Part 1 of a story that probably needs a plot

Yes, I have been writing. The process…it’s so slow.

But I can tell I’m writing in a different way these days, which is cool and makes me feel like maybe school has been helpful. Like, this story is a little silly. It’s an awkward POV/narration. And I’m not sure if it’s unique or interesting. But I’m into it as a project because it’s allowing me to play and experiment with tense and syntax. I like that. I like writing as practice and experiment! Dontgetmewrongtho, it would be great to write something someday that was also good. amiright.

Is it illegal if I ask people for help? Like, if you happen to read this to-be-continued bit down below and have an idea of WHAT SHOULD ACTUALLY HAPPEN IN THE STORY NEXT can you please text or message me? LOL.

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Kevin won’t text me back during his shift at Macaroni Grill. Ever since Veronica quit he and I haven’t been on the schedule at the same time. Before, I was always catching him on his phone, hiding out by the drink station during his shift. I mean, I’m just a hostess, but I know he doesn’t really have the time for that. I should know—his section is my go-to when things get crazy and I need to double-sit. Even then, there I go peeking around the dimly-lit kitchen corner carrying a sagging armful of laminated menus back to the stand, back to my perch, and I catch him shrouded behind a stone column, and I hiss. So now when he can’t take a second to reply—I’m just opening the text thread and looking at the lonely tower of my last two blue messages unanswered—I know he’s up to no good. 

It’s apparent that whatever Kevin’s up to requires he shun me from his thoughts completely, and I should be able to guess what that means. Kevin’s the guy everyone wants to talk to here at Macaroni Grill. He’s been around, let’s say, and when we met I was just fresh meat. Plus, I’m sure you can imagine that this place only hires the most desperate of desperados. Doomed high school girls hostessing. Grimy recent graduates serving. Everyone is trying to hook up to make the whole situation more interesting than it is. When I started here, I actually loved the attention. It was all new to me, and the work was easy. I remember a couple of the older servers who didn’t flirt instead just tried to intimidate. They looked at me like I was a baby racoon, or a possum, some gutter goer, and they assumed I couldn’t hang. I’m 16 though and I can tell you I’ve done harder things.  

Kevin is pretty bad at texting in general. I mean, it’s usual for a few days to go by with no exchange between us. We don’t go to the same school, so seeing him at work was how we bonded. I should be used to it, the bad texting, but something about knowing he’s at work and he’s most definitely on his phone and still not texting me is causing me to tweak out. It’s a bad look to double-text, but I thought for sure my timing of texting a reference to our inside work joke would trigger a response. I mean, he doesn’t know I know he’s at work right now, and I only know because I check for him on the schedule religiously, but bringing up the thing about non-slip shoes is worth a “haha” at the least.

Nothing. 

To be honest I’m in the habit of checking the schedule literally every day now. People might swap, things might change, and if I don’t know where he is or what he’s doing 95 percent of the time, it’s comforting knowing when he’s at Mac Grill. When he’s working, I know he’s in the place that reminds him of me, and it helps knowing he’s only around the other losers. But he’s not responding, not now and not for days prior, and maybe the joke isn’t funny anymore, and maybe Mac Grill isn’t enough to keep us together. I don’t know what else to have for hope at this point. 

