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“Are you kidding? You’re amazing. You did the best thing you could’ve done,” I tell her, pulling her into my chest, and she burrows in, holding tight. “You even protected Jason by moving the camera away to not record him hitting Brandon. That was so smart, Gia, just like calling Brianna was. I’m so proud of you.”
“Brandon Nathaniel, where thefuckare you?” a voice screeches from downstairs, and Brandon’s face pales.
His mom is here.
Twenty-three
After everything I went through on Monday, I spend Tuesday and Wednesday with my phone off, ignoring the world at Jason’s house, hanging out with him, Jackson, and Natalia, who were really sweet and concerned after hearing what happened. Natalia even offered to let Gia come stay if she was feeling rattled and didn’t want to be apart from me, but Gia opted to stay at Dario’s with Zia Stella after I assured her I wouldn’t be mad if she wanted to stay.
It’s nice, being with a caring family, people who are genuinely concerned about how I’m doing. Jason stayed home with me on Tuesday despite me nagging him to go to school, and Jackson brought home an assortment of desserts and chocolates, even a new box of Froot Loops that he wrote my name on and guaranteed was for my personal use only. Natalia even made me this amazing chicken soup from scratch that was so comforting it felt like a hug and a delicious meal all in one.
But by Wednesday night, I’m tired of hiding and avoiding everyone, so I go into work like I’m scheduled to. Jason doesn’t try to talk me out of it or tell me it’s a dumb idea, and I love that he’s not treating me any differently. He drops me off ten minutes before my shift, kissing me goodbye, and I walk in with my head held high, pretending it’s just another day.
For a Wednesday night, it’s already pretty busy, and I rush to the back to clock in and get started. Isla is there, putting her serving apron on, and she freezes when she sees me.
“Hey,” I greet her, stuffing my things in a locker. “Is there a party or something going on tonight?”
“Oh . . . hey, Siena . . .” She shifts from foot to foot anxiously, and my heart drops. “I think there are a few birthdays . . . yeah.”
Is this how it’s going to be from now on? Everyone too scared to even look me in the eye? I can’t live like this. Isla is kind of a friend to me; she makes these shifts bearable, even when we have the worst kinds of customers, like kids who throw stuff or moms who demand to speak to the manager about things we have no control over.
“Isla, you don’t need to treat me any diff—”
“Siena,” says my boss, Hannah, cutting me off when she enters the back room.
I’ve always been slightly scared of Hannah. She’s no-nonsense in the way that leaves no room for joking around or screwing off while you’re supposed to be doing your work. But she cares for her employees and treats us well, so I kind of like her even though I’d never want to piss her off.
“Have a moment? Bring your stuff.” She doesn’t wait for me to confirm, just walks to her office and assumes I’ll follow her. I do.
She doesn’t sit once in her office, so I don’t either.
“I know you’re probably not having the easiest time right now,” she starts. “I hear the staff and customers talking, I have internet connection, I know what’s going on.”
Oh no.
“Please don’t fire me,” I jump in before she says what I know is inevitably coming. I don’t want to be fired. I like this job, I make good tips, and I need the money.
Even applying to every scholarship under the sun doesn’t mean I’ll have enough money to go to college.
Hannah sighs and rubs her forehead. “I’m not firing you, but you should take the week off.”
“I don’t need to take the week off, I swear. I’m good to work.”
“Let me rephrase. You’re not scheduled to work this week.”
At my crestfallen face, she adds, “It’ll be safer for you.
I’ll email you a new schedule for next week once this has had some more time to simmer down, so you won’t be harassed at work.” Softer than her normal hard tone, she says, “I’m sorry, Siena. Go home.”
Well, that’s just great. I can’t go to school, can’t go home, can’t go to work; my entire life is changing against my will, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
None of the other staff look at me as I trudge through the restaurant, and the customers either gawk or continue eating their meals, oblivious to the town gossip. I appreciate those ones more than they know.
Outside, I sink onto a bench, pulling Jason’s hoodie over my work uniform. It’s cold out, and the sun hasn’t even started setting; people bustle through the parking lot, not wanting to stand outside for longer than necessary. But I enjoy the fresh air and take deep breaths, allowing it to clear my racing mind.
I left my phone at Jason’s house after not touching it for days, so I can’t call an Uber or even Jason, though I wouldn’t bother him at work. I’ll have to walk home, but I’m not entirely sure how to get to Jason’s from here.
The door to the restaurant swings open, and a guy carrying a pile of take-out containers in brown paper bags exits, the pile so high it’s almost above his head. He peeks around the stack to check where he’s going, and our eyes meet. It’s Warren.
