramshackle strip of shops, a ten-minute walk west of Chamberlain campus. The entryway is not auspicious. It looks exactly like nothing from outside. I would not volunteer to eat here. I probably wouldn’t even know it was open. No welcome sign. No bright lights. No food images. Lola’s could use a PR overhaul.
Ginger pulls the door open and gestures me inside. “Don’t let the decorating fool you. The food is remarkable.”
Decorating is an overstatement. Gray walls and gray vinyl booths. Gray tile floors and chipped gray Formica tabletops. Not trendy gray. Gloomy gray. I wonder what constitutes “remarkable” food to Ginger.
A woman with the biggest hair I have ever seen pokes her head around the corner. Her dark-brown skin crinkles up around her eyes when she sees Ginger. She grins and starts to say something when her eyes slide over me. It’s like someone takes an eraser and wipes all the happiness from her face.
Ginger sees. She has to. There is no possible way to miss it. This woman is not happy to see me in her restaurant.
The woman clears her throat and tilts her head, darting her eyes from me to Ginger, fists on hips as if awaiting an explanation.
Ginger says, “She’s a teacher. Lola, come on. Do you really think I’d sell you out? Don’t you know me at all?”
Both women burst out laughing, Ginger in her loud drumbeat laugh and Lola in the greatest cackle I’ve ever heard. I am not sure what’s funny.
“Lola, this is Joey. She’s teaching photography and some other artsy business. She is probably terrified of you and certainly appalled at the lack of art around here.”
Lola comes over, and I put out my hand. Lola skips right past that social norm and wraps her arms around my shoulders, picking me up off the ground. Not at all sure I haven’t just been kissed on the top of my head, I find the ground again.
“My dear little woman,” Lola says, “I apologize for misjudging you. I see tiny and cute, and my mind goes straight to high school student.” The face she makes as she says it tells me for certain that Lola’s Diner doesn’t cater to the Chamberlain student crowd.
Lola pushes us toward a booth on the left. When we sit, she asks, “Anything in particular?”
Ginger shakes her head. Lola nods and walks away.
“You’re going to love this. I promise.” Ginger is actually rubbing her hands together in anticipation.
I have no idea what’s going on. “Did we just order?”
“You don’t really order at Lola’s. You just open your mouth and accept all the good things in the world. Now.” Ginger goes on as if this were a normal conversation. “Are you going to make it? How did you do?”
“It’s going to be great.” I didn’t know until this moment that my voice could sound so uncertain.
Ginger smiles sympathetically. “They came in like zombies? Stared past you with dead eyes?”
Ouch. Too much truth. I wince.
“Don’t worry. It won’t last. They’re going to love you.”
