Saint Anything(52)
Author: Sarah Dessen

“Do you need me to come pay?” a woman’s voice, older, called from down the hallway behind him.

“No, I’ve got it,” he replied, then stepped outside, shutting the door behind him. I took another step back, but Layla stayed where she was.

“Extra large half cheese, half ham-pineapple,” I said. “That’s fifteen-oh-nine with tax.” (“Recite the order and price first thing, even if they’ve already paid over the phone. It’s like a verbal contract they can’t renege on, plus they’ll know how much they should tip.”)

Although I’d spoken, it was Layla he was looking at as he pulled out some bills. “How much for the delivery?”

“For you, it’s free,” she told him.

“It’s my lucky day, then,” he said, peeling off a twenty and handing it to her. “Keep the change.”

“Thank you!” she said cheerfully, pocketing it as I opened the warmer and handed him the pie. “I hope you enjoy your lunch.”

“I would, if it meant you weren’t leaving,” he told her.

“Duty calls,” she replied. But I was pretty sure I saw her blush. “Pies to deliver, money to make.”

I turned around, hoping to give the signal that she should do the same. But of course, she was lingering, following me down one step but not the next.

“If I were to order another,” he said, his hand now on the knob, “would you deliver it?”

“Maybe.” She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “Or it might be my big brother.”

“Fifty-fifty chance?” He smiled. “I’ll take those odds.”

To this, Layla said nothing, instead just following me back to the car. Once safely inside, engine on, I said, “You do realize you just broke, like, every one of Mac’s rules.”

“Do you know him?” she replied. “Like, from the neighborhood?”

“No,” I said flatly. He was still on the steps, watching us, as if he thought maybe she might get out of the car. I backed out of the driveway, quick. “Never seen him in my life.”

When we got back to Seaside, another order had been placed from the same address. So we doubled back across town, this time with Layla primping the entire way. More flirting ensued and another five was tipped, while I stood by feeling awkward, to say the least. This time, when we returned, Mac was waiting, the warmer in hand.

“Same address?” he asked. “Three pizzas?”

“They’re very hungry,” she said, reaching for it.

He pulled it back, out of her reach. “We’re running a restaurant here, not a dating service.”

“It’s an order, and I’m a professional. It needs to be delivered!”

He just looked at her. “Then I’ll do it. You’re done for the day.”

“Mac,” she protested, but I could tell he wasn’t budging. “We’ll see what Dad says.”

With that, she went inside. Mac said, “At least tell me the guy is her age.”

“He is,” I told him. I glanced at my watch. “You know, I can deliver that on my way home. Save you a trip.”

“No,” he said.

“It’s my neighborhood,” I said. “And he’s already had two chances to kill us, if that’s what he really wanted.”

He raised his eyebrows. “That’s how you’re selling it? Really?”

“Just give me the pizza.”

After hesitating another moment, he pulled a pen from his back pocket, then scribbled something on the back of the ticket. “My number,” he said. “You text when you’re leaving. Got it?”

“Got it.”

He handed me the warmer and watched as I put it on the floor in the backseat. Then I went in to say good-bye to Layla, who was pouting at a table, a strawberry YumYum in her mouth. She cheered up a bit when I handed over her half of the tips.

“We’ll really hit it hard next time,” I told her. “Big money.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, waving her lollipop at me. “Whatever.”

Back in the Arbors, I rang the bell, then waited for the door to open. When it did, it was the same guy, although he’d changed his shirt into a nicer button-down and put on shoes. When he saw me, he made no effort to hide his disappointment.

“Fifteen-oh-nine with tax,” I said, keeping my voice cheerful anyway. “Thanks for your business.”

He glanced at me, then pulled yet another twenty from his pocket. “Your friend,” he said. “What’s her name?”

I shook my head. “I can’t.”

He thought for a minute. “Okay. But if she wonders if I was asking about her”—he scribbled a number on the flap of the box, a name beneath it, then ripped it off—“give her this.”

I didn’t agree or say no outright. I just took it and went back to my car, where I texted Mac.

Leaving now, I told him. Alive and well.

I was pulling up to my own house when he replied. She wants to know if he asked for her number.

I thought for a second, trying to figure out where my loyalties lay in this situation. Then I typed No, which was not a lie. And waited. My phone beeped. This time, it was Layla.

Did he give you his for me?

I smiled. As tricky as I thought I was, she was again one step ahead. If I had to be behind, though, there was no one else I’d rather follow.

Yes.

A beep. A row of smiley faces filled my screen, then another. But it was Mac’s text I was focused on as I cut my engine. ADD TO CONTACTS? my phone was asking, as it did whenever an unknown number came in. It felt like a leap of faith, or even an assumption. But as I typed in his name and hit SAVE, I looked back at those rows of faces and smiled, too.

Chapter 14

HIS NAME was Mason Albert Spencer, but everyone called him Spence. He’d just moved to Lakeview and went to W. Hunt Academy, the military school just outside town. When he officially became Layla’s boyfriend, everything began to change.

Well, not everything. We still hung out at lunch every day, as well as at Seaside after school. Spence had a packed extracurricular schedule in the afternoon, so he could only see Layla on weekends, and even then he had a tight curfew. At first, I’d just assumed he was like so many other kids in the Arbors, where the number of activities you participated in reflected the money available to do them. And Spence’s stepfather, a plastic surgeon, could afford just about anything. Pretty soon, though, I began to recognize certain aspects of Spence that gave me pause. I didn’t want to say anything to Layla, though. She was just so happy.