Page 81 of Collision
Tiffany’s eyes widen. “But didn’t you tell him that you don’t like Indian food?”
“It’s not that I don’t like it; I just find it a bit too spicy for my taste.” She nails me with a “who are you trying to fool?” expression. “Okay! I don’t like it, but I don’t see the problem. I can just order plain rice.”
“Ah, so it’ll be a nice dinner of nothing for you. That’s sure to be unforgettable,” she mocks me. “Why didn’t you tell him the truth?”
“Because he was so happy to take me to this Indian restaurant with ‘inimitable cuisine,’ which, according to him, I can’t miss. You should have seen him, even you wouldn’t have been able to say no to him.”
“Doubt it. Anyway, what are you going to wear?” she asks, blasé, while eating another gummy bear and sitting on the bed.
“I don’t know, something simple. Logan likes me as I am; I don’t need to twist myself up to get his attention—”
Tiff rolls her eyes and I glare at her. I join her on the bed, lying down next to her and stealing a candy.
“Tell me, what did he ever do to make you dislike him so much?” I ask, chopping a bear in half with my teeth.
“Nothing, it’s just…he’s too perfect, you know?”
I give her a confused look and shake my head.
“Believe it or not, Prince Charmings don’t exist, honey. Very often, they’re just hiding behind clever masks and they turn out to be the worst of them all. And you can be so naive at times, that…”
“That you worry about me,” I finish the sentence for her, gently.
“Maybe.” She looks at me sideways and laughs affectionately.
“You don’t have to, Tiff. It’s true, I was naive with Travis and Thomas, but only because I was blinded by emotions.”
“I wasn’t talking about Thomas. He was an asshole to you, but he never tried to pretend he wasn’t an asshole. He showed what he was from the start. Can you say the same about Logan?”
She’s not completely wrong. Thomas never promised me anything; I was the one who believed it could be more than it was. And when it comes to Logan…I think for a moment and then nod. “My instinct is to trust him, but I promise you I’ll give him the third degree tomorrow night, if that will help you feel better…Mom,” I tease her, nudging her with my elbow.
Not only have I cut ties with Thomas for the last month, but Travis also seems to have finally disappeared from my life. I haven’t heard from him since Tiffany threatened to tell their father everything if he didn’t stay away from me. Of course, I have also avoided any Beavers games like the plague, since the team is filled with guys I’d rather not see, but apparently I’ve come out of it otherwise unscathed. Well, except for the tiny detail that my mother and I only speak to each other in monosyllables ever since I confessed everything to her. Everything except the identity of the boy who was in my room that accursed Sunday night. If I had told her that while she was taking a bath, I was achieving ecstasy in the arms of a “ne’er-do-well” (as she would surely call him) she would have kicked me out.
“So, are you ready? Alex will be here any minute,” Tiffany announces, shaking me from my thoughts. I’m very ready. In fact, I can’t wait. After a month of looking for work, Matt was finally able to get me a job interview at his uncle’s bar.
“Waxed, primped, and perfumed. Let’s go!” I reply, full of enthusiasm.
Twenty minutes later, we find ourselves in front of a bar north of the city. A buzz of rock music emanates from the building. Strange, bars are usually pretty empty at this time of day. Parked outside aretwo Harley-Davidsons, one red and one black. I’ve never been to this place before.
I leave my friends to wait for me in a nearby park and, as soon as I enter the bar, I am hit with the smell of hops, lumber, and fried food. To my right is a long, solid wooden counter with a set of taps and leather stools, upon which a few patrons are seated. The walls are also wood-paneled, with small, darkened windows.
“Hey! Do you need a seat?” asks a girl with a head full of blue and black braids.
“Hi, I’m Vanessa Clark. I’m here to talk to the boss; I have an appointment with him in five minutes.”
“He’s in his office.” She points upstairs. “I’ll go grab him now. Is there anything I can get you in the meantime?” she asks as she finishes arranging some clean mugs.
“A soda, thanks.” I smile at her. She pours the soda into a glass and hands it to me along with a bowl of chips. Then she heads upstairs.
After a few minutes, I hear footsteps behind me and a deep, British-accented voice exclaims, “Vanessa, at last we meet! Matt tells me many good things about you. Pleased to meet you, I’m Derek Ford.” He extends his hand, and I take it. He’s probably in his forties, well groomed, with a thin beard covering his chin and jaw. He has the same dark eyes as his nephew only with more crow’s-feet around them. “Come, sit,” he says, and we settle at a dark wood table. “Tell me, what brings you to these parts?” he asks, folding his hands on the table.
“I’m a sophomore in college, and I’m looking for a job that will allow me to have a bit of independence,” I say with a certain nervousness as he watches me attentively.
“That’s a mature move, it does you credit. Most kids your age only think about having fun and ruining their livers. What is your availability? I’m guessing college takes up a lot of your time.”
“A part-time position would be ideal.”
“You should know, during the week it’s busy here but manageable. On weekends, it’s pure chaos. I can offer you part time in the eveningswith the possibility of more hours on the weekends if there are extra events. What do you say?”
