Touch (Denazen #1)(44)

Oh yeah. She’d be a pushover for sure. The kind girls like me were easily able to walk all over, chew up, and spit out.

“Sit down,” she barked and pointed to a solitary chair in the corner of the room.

Holy hell, was I wrong.

On the other side, Mercy sat behind a long white desk and pulled a legal-sized notepad out of the drawer. “My name is Mercy Kline. I’m the acquisitions interviewer here at Denazen. I’ll be asking you a series of questions. I advise you to answer them promptly and truthfully. We will—”

“What kind of questions?”

She looked up from her paper, eyes wide. “Excuse me?”

It wasn’t that complicated a question. “What kind of questions will you be asking?” I repeated, slower. “And while we’re at it, what am I gonna be doing here? Hunting down Sixes? Working in the cafeteria? No one’s said, and I’d kinda like a clue.”

The surprised look melted away, replaced by one of superiority. “Maybe Mr. Cross wasn’t clear in his instructions.” She leaned forward. Slamming one of the drawers closed, she said, “You are here to answer questions, not ask them. Do you understand?”

I nodded.

Placated, she continued. “Please state your full name.”

“Deznee Kaye Cross.”

“And your age, including date of birth.”

“Seventeen. Born on February 1, 1994.”

“Parents’ names and ages?”

“Are you serious? You must know my—”

Mercy looked up from her paper. The weight of her stare hit me like a truck falling out of the sky. “Parents’ names and ages?” she said again.

“My mom’s name was Sueshanna. I really don’t know her age.” I managed to get the words out without flinching. Careful to phrase my answer generically, I omitted saying she was dead. If it was true, and she could see a lie, she’d know right away it was crap. I hoped by avoiding the subject altogether, I could skate around it. “My dad’s name is Marshall Cross and he’s forty-five.”

“Current relationship status?” Her voice cut like an arctic chill blowing through the room.

“If you mean me, then you’re not my type. If you mean my dad, he’s single, but I don’t think you’re his type either,” I said with a small smile. Mercy didn’t find it amusing. A small blue vein in her forehead started throbbing like crazy.

Of course, seeing how much it annoyed her only pushed me further. “Actually, come to think of it, I don’t think he has a type. I’ve never seen him with a woman. Mercy, I hate to break it to you, but there’s a very real possibility my dad is gay.”

“Deznee—”

“Dez,” I corrected. Dad was the only one who called me Deznee. I hated it.

“Deznee,” she repeated. “Your father warned me about you. I’m sure he also told you I would not be going easy on you because of your familial ties.”

“What’d he say?”

She blinked, not understanding.

“You said he warned you about me. What’d he say?”

Her smile turned into a toothy grin. “He said you were a disrespectful little cur in need of serious and harsh disciplinary action and that we shouldn’t hold back.”

“Ouch.”

“Moving on.” She bent her head over the desk again. “Current relationship status?”

“Single.”

“Sexual orientation?”

I almost asked her if she was hitting on me, but after the previous display, I thought twice. “Straight.”

“Heterosexual.”

“Huh?”

“The correct answer is heterosexual.”

I didn’t say anything, though a ton of things came to mind.

“Allergies?”

Stupidity. Country music. Liars. Also, possibly shellfish. “None I’m aware of.”

“How many sexual partners have you had?”

I gave her a look of mock indignation. “And what makes you think I’m not a virgin?”

She tilted her head up and, I swear, rolled her eyes.

“One,” I answered, annoyed. This crap had nothing to do with anything and it was none of her business.

She looked up again, glaring as if she didn’t believe me.

“Aren’t you the human lie detector?” It came out a little defensive.

“Oh, I know you’re telling the truth, I’m simply surprised.”

I raised my eyebrows, but said nothing.

“The way your father made it sound, you were a regular Jezebel.”

“Jezebel? No one says that anymore. The word you’re looking for is whore. Or skank. Hoochie works, too.” I told myself it was her purpose to bring me down a few pegs, to find a crack in my armor, but it still bothered me that Dad told her I was a tramp.

I shrugged it off and played it cool. I refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing it get to me. “I’m a tease more than anything else. It’s a huge thrill to get a guy all wound up then douse him with a nice cold helping of I’m-not-ready, ya know what I mean?” I leaned back and gave her a once over. “Well, maybe you don’t know what I mean.”

“Name?”

“Didn’t we go over this one already? Deznee—”