I mean, it sucks because I just can’t stop thinking about him. I’m thinking about new things to say to make him want to talk to me. I’m thinking about going on a date, a real date, like we’ve talked about before. Movies, park sunset. Just a ride in his car. I’m only a sophomore, you know, so I’ve never had a serious thing with a guy who’s had his own car. I can’t even explain what it feels like to be with him—it feels like life is finally really happening to me. I’m really out here existing, as if as a brand new person. I’ll be more specific: there’s a scene I fantasize about, him and me just driving in his car up the neighborhood hills and it’s getting dark, the air is warm. There’s basically no one on the road and the few cars that are watch us whiz by. Those stuffy passengers feel something like envy when they see me leaning hard out the window. Carefree. I’m feeling actually free. It’s cheesy, but a scene like that has got to be the kind of memory you get to keep for forever because it’s worth something. What I’ve built with Kevin is my first real achievement in growing up. I’ve sensed it for a while, all the kids at school who hang out in the best spots, laugh the loudest, have the most fun have always been more mature, more adult than me. Like I’m prepubescent because I can’t crack a joke or find the right outfit or get the cool guy’s attention. I’ve only grown tired of being a kid. Yet, no one at school knows about Kevin, of course, but I can already feel him changing me even when I’m not with him, even when I’m at school. I’m getting prettier, more interesting, standing taller in the crowded quad at lunch, my longing for him somehow turning me into a more grown up version of myself. I mean, it’s silly. I don’t know what it’s like to be an adult. I can only fantasize about a meaningful life. 

I find out what’s really going on after it’s been a few hours and Marisol posts a picture. She’s hugging him and smiling with all of her teeth exposed. I mean, I never smile like that in pictures. They’re on the baseball field at his school. She’s tagged him and written, “Best!!” with hearts and a monkey covering its eyes. 

The only reason I follow Marisol is because she and a group of her friends came to Mac Grill one night while both Kevin and I were working. Right away she asked, “Can you seat us in Kevin’s section?” and I said I’d ask him, since he was pretty busy with tables already. She laughed, I think, but clearly annoyed or passive aggressive-like. Rolled her eyes with the way she said okay as a question before turning to the group. After they were seated, I stood at the podium and watched Kevin go over and chat with them, and I pretended to look busy on the iPad while I listened. When he left, I got bold. I grabbed a rag and red bucket to bus the table nearby, even though that’s not my job. I made sure to be casual—give off confidence in the fake way I sometimes can when I really try—and I said something to Marisol about loving her dress when I walked past. Really, I was just trying to make a better impression in case Kevin introduced us later. I didn’t want his friends to remember me as just that one geeky hostess even if they didn’t yet know who I was to him. Some days later, I was scrolling and followed Marisol and one of the other girls after seeing their pages pop up on my suggested feed. They both followed back, which felt good. I guess maybe I still thought I’d be able to sneak my own way into the part of Kevin’s life he wasn’t merging me into on his own. 

Now that I’ve seen the photo, my options are to call him, which I’ve never done before, or die. There’s dinner with Dad and my sister Megan to get through first, then the drive to Mom’s house since she and Dad are splitting time and it’s her turn with us every other weekend, Thursday to Sunday, during the school year. She lives in a different neighborhood now. I mean, she’s moved twice since their separation two years ago. Now she’s on the north side in a fancy but small apartment. I guess my dad is in the house still because of the dogs, which Mom hates. I mean, it’s just the worst timing because she is going to want to sit us down on the couch or at the table together and hear all about school and sports and work, and then when we’re finally free to go, I’ll have to share a bedroom with Megan. Here’s what it feels like: going a million miles an hour trying to escape flashing visions of the picture, of them together, of them that night at Mac Grill, of him laughing at me wasting my time, then crashing into a wall, flattened into it, becoming absorbed by it. Becoming an emotionless wall. Breathless, unthinking, walled in, wall particles. 

We never talk about our social lives, what’s really going on at school or work, at dinner. Mom asks more than Dad will, but she’s okay keeping it vague. How’s Alana doing? she asks. I say she’s fine. Mom got off work early today and joined us at the usual pizza place. We stop here with Dad on the way to her place on the nights of the transaction. I guess it’s not weird for them to be eating together at this point in the divorce, but it’s kind of weird for the rest of us. Dad pays for everyone’s pizza without second guessing and Mom smiles, really smiles at him multiple times. But then she forces him to take the box of leftovers home and I know it’s because she suspects he still hasn’t gotten used to cooking for himself. Maybe it’s just me who notices these small moments of sadness or who still cares. 

