Page 23 of Wanted You More

“When I was five!” he defends adamantly. A few people glance our way at the commotion, making me snicker and him sink into his seat. Voice lower, he murmurs, “That doesn’t count because I was young.”

I grin. “Whatever you say.”

We finish lunch and walk out of the cafeteria together, along with a crowd of other people heading to afternoon classes. I follow him to his locker as he keeps his head down to avoid the people around us.

Leaning against the locker beside his as he puts his things away and grabs a few notebooks from the top shelf, I can’t help but notice how timid he is when his classmates surround him. His eyes will dart to their laughter and conversations before moving away, and he’ll squirm like he’s uncomfortable by their friendliness when they say hi to him in passing.

He looks at me, pretending like I didn’t notice him ignore the boys who called out his name and waved. “What?”

I watch as he shoves the orange into his backpack and steps back to close and lock the door. “You’ll tell me if you ever have any issues with people here, right?”

His brows furrow. “What are you talking about?”

I point toward the boys disappearing into a classroom down the hall. “They just said something to you, and you completely ignored them. I want to make sure nothing is going on, that’s all.”

His head shakes, but his eyes staying on the floor tell me a lot. “There’s nothing to tell you.”

“But you would if there was?” I press suspiciously. “Because even if you get mad at me, I’m always your sister. I’ll kick anyone’s butt who’s mean to you.”

“Yes,” he blatantly lies, releasing a heavy breath, “I’d tell you.”

His shoe kicks out before he picks his gaze up and jabs his thumb behind him. “I should go before I’m late. You should too or you’ll get detention again.”

I obey, acutely aware of his dismissal. “I have to be at work at three thirty, so don’t drag your feet after school,” I call out when he weaves through the hallway full of people.

***

Sips is annoyinglyquiet for a Thursday afternoon, with the exception of the young couple who’ve been making out in the corner booth for the better part of ten minutes. I’m praying Donna, the store owner, comes and closes early, but I know I’m not that lucky.

The only good thing about being here alone on slow workdays is being able to blast the music I like without complaint. When Marybelle is working a shift with me, she always listens to K-pop songs that I don’t understand while practicing whatever new makeup trend she sees on TikTok.

I’m grateful when the couple comes up for air and collects their things to leave before I have to sanitize the booth. As soon as it’s just me, I grab the cleaning cloth, wipe down the table, and throw out the garbage they left behind. My eyes go to the smoothie-shaped clock on the wall, and I groan when I see that I still have two hours left before I’m done.

Tossing the cloth over my good shoulder, I roll my opposite one and wince at the tenderness settling into the muscles. Dad said an early cold front is going to bring the first snow of the season in a few days, which would explain why I’ve been hurting more lately. I usually don’t have to deal with it until late November, but it wouldn’t be the first time we’ve gotten snow before then. There’d been one Halloween when I’d thrown a temper tantrum because my parents made me wear a winter coat over my witch costume because it was snowing.

I’m digging through my bag for some ibuprofen when I hear the front door open. “I’ll be right with you,” I call out, pouring a couple tablets of the pain meds into my palm before capping the bottle.

Swallowing them down with what’s left of my strawberry vanilla smoothie, I turn to smile at the newest customer waiting at the counter. He doesn’t look like the usual clientele. We typically cater to poor teenagers and college students. The guy’s tailored clothes have to cost more than my used car.

“What can I get you?” I ask in my practiced chipper tone. When Donna hired me, she told me I’d need to “use that pretty smile” more often so I don’t scare away customers with my resting bitch face.

The man looks slightly familiar, but I can’t quite place where I’ve seen him. “What do you recommend?”

I hate that question, but I force my smile to remain the same. “I go for the fruit smoothies if I want to pretend I’m healthy. My favorite is the strawberry banana. We’re supposed to say they’re our healthiest option, but they’re packed full of sugar.”

He chuckles, pulling out a wallet from his pocket and taking out a big bill. “I like an honest person. The world needs more of them. I’ll take two strawberry bananas then. My daughter would be upset if I didn’t bring her back one.”

Mom and Dad used to do that for Wolfe and me. If they’d go somewhere they knew we’d want something, they’d always bring us back food, souvenirs, or toys.

For a moment, my smile wavers as I make change with the fifty-dollar bill he passes me. He looks around after I pass him his money back and get busy with his order.

When my back is turned toward him, he asks, “You like working here?”

I’ve never been one for small talk, but I indulge him anyway. “It’s money. Not many options around here, but this place treats me well enough.”

A humming noise comes from him. “Not many teenagers are willing to work these days. I’d like my Alyssa to get a job soon. A strong work ethic is important to have.”

It’s not my place to say one way or another, so I shrug. “I hope she finds something she likes.”

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