“I should have just let her insult my friend?”
“You’d made your point. You didn’t need to throw any punches.”
“Right.” I turned back to face the front. He didn’t understand and I wasn’t in the mood to explain. Someone like him had probably never been bullied in his life.
“What happened to not caring what people say, hmm?” he continued. “I’m trying to get things together here and I’ve already got a record. I won’t get dragged into your bullshit again, understood?”
Outraged, I turned back. “My memory must be faulty. John, can you run the bit by me where I asked for your help?”
The blue of his eyes turned ice cold. He likely thought “bitch.”
I definitely thought “asshole.”
Lucky for all, the teacher walked in then, calling for order. The weight of John’s pissed-off gaze drilled into my back throughout class, however. What with him not being my keeper, this did not impress me at all. Neither did the niggling idiotic, completely wrong feeling of guilt.
We got lucky with the job hunt. A new smoothie place was about to open at Rock Creek Plaza. Hang and I got there just as the manager began sticking the Help Wanted sign in the front window. Talk about timing. The store consisted mostly of shiny stainless-steel juicers and blenders and the like. Giant pictures of fruit and lots of eye-bleedingly bright orange trim.
Bouncing on the balls of her feet, Ingrid, the manager, told us to come back the next afternoon for training. It turned out she did a lot of bouncing. I don’t know if she was snorting sugar or just high on life. Either way, Ingrid had energy to spare. I liked her, even if just watching her did wear me out.
“This is the Summer Sunrise,” said Ingrid with great enthusiasm, waving her gloved hands around as she spoke. “A handful of raw squash and pumpkin pieces, some orange segments, a squeeze of lemon, a couple of leaves of lettuce, a cup of ice, and a sprinkling of chia seeds.”
Hang studied the lumpy concoction with an impressively straight face. “Awesome.”
“Isn’t it?” With practiced ease, Ingrid put the ingredients into the commercial blender and the blades whirred to life. “It only needs thirty seconds. Any questions?”
“No, I don’t think so,” I said, pasting a professional smile on my face. “Looks tasty.”
“It really is. We’re going to have so much fun working together, girls. I can’t wait.” Ingrid poured the murky orange mixture into a cup and handed it my way. “You can have this one, Edie.”
“Oh. Thanks.” I took one tiny hesitant sip, trying not to taste anything, doing my best not to gag. When I started coughing, however, Hang smacked me on the back, forcing the Summer Sunrise to slide down my throat.
“What do you think?” asked Ingrid.
My eyes watered. “Wow. Yummy.”
“Right? We’ll make the Green Berry Blitz next for you, Hang,” said Ingrid. “It’s got kale, cabbage, celery, and strawberries in it. I can’t begin to tell you how good it is for your digestive tract.”
Fear filled Hang’s eyes. “I can’t wait.”
“You’re so lucky, Hang,” I said.
“Drink up, Edie,” she bit back.
“Ingrid?” A woman stood in the doorway, viewing us with open disgust. She was all sharp edges, dressed in a designer tracksuit.
“Susan! What great timing.” Ingrid put a little something extra into her bounce. “These are the part-time girls I hired, Hang and Edie.”
Susan said nothing, nor did her look of abhorrence lessen.
“Girls, this is the owner, Susan,” Ingrid continued, unaware. “She invented all of these fantastic recipes by herself—isn’t that amazing?”
Our best smiles in place, we both dutifully nodded.
“Outside. Now.” Susan turned on her heel, marching back out.
“Sure thing!” With a wave of her fingers, Ingrid followed. “Won’t be a moment, girls.”
We watched them go in silence.
I poked a straw into the cold orange mush, stirring it round and round. “For someone with a healthy digestive tract, Susan doesn’t seem very happy.”
“I was just thinking that.”
And for all of her niceness, Ingrid didn’t seem to exactly be the brightest. She’d left the door wide open. Fragments of their conversation, or more accurately, of Susan tearing into the woman, floated through the store. “. . . we’re selling people the idea of good health. Does that girl look healthy? Does her body say Susan’s Smoothies to you? Or does it say ‘I just ate a box of donuts and I’m going back for more’? Well? I can’t believe . . . The little Asian one can stay. We don’t want to look racist. But you need to get back in there immediately and fire that . . .”
Ouch. What a bitch.
I stood tall, aiming for blasé. “I never could have sold this sludge, anyway.”
Without a word, Hang snatched the Summer Sunrise out of my hands and slammed it down on the counter, icy goop slopping everywhere. Then she grabbed my hand and led the exodus.
“Are you sure?” I asked, knowing she needed the money.
“I’m not even going to dignify that with a response,” she snapped.
Whoa. “Okay.”
“Hang. Edie.” Ingrid had stopped bouncing. “Wait.”
I lifted a hand in farewell, but Hang didn’t even slow down. The girl was on a mission to get us gone from this place of raw vegetables and misery.
“You’re great, Ingrid. Seriously. But you, you’re a cunt!” I waved cheerily at Susan. “’Bye.”
Hang barked out a laugh.
“Guess it’s still job-hunting season.”
“Yep.”
The week didn’t improve.
John and I still weren’t speaking, ignoring each other throughout Thursday’s English class. It sucked. I missed him. But he was wrong to say I should just put up with being insulted. For years, I’d let Kara push me around and she hadn’t lost interest or moved on to tormenting some other poor sap. She also hadn’t experienced any inner awakening leading to her deciding not to be a complete and utter bitch. Things had only escalated. I wanted to explain all of this to him, except pride got in the way.
How dare he blame me?
My foot pressed harder on the gas pedal, the hatchback flying down the empty back roads. Window open, wind tangling my hair, and The Kooks screaming about having a bad habit. This was good. John had been right about the therapeutic value of driving late at night. If I went fast enough, I could outrace all of the bad memories and terrifying dreams. Leave them far behind in the darkness.
A noise like a gunshot shattered the night as a tire blew. Swerving wildly, the car screeched and shuddered. I braked hard, my head whipping forward, body slamming into the seat belt.
Holy shit.
Carefully, carefully, I steered the hatchback over to the side of the road and turned off the engine. All I could hear was the hammering of my heart. My hands shook, still holding on tight to the wheel. Not dead, just really shaken. Okay.
One at a time, I pried my fingers loose of their death grip. It wasn’t easy. Driver’s-side door open, I stepped out, knees knocking only a little. Everything was fine. No need for anyone to lose their shit.
The smell of burnt rubber filled the air. Only ragged strips of tire remained on the rear wheel. It could have been worse. Still, I swore up a storm, then popped the hatch, pulling out the jack and spare wheel. Mom and I had practiced for just such an occasion. The first three nuts came off fine, but the fourth one . . . I pulled and I strained and I called it every vile name ever invented, along with a few new ones even Shakespeare might have appreciated.
Nothing worked.
Over and over, the boom of the tire blowing echoed through my head. Not a gunshot. I needed to pull myself together. Except strange noises came from out in the dark, beyond the limits of where the lights could reach. The scuffle of a foot sliding over gravel, the mumbling of voices. Tonight, nature most definitely wasn’t my friend.
“Stop it,” I whispered. “It’s just your imagination. There’s no one out there.”