They’re absorbed in talk of Megan’s competitive dance stuff. Where the judges went wrong at the last meet. Which discipline is harder to compete in and why. Whether they’ll both be able to make the next competition and whether that means I’ll be spending yet another weekend alone. I know it’s not Megan’s fault that her chosen activity demands so much time and attention. I know it’s objectively more interesting than what little of my life I choose to share with my parents at this point. It’s not as if Megan is any more close to them than me. We’re just not a sharing family. 

He’s cheating on me with the girl I was always sad about. She doesn’t even know I existed as something more in his world before her. I’m going to have to quit my job. I’m going to have to pretend there’s some other reason why. I don’t know how pretending to be fine will not ruin me, but I can’t talk to anyone. No one knows. That’s all I can’t say over pizza. 

Mom asks me what I’m saving up for because she’s heard from Dad that I worked three nights in a row recently. A new puppy to have at Dad’s house, I feel like saying to start an argument. College, I say instead, because it will shut her down completely. One of our big fights this year was about how all of my friends’ parents who actually went to college have promised to support them in that journey, too. It offended her because I was belittling her by comparing her and also being unfair by assuming she won’t do the same for me. She reminded me that all she said before was that it’s a good idea to consider other avenues if I’m unsure. The way she says it the second time makes it seem nice, but I don’t remember it coming out that way initially. I’m just moody and don’t want to take advice from my parents, whom I don’t respect. That’s what she thinks. I think I’m better than them even though I’ve never had to make it on my own before. Sure. Why don’t I look at my sister, actually putting energy into developing a skill. Why don’t I get better grades, actually earn my way into college if I’m so elite, if that’s my only dream. 

Kevin smokes Swishers, flavored cigarillos. One night, I was off an hour earlier than him and waiting, sitting at a booth in his section with a caprese salad, half-off for employees. Alejandro, another long-time server, came by to chat with me for a bit before Kevin showed up with his apron off, shirt unbuttoned and ready to head out. Kevin had a Swisher already unwrapped and rested behind his ear. Alejandro made a joke insinuating that he had packed it with something stronger than tobacco. I laughed, they laughed, and I didn’t get to the bottom of it then. I was too scared to ask Kevin if he did drugs. It’s like something you should already be able to assume about someone. Some days later, we were taking a break together behind the building. Since I only work four hour shifts, I don’t get a full thirty minutes like he does, which sucks. He had his whole set up ready to relax down into as usual, a stolen menu to sit on, back to the building wall. A napkin full of dinner rolls. His Swisher. I must have been feeling especially giddy because I asked if I could try it. He got it all lit first with his purple lighter and a few heavy puffs and then handed it to me between his thumb and index finger. I was only scared for a moment that I might fumble with it, but the whole thing was easy enough. He kissed me and tugged on my earlobe when it was time for me to head back in. 

I felt great.

I spent the rest of that shift with my eyes half-closed. The other hostess I was working with took control of the late lunch lul and did so happily because she got to make fun of me for being so blazed. She’d make me do tricky tasks on the iPad or confuse me with word riddles. I remember laughing a lot, then ducking for a drink whenever Veronica, the assistant manager, passed by. I went to the bathroom at the end of my shift and it felt like I was in there for far too long. I just couldn’t tell if I still needed to pee, and there was a moment I genuinely felt like I had accidentally peed myself. I couldn’t tell if I liked the whole feeling or just parts of it, but the best part was when Kevin texted me to meet me by his car in the parking lot when he was off, and I did. I got in a lot of trouble that night since Megan was supposed to pick me up in Mom’s car after my shift, but I never texted her. 

