The Perfect First (Fulton U, #1)(14)

A woman with a half apron wrapped around her waist appeared. “Sit anywhere you want. Someone will be over in a second, and here’s a menu.” She handed over a plastic-covered menu and I looked for a spot.

I sat at a table and stared at the options. There were so many things I’d never even heard of. My stomach grumbled at many of the descriptions. Bleu cheese on a burger? What are atomic fries? Can that many things even fit on a plate of French fries?

“Do you know what you want to order?” I supposed this was my server. She pulled a pencil and notepad out of the pocket of her apron, her face vaguely familiar. Most of the people working there looked like college students.

My last time out without anyone looking over my shoulder at what I ordered had been with Aunt Sophie what felt like ages ago. I’d stuck to eating at home or packing snacks when I went to the library. “I’ll have a Shirley Temple.”

The woman nodded.

I raised my hand like a kid in class. She stared at me. “Can I have extra cherries?”

“Sure thing. And to eat?” She crouched down beside the table, resting her hand beside the menu.

“I really have no idea. Everything sounds really good. What would you order?”

“The Juicy Lucy with fries is pretty awesome. That’s my favorite thing on the menu.”

Cheese-stuffed burger with bacon and ranch. My mouth watered. “I’ll take that.”

“Perfect. I’ll be right back with your drink.” She took my menu and left. I drummed my fingers across my lap.

I looked around the restaurant. Some people studied. A lot of people sat with friends, talking and laughing. Even after moving away to college, I was still on the outside. The loneliness I’d attributed to my parents, being homeschooled, and only being surrounded by adults as a child hit even harder when I was surrounded by people my age, when I’d walk by them on campus or sit beside them in class and I remained invisible.

The server came back with my drink, extra cherries included. Even here in the restaurant, friends laughed and joked. Couples flirted and smiled at each other. I plucked a cherry out of my drink.

I sat at the empty table by myself with my bag, my books, and a phone with no more than ten contacts on it. Sticking the stem of the cherry into my mouth, I tied it into a knot—one of many useless talents I’d entertained myself with as a kid. I’d needed some way to distract myself at all those boring computational math events.

“Hey, are you following me or something?” A shadow fell over my table.

Glancing up, I stared at Graham. A couple of guys walked past.

“I’ll be right there,” he called out to them.

“No, definitely not. It must have been the path from the coffee shop to here, maybe the wind direction or something. Generally, people are averse to walking into the wind, which is why when small children go missing, they always look for them with the wind at their backs. Feel free to stop me whenever this gets too awkward.” I swallowed, hoping the floor would open up and swallow me whole. Maybe I’d get lucky and the campus was on top of an inactive volcano or a hell-mouth.

He laughed. “That’s great information if I’m ever helping look for a lost kid. And I didn’t actually think you followed me.”

“Graham, you coming?” someone called out from the back of the restaurant.

“Here you go.” The server was back with my plate of food.

“I’ll let you get to your meal. It was nice meeting you today, Persephone.”

I fought against the cringe. “It was nice meeting you too.”

He backed away from the table and disappeared from view. My stomach, which had been in knots seconds ago, completely unfurled the second I stared down at my plate. It was a swirling pile of greasy food, and I couldn’t wait to dive in.





*



More stuffed than I’d ever been in my life, I walked back to my apartment. It was like Mother Nature had arrived early for the season change from fall to winter and she was pissed. For some reason, I’d figured Philly wouldn’t be this cold this time of year.

I opened the door to my apartment. Silence greeted me. I let out a deep breath. My fingers had itched for a moment alone like this. Rushing into my room, set my bag down and dragged my case out from under my bed. I flipped it open and lifted my bow and violin out of the velvet lining.

Being away from my parents, I’d anticipated having more time to play, but Alexa’s aversion to string instruments was a lot like my dad’s, which meant I hadn’t played in almost a week. Resting the varnished wood on my shoulder, I lifted the bow and let my fingers dance across the strings. Like math, music was an outlet I’d embraced early on.

With math, there was always a correct answer, always a solution. It might take decades to find, but it was there. With music, it was the opposite. A note might be off, a key out of tune, but mistakes could create beautiful surprises.

Once my dad realized I had a better chance of breaking records in math than with the violin, my lessons were abruptly stopped. Funny how once it wasn’t what they wanted—what he wanted—I could finally find the joy of my fingers on the strings, of the bow in my hand. On days when things just sucked or I couldn’t figure out a problem, I’d play for a bit and the answer always came to me. I’d gently lay the instrument down on my bed and scribble down in my notebook everything my brain had pieced together while I lost myself in the notes.