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Chapter Eight
TRISTAN
Yesterday was rough, not gonna lie. Today, though. I don’t know. Maybe today is the day.
I feel brighter than I have in a long time as I enter Shelton Barn and Table for an interview. Yes, that’s right. Suncrest Valley’s darling organic restaurant actually called me back. When the woman started speaking, I was worried I’d checked the wrong box under “Have you ever committed a crime?” As usual, I had plenty to say for the “If yes, please explain” portion that followed. I clearly remember explaining, so maybe I have a shot?
The girl at the host stand smiles as I approach.
“Hi. I’m Tristan Haverford. I’m looking for Stacie,” I say.
“Oh! Here for an interview?” she asks.
“Yes, at three.”
“Great. I’m Leah. Nice to meet you. Hold on.”
She grabs a server as he passes and whispers something. The guy looks at me but doesn’t respond.
“Okay, this way,” Leah says to me.
I follow her through a maze of tables, trying to ignore the stares. Do they recognize me or is the collective judgment all in my head? There have to be some people in this town who don’t know my past, right? Then again, does it matter if there’s someone else around willing to fill them in?
Either way, I can’t afford another distraction at the moment, so I force myself to concentrate on the task at hand: Fighting for my first real chance at a life.
Five years ago, this restaurant was a pizza shop. My friends and I used to hang out after the games and before the parties. I made out with multiple girls in a booth right where that table of women is seated.
Their conversation stalls as we pass, and I feel the unwanted attention. They look about my age, but I don’t recognize any of them. Based on the way they’re dressed, they probably wouldn’t have attended Suncrest Valley’s inferior public high school anyway. The wealthy residents of The Hills were careful to charter a seclusive school system for themselves, free of us pesky common folk.
Ironically, my parents’ upper middleclass lifestyle meant Kim and I were the rich kids at school. I wasn’t surprised by the smug satisfaction of the community when the rebel Haverford prince got arrested. It’s hard to remember I used to care about shit like popularity and social status. It’s hard to remember I used to care about anything.
Leah knocks on the open door of a small office, and a woman glances up from behind a desk. Her smile when she sees me relieves some of my tension, and I shake the hand she offers.
“You must be Tristan,” she says. “I’m Stacie. Thanks, Leah.”
The other girl smiles and disappears, leaving me alone with my first legitimate shot at employment.
Don’t screw this up.
“Close the door and have a seat,” she says, waving toward a chair in front of her desk.
I do as instructed and try to settle my nerves.
“Tristan Haverford. Not a lot of work experience,” she says, scanning what must be my application.
My fists clench on my lap. “No. Um, not really. I mean, I worked in the kitchen at, uh…”
God, why did I think for a second this was going to work?
“At SCI Burlington?” she finishes for me.
I glance up sharply, my stomach in knots. She studies my face with an unreadable expression, and I force a nod.
“Yeah,” I say quietly.
“I’m gonna go out on a limb and say you haven’t had a lot of offers since your release.”
I shake my head and look back at her. “There’s not much about me that would excite a potential employer.”