I discovered other things with Kevin for the first time, too. If people asked, I couldn’t call him my boyfriend, but I could tell stories about my experience of things boyfriends and girlfriends do together and which I did with him. At school, my friend Carina started hooking up with this senior from her pre-calculus class. She joked that she earned it from the year of accelerated math that gave her such hell in middle school. I said all the right things to make her feel cool and special for it, but he wasn’t cute. During lunch, she’d ditch Alana and me to meet him at their secluded spot in an unused doorway to the B-wing. When she had questions about why he wanted to move his hands where he did while they made-out, I told her to just use her hands to move his hands off of the sensitive areas and onto better ones. I told her that he would appreciate that. The silent guidance. I’m not sure if she took my advice, because she looked skeptical. Like how could I know anything because I’d never made-out with anyone before. Carina and the senior only lasted a few weeks. He started ditching school a lot, ditching her, and I think she got tired of doing his homework. Maybe she thought she was getting back at him by refusing to help him, but I doubt he cared. Boys really don’t care that much. 

It sucks.  

Carina, Alana, and I used to tell eachother everything. We used to have sleepovers and play Club Penguin and sneak out of the room for snacks in the middle of the night, quiet so the parents wouldn’t yell at us the next day for being lazy because they know we stayed up without sleeping. But I guess those times were so fun because we didn’t really have anything to talk about. Instead of talking, we played and imagined and joked with nonsense. I guess I decided not to tell them about Kevin because Kevin didn’t tell anyone about me. There’s moments it all seems so simple, too, like I shouldn’t even have anything to talk about. I was the new girl, he started hitting on me, I took it seriously, people at work assumed it was just flirtatious or they didn’t care, we never held hands or kissed around anyone, we never went on a real date. And I didn’t have the courage to ask why or what or when. 

I text him one more time. Can you call me.  

It’s seven-thirty and I’m watching an episode of Law & Order with Mom and Megan on Mom’s new sectional couch. 

It’s eight-thirty and I’m scrolling on my phone, looking people up. 

It’s ten and I’m hysterical. I know he’s home from work by now. I know I have to talk to him, but I can’t deny that he’s ignoring me. Megan has her headphones in and her eyes are closed. She’ll probably give it another five minutes before forcing me to turn off the bedside lamp. I’m afraid of the dark. I’m afraid I’ll have no choice now but to hate him, even though all I want is to hear his voice easy and reassuring, saying hey beautiful why are you so worried. Don’t you know that I’m just a popular guy. Don’t you love me for it. Don’t you want to calm down and go for a ride. 

It’s worse in the morning when I have to go to school. If I stay home sick I have to stay here at Mom’s and none of my stuff is here and there’s nowhere I know to escape to. Megan drives us in Mom’s car and we take the freeway past the offramp toward Kevin’s high school. I think I see him in an old green BMW, but it isn’t his car. Just another boy with a tapered buzz cut and big ears. Maybe I just need someone who looks like him. Who’s tall and lanky in oversized shirts and baggy chinos, who rolls up the cuffs and the sleeves to look cool. But maybe the problem is that I don’t match up with that image, with a guy like that. And even though I feel like that’s my type, it’s not my type at all because I’m not that type’s type. Maybe I don’t get to choose a type anymore but for the rest of my life will just have to settle.

Honestly, I’d rather settle for heartbreak. 

She’s too young for me, but someday. That’s what he must be thinking. She’s perfect, but we don’t go to the same school. It’s better if we don’t ruin it in any way. There’s got to be a reason, and it’s got to be innocent. Probably not as bad as I’m mostly suspecting. And maybe my fault. He doesn’t know what I want because I haven’t made it more clear. Of course he wants to be with me, doesn’t he say it all the time. I missed you so much, were you thinking about me, do you want to go for a ride. 

I’m avoiding interaction at school because no one here can help me get to him. They can’t help me get close. I can’t even talk about him. I’d rather do my biology lab in silence and think about him and him alone. Go over details that are more vibrant, more critical than any of the random stuff people here want to talk about, want me to focus on, or learn. I consider him as a person. I consider how he thinks about me. When is he going to text me back. Will he call. You have to be patient. You have to show him that you’re patient. You’re not going to cause trouble. You’re exactly what he wants. You’ll wait. 

