Getting Over Garrett Delaney(13)
Author: Abby McDonald

And then, as if things weren’t working out well enough, bright and early the very next day, I get a message from Garrett that sends sunshine streaming through the dark clouds of my loneliness.

Camp is amazing. So busy w/ classes. But I miss you!

I pause outside the café on my way to my first-day orientation, rereading those few, precious words.

I miss you.

I miss you.

I miss you.

Were sweeter words ever texted?

I hug the phone to my chest with glee, and right away, I can see that I’ve been thinking about this all wrong. This summer apart isn’t a hurdle in our destiny to be together; it is destiny! After all, what better way to make Garrett realize what I mean to him than for us to be split apart? Absence makes the heart grow fonder — that’s what everyone says — and sure enough, after only a few days apart, Garrett is missing me. Whatever second thoughts he had about confessing his feelings will soon be swept away — I’m sure of it. At this rate, he’ll be declaring his love by the end of summer. I just have to make it through without him until then.

Easy!

I bounce into the coffee shop full of new hope and determination. It’s before official opening hours, but the rest of the staff is already gathered around the tables at the back, slumped over coffee and pastries. LuAnn waves me over, a nail-polish wand in her hand.

“Am I late?” I whisper, slipping into a free seat beside her. I recognize some of the other staff from the café, but nobody seems too concerned to have a newcomer in their midst, they just mumble among themselves, yawning and scratching as if seven a.m. is way too early to drag their scruffy, hipster asses out of bed.

“Don’t worry,” she says at normal volume, applying purple sparkles to the nails on her right hand. “Carlos isn’t awake yet.”

She nods toward a guy who’s practically comatose at the far table. He’s in his thirties, maybe — unshaven, in wrinkled denim and a black T-shirt that has definitely seen better days.

“Who’s Carlos?” I ask, curious.

“The boss man,” LuAnn replies. She sticks her tongue out with concentration as she finishes up the nail-polish job. When her last nail is sufficiently sparkled, she continues, “He was in a minorly successful indie band ten years ago. They split, but one of his songs got used on a car commercial. Big money. Hence, he opened this place.”

“Wow,” I whisper. “At the donut shop, my boss was this balding guy named Kenny. He’d scream at us if we ever switched the radio from Top Forty.”

“Carlos is OK.” She shrugs. “As long as you don’t talk too loud when he’s hungover. Or ever call him in for something before noon.”

“People, can we get this done already?” Carlos finally pulls himself out of his chair and pushes a stack of printed sheets at the nearest person, a petite girl with blue streaks in her hair and rubber-band bracelets on both arms. “New time sheets, yada, yada, I don’t care if you switch shifts — just fight among yourselves.” He yawns. “Anything you guys want to share? No? Good.”

“I do!” LuAnn waves her hand in the air. “Katy quit on me yesterday.”

Carlos swears. “Another one? What are you doing to them?”

“It’s not me!” she protests.

“Sure, but I’m the one who has to find a replacement.” Carlos doesn’t seem happy at the prospect, which is when LuAnn pushes me out of my seat.

“I know. See? That’s why I already hired her! Everyone, this is the new kid.”

“Sadie,” I say, waving awkwardly. A dozen faces stare back at me. “Um, hi.”

Carlos gives me the once-over, frowning. “Wait, who are you?”

“She’s a total lifesaver!” LuAnn interrupts. She pats me on the head and beams at Carlos. “New waitress, no fuss. Everyone wins!”

“I’m sorry,” I add quickly, feeling everyone’s eyes on me. “I thought it was OK. I can fill out an application if you need me to. And I have references! Or if you want to interview me for the position . . . ?”

“Interview?” Behind me, someone laughs.

Carlos stares at me sternly for a second. “You got experience?”

I nod eagerly.

“Criminal record? Drug problem?”

I shake my head. “I . . . I’m seventeen,” I tell him, suddenly panicked. I knew it! I’m not old enough to work here for real. And I’m clearly not anywhere near cool enough. I may as well just resign myself to a summer with my mom’s Positivity Now! road show, handing out name tags and pamphlets until —

Carlos suddenly laughs. He takes a gulp of coffee and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Relax, kid — it’s cool. You’re hired.”

“OK!” I collapse back into my seat with relief.

“Not OK!” someone says, her voice ringing with disapproval — and a French accent. Which is kind of the same thing, I think. I look over to find a polished, preppy girl glaring at me. She’s wearing a crisp button-down shirt and tortoiseshell glasses, her Afro shaped in a small perfect sphere. “Does this mean I have to swap shifts? Because I’m not swapping. Not for anyone.”

“That’s Dominique,” LuAnn whispers. “A total team player.”

Carlos rolls his eyes. “You’ll swap if I ask you to.”

“I have classes!” Dominique’s voice rises. “And don’t forget, I’m in law school, not some third-rate technical college where they don’t care if you ever show up!”

“Hey!” the tiny, blue-haired girl cries in protest. Dominique just gives her a withering stare.

“Like I said, some of us go to real schools.”

Carlos puts his hands on his hips. “And like I said, you’ll take whatever shifts I give you or go find another job!”

“Maybe I will!” Dominique shoots out of her seat. “Maybe I’ll leave you to try to do the accounts on your own. You wouldn’t last a week without me, idiot.”

I feel a tug on my arm. “Come on,” LuAnn says through a mouthful of muffin. “I’ll show you the ropes.”

“But . . .” I glance back at Carlos and Dominique, now yelling about opening hours and labor rights. “Shouldn’t we . . . ?”

“Leave them.” She sighs. “She’ll storm out, and he’ll apologize. Or maybe he won’t, and you’ll get more shifts. Win!”