Chapter Two

Grace

The next morning, I arrived at the food truck early to prep ahead of opening hour. Sheridan’s Farmers’ Market was open on Saturdays, which meant more competition, more food trucks, more human interaction and its byproduct—more war paint. I put so much makeup on my face on Saturdays, I gave party clowns a run for their money.

Silver lining: it wasn’t rodeo day. I refused to do the rodeo shift. Not since a customer had compared my face to a horse and explained the stud would win in the beauty department.

Karlie was late, which wasn’t out of the ordinary. Even though she was one of the most laser-focused, hard-working people I’d known, she could sleep through anything, a World War included. I didn’t mind her slacking as much as I probably should. The Contrerases paid me well, provided flexible shifts, and Karlie had proven to be an amazing friend in the past four years.

I washed and cut fish, sliced vegetables, made the frozen margaritas, and rewrote and hung the wanted sign on the truck. My best friend stumbled inside at quarter to nine. She wore big pink headphones and a tank top with Bart Simpson on it.

“Hola. Everything good?” She popped her watermelon gum in my face, taking off her headphones. “Rebel Girl” by Bikini Kill blasted through them before she turned off her music app. I shoved the tongs into her hands.

“Woke up feelin’ somethin’ bad is going to happen today.”

That wasn’t a lie. Waking up today, I’d noticed the flame ring on my thumb had finally succumbed to its old age, and half the flame had broken, leaving just the hoop and part of the flame.

It was a hundred and twelve degrees outside—so hot you could fry an egg on the concrete—and probably ten degrees hotter in the truck. Something about today felt different. Monumental, somehow. Like my future had been suspended over my head, threatening to thunder down on me.

“Today’s going to be fine.” She dropped her backpack on the floor, snapping the tongs in my face. “Fine, but busy. There’s already a line outside. Better get your ass to your window, Juliet.”

“If Romeo eats fish tacos at nine a.m., I’d rather stay single.” I laughed, feeling a little more like myself again and a little less like the pitiful girl West St. Claire had made me feel I was last night.

Mrs. Contreras insisted on serving her special recipe fish tacos only. No Tex Mex in this food truck. We only did one type of taco, but we were the best at it.

“Ah, that’s the angle Shakespeare didn’t expand on. Romeo died of Juliet’s fish taco breath, not poison.”

“And Juliet’s dagger?” I tossed Karlie an amused look. She pretended to shove the tongs into her gut like it was a sword, holding her neck as she fake-choked.

“Tongs can be deadly, too.”

I opened the truck window with a smile, determined to push last night away from my mind.

“Good mornin’ and welcome to That Taco Truck! How may I hel—”

The last word clogged up in my throat when I saw his face. A line of people trailed behind him.

West St. Claire.

My smile dissolved.

Why was he back?

“Is this about the tip Tess left yesterday? Because you can have it. Maybe buy some manners.” My gut clenched, my mouth faster than my brain.

Why did I insist on getting socially murdered? Was I subconsciously suicidal? Either way, I didn’t regret what I’d said. I doubted West wanted tacos or a civilized conversation. I knew going toe-to-toe with a guy like him was a bad idea, but he’d been cold and mean yesterday, and I couldn’t help but call him out on that.

West looked like he hadn’t slept all night. He was still wearing the same jeans and faded shirt combo, his steadfast, bored gaze making me feel like dirt. His eyes were bloodshot.

Wordlessly, West handed me a ball of paper. I immediately recognized it. My face clouded as I unfolded it. It was the ad he’d ripped from the truck yesterday.

“Already made a new one,” I clipped, dunking the paper into the trashcan under my feet. “Anything else I can do for you?”

“Get the manager,” he clipped.

It took me by surprise. First of all that he spoke at all. I’d never heard him talk before. His voice matched his looks. Low, smoky, and depraved. Second, it shocked me that he spoke to me. But most of all, I was surprised he had the audacity to boss me around.

“I beg your pardon?” I lifted an eyebrow. My good, right eyebrow. The left one didn’t exist anymore. I penciled it in, though, and since I always wore my gray ball cap, people could hardly tell. The customers behind him lost their patience, shaking their heads, bouncing on their feet. Of course, no one actually said anything to West St. Claire. God forbid someone called him out on his BS.

“Manager. Also known as the person in charge of this truck. You slow?”

“No, I’m disgusted.”

“Well, hurry up and get me off your hands, then. Call your supervisor.”

His eyes were dead on mine. Up close, they weren’t exactly green. They were a wild mixture of sage and blue, rimmed by dark jade.