We head back to Dad’s for a week and a half, then Mom’s again for another weekend, then back. During a bit of it, I wasn’t sure how I’d get by. It was excruciating. I called out for two shifts even though they didn’t have anyone to replace me with. Said I had a death in the family, which was a little dramatic, but I thought it might get around to him and guilt him into reaching out. Then, a new Monday came around and a schedule update for the following week. It’s changed everything. Suddenly, eternity became just a week and a half long. School everyday and two weekend shifts before a miracle: we’d been scheduled together on an easy Tuesday night. I just had to live until Tuesday, February 20th. And he, of course, would need to live too.

Nothing may jinx it. I’ve passed the days. I did my homework. I didn’t talk to a single boy, even blowing off my few guy friends in English and PE with short answers and shrugs. Couldn’t allow anything to shake my focus. When Carina complained at lunch today about senior guy’s friend whom she’d started texting to get back at senior guy, I put my hand on her shoulder seriously, looked into her eyes and said that if it was meant to be, it would be. She shouldn’t force it. I didn’t say: sometimes there is just a miscommunication and you take a break and then things get set back in motion. I didn’t say: true love will find a way. But I could have. For me, it’s Monday, February 19th, and things are close to working out. 

We were with Mom over the weekend except not really. She went with Megan to all-day competitions on Saturday and Sunday and they got back late each day when I had already left for work. For once, I didn’t mind being alone. I sat for hours contemplating not what went wrong, but what I’d say next when I’d see him. I wrote in my journal. 

2. 17 Sometimes what you need isn’t the same as what you want. Treat yourself with kindness. 

2. 18 I wish there was a lever I could pull to reverse how much I care about you. It would make it easier to breathe. But that’s the thing. The amount I care is equal to the amount this could be worth it. It’s a lot of care. Please make it worth it!

At work, my shifts were weekend busy. No one said anything about the death, so I guess it didn’t make it around. After so many days of keeping everything inside around people at school or in my family, I was back at Mac Grill and finally around people who knew Kevin, who might have information about him, who might be in contact with him, and it excited me. I tried to keep it casual, slipping something in without asking directly. Of the serving staff, who’s been around the longest? Marcelino and Kevin, they both started when it opened two years ago. Oh, wow, I didn’t know that about Kevin. Really? Really, I wonder if he’ll stay here when he graduates. I’m not sure. Do you think he’s the fleeting type? The few people I struck up conversation with during downtime didn’t seem to know much more about him than I did, but just to be able to talk about him, to hear about him felt like a small release for some of my built up tension. He wasn’t just a name I repeated to myself, over and over, while lying in bed suppressing tears. He existed in real life again. 

I worked late last night, Monday night, and I packed my stuff from Mom’s house ahead of time so that Megan and I could leave to Dad’s straight after she came to pick me up. While she and Mom were still at the event during the day, I snuck into Mom’s room and took a peruse through her makeup drawers and her closet. I tested out some lipsticks—we were asked to keep it pretty neutral at work—and found a light pink one that would be perfect. Rummaging in her closet it took me a few more minutes than usual to find what I was looking for next. A dark red lace pushup bra and matching panties. I didn’t really care about the panties, and since I’d tried them on before, I knew they were too big. But the bra would work. Mom and I are both flat-chested. 

What if he calls in sick? Swaps a shift? That’s my only fear now, but it’s out of my hands. If he can’t face me, then maybe it’s even worse than I’ve been imagining. I’ve been preparing to forgive him but what if it’s worse? What are my limits? How does one begin to write a script for fifty-million different scenarios? 

The thing about Kevin is that he’s way cooler than me. Have I already made that apparent? It’s like ninety-percent of what I consider when I try to conceptualize how to make this work. But then, when I’m with him, somehow I just feel great, sexy even, and cool, too. He’ll compliment me in a way that feels real and meaningful compared to when a friend or some girl at school or, certainly, my mom compliments me. It’s like, when he says I’m gorgeous, he means it so much so that he has to do something about it. Like it’s tearing him up…TBC