Page 50 of Enemy Crush
“No worries,” Quinn said with a smile at me, prompting me to add, “Yep. All good.”
Not that I’d been handling any sales. I’d been sitting on an upturned crate at the back of the stand, ready to fill potatoes. And watching Quinn. She was actually confident with customers, had learned about the produce and prices in a matter of minutes and I’d even heard her tell a lady about the differences between Russets and Reds. And she’d convinced one old man that buying in bulk was a better deal and offered my services to carry the 20 pound bag to his car. I hadn’t minded though; he’d given me a cookie for my trouble.
I was sorting a crate of loose potatoes by size when a high pitched girl’s voice screeched, “Oh my—are you kidding me? Quinn!”
I looked up to see a girl with long blonde hair standing next to a tall boy with preppy style hair. And by preppy style hair, I mean high maintenance. Probably blow-dried to get that height, parted to perfection and styled with wax and hairspray.
“Quinn Devereaux?” The deep male voice boomed with snide amusement, “So the rumors are true then?”
“Are you working here?”There was no mistaking the snark in the girl’s tone or the superior grin on her face. I leaned forward to hear better.
“Lara, hi.” Quinn’s voice was thin and soft, a shadow of how she’d been speaking to customers all morning, lively, enthusiastic and highly persuasive. “Uh, no...this is...I’m...it’s for a school project.”
“Working a potato stall is a school project?” Lara laughed, as did the boy in his cringe v-neck sweater.
“Did I hear your father’s business wentbust?”The words fell off the boy’s tongue with a smugness that made me immediately hate him.“Yeah, can’t say I’m shocked,” he carried on louder as if to gain attention. “Guess there’s not much demand for nasty plastic furniture.” He jutted his chin, a grin showing off a row of ultra white teeth.
I didn’t move, and I didn’t understand what he meant, but I wanted to smash those perfect teeth to smithereens.
“It...it didn’t...he...he’s moved away.” Quinn spoke with hesitation. “My parents split up.”
Pompous, perfect hair boy picked up a potato from the crate in front of Quinn and inspected it. “Oh, of course, yeah that’s the story,” he said with a snort of his upper class arrogance, rolling the potato in his palm. I didn’t like the way he was doing it, touching a Hamlin Farms potato that he hadn’t paid for. And I didn’t like the tone in which he was talking to Quinn. And I didn’t like him, period.
I leaped up, picked up a ten pound bag of potatoes and strode over. Standing in front of him, I tipped the potatoes into the crate with a thud, hoping the dust would flick all over that pristine cream sweater he was wearing.
“You looking for more potatoes?” I said, my seething voice laced with hostility. Yeah, I surprised me. It was totally out of character for me to engage with a rich prep school kid, let alone challenge one.
The boy’s eyebrows rose a fraction and the potato dropped from his hands like it literally was a hot potato. He made a flashy show of lightly brushing at the front of his sweater while I stood there with a dark glare, adrenaline pumping through my veins. I was ready for it, for whatever cruel remark this dude was about to make.
He tilted his head. “Thanks, but I think I’m good,” he said smoothly, managing to belittle me with one wide dismissive grinas he turned to Quinn and winked, pressing his fingers to his lips in a zipping motion. “Don’t worry, lips are sealed,” he whispered, “I promise I won’t tell anyone you’reselling spuds.” Lara giggled as they moved off, arm in arm.
Quinn lowered her head and started rearranging the potatoes I’d poured into the crate. I saw her shoulders rise and fall and was about to ask her who the kids were but two women approached the stand.
And just like that, Quinn lifted her head, smiled and cheerfully asked, “Hi, can I help?”
I slunk back to my seat, heart still pounding, kind of in shock that I’d even stepped forward to address the jerk, but more concerned about Quinn. That boy had definitely been mocking her and what did he mean about her father’s business going bust?
Shayla returned and I carried more big bags of potatoes for shoppers and when the flow of customers stopped, Shayla told us to take a break before the ‘brunch’ crowd arrived. She highly recommended Bree’s Brews for coffee, hot chocolate and cinnamon rolls. I was uncertain if we’d go together, if Quinn wanted me to tag along with her, but I waited as she untied her apron and put her little crossbody bag over her shoulder. Another one of those Squishmallow toys was attached to it. I’d seen it when she jumped into the truck but was too shy to mention it in front of Shayla.
Quinn headed for Bree’s Brews, following Shayla’s directions to go to our left and then turn right where a woman sold fresh eggs. The coffee cart was right next to it. I followed tentatively, a half step behind because I didn’t know what the heck I was doing, and I stood behind her in the line. She made a quick glance at me before turning to read the menu.
I wasn’t one for buying coffee, not when you could make a cup at home for a fraction of the price, but I didn’t want to lookcheap, and the cinnamon rolls did smell good. I was thinking that I should buy one for Mason when I heard the cashier say sharply, “That’s been declined.”
“Uh...oh, I’ll try again.”
I looked over to see Quinn tapping on the card reader, her face pale and her mouth stuck open like she was frozen.
“No, sorry hon, that hasn’t gone through,” the lady said in a pleasant but subtly stinging voice.
My chest seized as I watched Quinn pull out her phone, her cheeks now reddening and it suddenly hit me that I needed to act.
“Um, hey, here...I’ll get it,” I said, speaking to the round-faced woman with curly hair. “And I’ll have the same...what she’s having.”
The woman frowned and queried, “A latte and cinnamon roll?”
“Sure,” I said quite abruptly and without a smile. I hadn’t liked her patronizing tone aimed at Quinn.
Quinn was still tapping on her phone. “I’m sorry. I don’t think my money transferred from my other account,” she mumbled.
