More Than Friends (Friends, #2)(7)

After lunch I have AP English with Tuttle, and I sit in my usual spot at the front of the class, refusing to look back at him. My neck remains warm the entire period. I could feel his eyes on me, watching me, staring at my nape. I totally regret wearing my hair in a high ponytail.

When the bell rings, I bolt out of class so fast I run into the edge of a desk on my way out. That probably caused a major bruise.

But at least I didn’t have to talk to Tuttle. See his face. Look into his eyes.

Instead of driving straight home after school like I normally would, I go in search of a job. It’s time for me to grab hold of my life and control it. I need money. Lots of it—and all for college. Working a part-time job after school and during the weekends wouldn’t make me much, but it’s a start.

I pull into a shopping center parking lot and walk from store to store, asking if they were hiring. Asking for applications. Most of them told me to apply online, especially the chain stores, and I knew I’d never hear back from them. I need to find a local store, a place that’s run by the actual owners versus a management crew hired by corporate. But those types of businesses are getting harder to find.

So when I stop in front of Yo Town, a relatively new frozen yogurt place located at the far end of the shopping center, I’m thinking it might have strong possibilities.

Pushing open the door, I walk into the chilly shop, noting how clean it looks. A vaguely familiar teenage boy sits on a stool behind the counter with his back against the brightly painted wall, his head buried in a book. So buried, I really can’t see his face at all, just a shock of light brown hair sticks up above the open book, his lanky body hunched over as he reads.

“Um, hi?” I say after I clear my throat.

He startles, nearly dropping the book to the floor, but he catches it just in time. I recognize him immediately. Blake Stephens. He’s a senior. Quiet. Studious. He’s in most of my advanced classes, just like Tuttle.

I’ve maybe spoken ten words to him the entirety of our high school life.

“You’re Amanda Winters,” he says after an uncomfortable moment of silence.

“That’s me.” Lame, lame. Yikes. “So, hey. Are you by chance hiring right now?” I ask.

Blake jumps to his feet, coming to stand directly across from me behind the cash register. “We are. I can put in a good word for you, too.”

I laugh nervously, noting how closely he examines me. His rapt attention is kind of creepy. “That’s awesome. Can I have an application, please?”

“Yeah, sure.” He reaches beneath the counter and hands over a standard job application. I take it from him with a faint smile, thank him for the pen and clipboard he also hands me then go sit at one of the small table so I can start filling out the application.

I’m concentrating so hard on making sure all of my answers on the application are correct, I don’t notice at first what’s playing on the flat screen TV hanging on the nearby wall. But then it slowly dawns on me that he’s watching a kid movie on the Disney Channel.

He must’ve seen me stare at the TV because he says, “My parents keep it on Disney so the kids are entertained.”

I turn to look at him. “Your parents own this place?”

“Yeah.” He ducks his head and shuffles his feet. “I hate frozen yogurt.”

This time my laugh is for real, and there’s not a hint of nervousness in it. “So why do you work here?”

“Because they make me?”

I laugh some more and he joins in with a low chuckle. “Seriously, you don’t want to work here?”

“Oh yes I do.”

My gaze returns to the application and I work on it some more, wishing I’d prepared better. It’s hard to come up with a list of references on the spot. I grab my phone and start scrolling through my contacts, stopping when I find my grandma’s address. She’s a great reference, though maybe I should tell her not to say she’s my grandma. “I need a job.”

“Not this one.”’

“Yes, this one would be perfect.” The more he talks about me not wanting it, makes me want it even more. “What’s so bad about working here?”

“Cleaning the place. The machines, the toppings bar, the bathrooms, the floor.” He makes a disgusted face. “It’s awful.”

“I don’t mind cleaning.” I really don’t. Mom runs a tight ship. We’re always cleaning around the house every weekend, sometimes even after school. Mom always says, “Idle hands lead to idle minds,” and I hate that quote, probably because it’s true.

Not that I’m really sure, considering I don’t keep myself idle for too long.

“Then you’re crazy,” he tells me with all the assuredness of someone who doesn’t have to worry about his job, considering his parents owned the place. He was guaranteed a job for the rest of his life. Granted, no one wants to work at Yo Town when they’re forty, but I’m sure Blake knows he can always work at the yogurt shop if he has to.

I’m almost done filling out the application when a buzzer sounds, alerting that someone’s walked into the shop. I glance up to see a pleasant-looking older woman stop at the register to talk to Blake. Their features are similar and I’d bet money it was his mom. I drop my head when she catches me looking, concentrating instead on my application and hoping she doesn’t think I’m a creeper.