Page 35 of Severance

“Let me check.” Click. The line goes dead. He didn’t even care to turn on the hold music.

I inhale deeply and try to relax, but my heart’s catapulting into my throat. All my doubts are swarming inside me like a tornado. What are the chances the restaurant will give me my shifts again? They probably have tons of applications to choose from.

The line clicks again and I hear Angelo speaking, “Alana, how are you?”

“I’m good. I called last week…” My breathing becomes shallow and I realize I’m hyperventilating.

“Yes. I received your message. I’m sorry I didn’t have a chance to return your call. It’s been a busy week.”

“I understand.” My cheeks feel flaming hot. “I just wanted to let you know I’m doing better and I’m ready to go back to work, and if you want to put me on the schedule next week or even this weekend, I’m good to go.” I don’t sound like myself, probably because I’m trying too hard; I hope he doesn’t pick up on it.

Angelo clears his throat. “Alana.” Pause. “I think it’s best you take some more time off.”

His words slice right through me.

“I’m fine. I don’t need more time off,” I counter.

“We already hired someone. I’m sorry.”

A wave of despair crashes into me. I can’t lose this job. I need it. “Do you want me to fill out another application?”

“Alana. I really am sorry, but a month is a very long time. I’m running a business. I can’t afford for an employee to be taking a leave of absence for this long. I wish you good luck and take care of yourself.”

The line disconnects.

I’m not sure what exactly I’m feeling right now—annoyance, anger, or disappointment, or maybe all of those things, but it hurts.

* * *

It’s three in the morning, and I’m tired of tossing and turning in my bed. My mind’s racing a thousand miles a second, and all my thoughts are alternating between Angelo pretty much telling me he fired me a month ago but was too busy to call and my unread message to Mikah.

I shove the blanket aside and sit up, my eyes darting to the nightstand where I left my phone. Rational Alana knows there are no messages waiting for her, but impatient Alana, the one who’s anxious to talk to someone other than her parents, checks anyway.

He said it was okay to call him if I couldn’t sleep. And we’ve already established he’s a night person.

When Mikah’s voice on the line finally slices through the darkness of my room, my heart does a small, happy flip.

“Hey,” he mutters.

“Can’t sleep,” I say meekly, waiting for him to pick up the conversation, but he responds with silence and it’s depressing. It makes me wonder if calling him this late is a good idea. Maybe it’s all in my head and he doesn’t want to be friends with me. Maybe he’s trying to move on, to leave all the reminders of the past behind, and my texts keep dragging him down.

Mikah breaks the silence. “How did the cheesecake turn out?” His voice has that soft-around-the-edges tone to it that Dakota’s used to have when he drank.

“It didn’t,” I say, pulling the blanket over my legs.

“How come?”

“It just didn’t work out.” I have no intention of telling him I freaked out in the middle of the grocery store. Besides, what are the chances he hasn’t already heard about it? Half the neighborhood was there when my parents arrived. I’m surprised it wasn’t on the news, but it wouldn’t have been, because Joseph Miller’s name has been claiming all the headlines.

I feel a tiny rush of panic flowing through my stomach. It always happens when I think of the attack or anything related to it.

“Well, that’s a bummer,” Mikah says into the phone.

“It’s no big deal.” I sigh. My brain’s working overtime. I have questions aboutDracula, but thinking about telling him I bought the book he recommended to me feels weird since I never bought anything Dakota mentioned. I don’t know why I did it. Maybe deep down, I hoped to find answers inside the novel. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Mikah agrees.

“Why do you think Stoker wroteDraculain the form of diary entries if it’s a fiction novel?”

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