The Way You Make Me Feel(19)
Heat crept up my neck. Patrick widened his eyes at me and cocked his head to the side, telepathically signaling, “Come out here.”
Every part of me wanted to toss my cap on the floor and join them—preferably by jumping out the window in a swan dive into the line of people.
But I couldn’t. I ignored him. “Have fun at happy hour, kids,” I said before stepping back to my station.
A crappy mood settled over me. Every single thing Rose did made me want to scream. I tried to zone her out, concentrating on cooking. When we got an order for a vegetarian option—a grilled eggplant in place of lombo—I tossed some thinly sliced Chinese eggplant into a skillet.
Suddenly, Rose was all up in my space. “Did you cook pork in this pan beforehand?”
“Yep.”
“Clara! You can’t do that! Some vegetarians are really picky about that! And pork is actually forbidden by some religions and cultures.”
I watched the eggplant sizzle in the oil, bubbles popping. “What they don’t know won’t hurt them. They’ll just have to wonder why their food is suddenly more delicious. Hint: pork.”
Rose gasped. “Clara, I’m serious!”
“I know you are, and I don’t care.” I grabbed a bunch of scallions and chopped them. Aggressively. “If I had to use a new pan for every freaking vegetarian order, I’d be behind and washing pans constantly.”
“But it’s the rule!” Rose said. “Adrian went over this our first day. Right, Adrian?”
My dad turned from the pickup window. “What?”
I threw the knife onto the cutting board with a clatter. “Are you kidding me right now? You just narced on me to my dad?”
Rose blinked. “What? I wasn’t—”
“Yes, you were! It’s not enough you got me suspended freshman year, you have to hover over me in my dad’s truck after you got us into this mess?”
A flash of anger passed over Rose’s face. “I didn’t know you would get suspended! And also? YOU WERE SMOKING! You do something wrong and then you freaking blame it on me? You have some real issues with misplacing blame. Hint: LOOK IN THE MIRROR.”
Rage that had been building inside me since prom reached its freaking boiling point. I thought of ninth grade, of how that suspension had put me on a specific trajectory before I even had a chance to figure myself out. “Screw you, Rose. You don’t know me. At all.”
My dad stepped between us. “Hey! Both of you, cool it. Now.”
Rose’s shoulders slumped for a second before she took off her cap. “Hey, Adrian, I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can do this. Thanks for giving me the opportunity.”
Before my dad could say anything, she placed the cap on the counter and left the truck, walking down the street, away from the bar crowd.
“What a drama queen.”
My dad looked at me, hard. “You have so much to learn, Shorty.”
Behind us, the eggplant burned.
CHAPTER 10
The next day, I woke up to my alarm. Not my dad.
Hm. Still in my pajamas with toxic morning breath and cuckoo hair, I crept over to his room and knocked on his door. Nothing. “Pai? Are you still asleep?”
Still nothing. I was about to knock again when someone tapped my shoulder. I jumped about a mile.
“Morning, Shorty.” My dad held out a mug of tea.
I took it and smiled. “To what do I owe this princess treatment?”
He ran his hand through his hair and yawned. That’s when I noticed he was still in his pajamas, too. A worn-out Clippers T-shirt and flannel pants. “Well, there’s a change of plans. You and Rose are running the truck without me today.”
The tea scalded my tongue. “Huh? Are you sick?”
“Nope.”
“Uh, do you have a meeting?”
“Nah.”
“Then what?”
There was a mischievous gleam in his eye that chilled me. A gleam that I’ve inherited. It never means anything good.
“It’s a test.”
I stopped drinking my tea. “No.”
“Yes.”
“FATHER!” I yelled.
He pointed at me, at once stern and ridiculous with his spiky hair and giant threadbare T-shirt. “You and Rose need to figure out how to get along. Not just put up with each other and work, but to actually get along. Rose is cool, and I want you to see that.”
I exhaled loudly. “Okay, Dr. Phil. But Rose quit, remember?”
“I talked to her parents and they convinced her to give it one last try. Actually … a one-week one-last try.”
I shook my head like I had water in my ears. “Pardon me?”
My dad already had one foot in his bedroom. “Yeah, the test is for one week. Good luck today, see you later!” He rushed inside and locked the door.
I banged on it. “No way!”
His voice was muffled. “Rose is waiting for you at the commissary. You guys know the drill by now. I’m not concerned about mistakes, I just want you to make it work, or a fall suspension, and you’ll be grounded for the entire summer!” He paused. “Text me only for emergencies.”
“The only texts you’ll get from me will be barnacle photos!” My dad had severe reactions to images of things with a lot of holes or bumps clustered together, like barnacles and seedpods. This revulsion/fear, called trypophobia, was always my Hail Mary when my dad was being a jerk. Like today.