All the Rage(21)

A ceramic file this time too, to round out edges.

My dad used to say makeup was a shallow girl’s sport, but it’s not. It’s armor. Leon wasn’t at Swan’s last night. Had to trade shifts with someone and the day before that, the diner was too busy and we were two girls short. I didn’t even get my break. The most he and I got to exchange were orders. Every now and then, though, he’d give me this smile I didn’t see him giving anyone else. I brush a thin layer of red onto my last nail, and wait for it to dry before I reach for the top coat. I apply the top coat and then I’m ready.





before the last bell, Principal Diaz comes over the PA and tells us to be safe, be good, be sober. The impossible dream. Everyone’s humming with the excitement of the lake ahead but if they took a minute to think about it, they’d realize they could get drunk and f*ck things up anywhere. Everywhere. But I guess it’s not the same. Not as epic.

It’s good for me, though. In a few hours, there will be stolen kisses and fights and after the weekend, everybody will be talking about someone else—at least for a little while. It makes me feel some kind of lightness and that’s nice. I hold on to it until I get to Swan’s and then I let Leon take its place.

“Break later?”

He asks it as soon as I come in and in that moment before I put my apron on, I swear he can tell what’s different underneath my shirt. It makes me feel warm and weird and maybe not as ready for this as I thought—but I’m wearing the pink bra tonight, either way.

I reach behind me, knot my apron strings, and nod.

“Oh, to be young again,” Holly says, watching us.

“You’re not old,” Leon tells her.

“You’re my favorite, you keep that up.”

It’s the kind of night that’s slow and impatient. No one’s got anywhere they need to be but they all want to be somewhere else, so they’re not happy. If my dad taught me anything, it’s that you can’t make people like that happy. You just have to survive them as best you can. I deal with a woman determined not to tip me no matter how fast I bring out her food and how wide I smile. A man who asks for another waitress when he sees the healing scabs on my legs. An elderly woman who requests Holly, but who refuses to move to her station to be served by her. A boy who sends his burger back four times just because he feels like it.

By then, my break with Leon is staring me down. I glance back at the kitchen. The door swings open and I glimpse him at the grill. His hands. I go to the women’s bathroom and touch up my lipstick and then I think I could be ready for whatever is going to happen with him next. I wash my hands and step back into the diner.

What I thought was the diner.

This is the place where truckers stop to fill their bellies before they hit the road again, where Ibis College kids come to soak up the alcohol after drinking at Aker’s farm; this is the place where the booths are green and the floor is a grimy gray linoleum and the walls are covered in nostalgia pieces and the radio only plays country music. This place, where I work five nights a week and no one knows my name—is not that place anymore.

Across from the wall with the vintage Coke sign, sitting small in a booth, is a girl. Her long blond hair reflects the golden light above, making it look lusher, and the rest of the diner duller. She’s so different from everyone here, so immaculate, she’s impossible to miss.

Penny.

She turns her head my way. I stay perfectly still, like she couldn’t see me if I was still. What if she’s not alone? I look to the window, my gaze sweeping the parking lot for Alek’s Escalade or Brock’s busted-up Camaro but I only find her white Vespa. A gift from her parents to make the divorce easier, like that made any sense.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Holly making her way over and if I know anything, it’s that I don’t want Holly at Penny’s booth. It’s her station, but she can’t have it. I rip my order pad out of my pocket and pull the pencil from behind my ear. I know I’ll get hell for it later, but it’s the better hell. I cut Holly out. I go to Penny, plant my feet in front of her. She stares at me calmly. I smooth my apron with my trembling hand, trying to figure out how I’m going to do this. How do I do this? It’s your job.

So I do it like it’s my job.

“Can I take your order?”

My voice wavers. I hate myself for it. And there are all these questions in my head, demanding answers. How did she find me out? Her mom? She spends her weekends in Ibis with her mom, but this isn’t the kind of place a Young would eat.

Penny picks up the single page, laminated menu and pretends to look it over.

She says, “I’ll start with a drink.”

I’m supposed to ask her what kind she wants because that’s my job and I need to do this like it’s my job, but seeing her here, in my space—all I know is I want to hurt her until she’s out of it. She asks for a Coke. That’s all. I write it down like an idiot.

When I head back to get it, Holly corners me and she’s pissed.

“What the hell are you doing, Romy?”

“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “You can take the next two of mine. I just—I thought it was someone I knew. I’m really sorry, Holly.”

“Even if it was, you could’ve asked—”

“I know. I’ll never do that to you again. I wasn’t thinking.”