He and his friends had had fun guessing what happened to my face last night. West had examined me like I was a circus freak. I’d felt like a caged three-headed animal. Desperate to bend the bars, pounce forth, and rip them to shreds with my pointy claws.

Back in reality, I smoothed the clinging nylon wrap sealing the guac in the toppings bar.

“Excuse me for being blunt, but the chances of you wantin’ to work in this food truck are akin to the chances of my joinin’ the Bolshoi. Now get on with your order or move along. I have customers waitin’.”

“Manager. Now,” he repeated, ignoring my words. I felt my nostrils flaring with frustration. I’d heard he was intense, but experiencing it firsthand made me feel like someone had put my heart in a blender and forced me to watch it minced into a puree.

Karlie’s face popped from behind me. She yelped in surprise when she saw him. “Oh my God. I mean, hi. West, right?”

Smooth. She would recognize him in Sheridan University’s crab mascot costume.

He eyed her, not bothering to confirm his identity. Karlie stuck her hand out through the window. He pretended not to notice.

She drew it back to her side, snickering.

“I’m Karlie. We go to Sher U together. I’m the manager here. Well, her daughter anyway. How can I help?”

“I’m here for the job.”

“Serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

And just as deadly. Turn him away, Karl.

“Fantastic. You’re hired,” she chirped, not missing one single heartbeat.

A hysterical, high-pitched laugh involuntarily burst out of me. Karlie and West turned to me like I was crazy. Wait … they were serious? I looked between them, a chill rolling through my spine. An elderly woman behind West cleared her throat, waving at me as if I was the person responsible for the delay.

“You’re joking, right?” I turned to Karlie.

She winced.

“I mean, we do need another employee …”

West jerked his chin behind my back, focusing on my best friend now. “Let’s take this somewhere private.”

“Hop on in through the door.”

For the next few minutes, time moved sideways. Karlie and West scurried to the back of the truck while I stayed at the window, serving customers. Ten minutes later, Karlie came out of the truck, peeled off the want ad, and slipped back in.

“Congratulations! You have a new coworker,” she sing-songed, shuffling back to the grill, flipping a piece of fish that was ten minutes past charred.

I ignored her, preparing tacos as fast as I could and internally convincing myself my life was not over and West St. Claire wasn’t going to kill me as some part of an elaborate bet.

“Shaw, did you hear me?” The whitefish Karlie was flipping kept breaking into small, mushy pieces. I was hot, sweaty, madder than a wet hen, and full of dark, bitter sludge. I was pretty sure if I cut myself open with the knife I was holding to pierce the bag of shredded cheese, that’s what I’d see. Black goo slithering from my veins.

“Loud and clear. I just thought you’d let me weigh in on this, seeing as I’ll be the one workin’ with your replacement.”

“Hear me out. He is Sheridan’s most notorious college hottie. He could bring a ton of customers to the truck. I couldn’t say no, and I knew you’d be iffy about it.”

“Right.” I leaned forward, handing a customer his burnt fish taco with a fake smile. When I’d finished high school, I’d been on the fence about attending college. My instincts told me to hide from the world, slink back to the shadows and live in solitude. But I quickly learned that I didn’t have much choice. I had to get out there and make money. Since I was already saddled with the inconvenience of showing people my face, I figured college was a practical, albeit cruel, solution to securing a decent job.

“He wants a job, does he?” I was on a roll. “I bet he desperately needs the money, seein’ as he ain’t cashin’ in at the Plaza.”

I knew West St. Claire made bank from those fights. Rumor was he’d made eighty grand last year at the Plaza, between selling tickets, taking bets, and charging a fortune for watered-down beer.

“I asked him about that. He said he needed to supplement his income.”

“He needs to supplement his manners,” I retorted.

“Why? Was he mean to you?” Karlie’s brows slammed together.

Just thinking about last night infuriated me. I looked away, changing the subject.

“And anyway, what do you mean, you knew I’d be iffy about it?”

“Come on.” She threw her arms in the air like we both knew the answer to that question.

“Come on, what?”

“Seriously? Fine. I’ll go ahead and say it. But promise you won’t get mad.”

“I won’t get mad.”

I was already fuming.

“Well, the truth is, you tend to be intimidated by people, Shaw. Then you go and base your opinion of them on what you think they’re like.”

“Am not!”

“Do too. Look at you. You’re livid because I hired someone you don’t even know just because he’s got a reputation. Guess what? We all have a reputation. Sorry, Grace, but it’s true. I’m the brainiac know-it-all with the nineties obsession; you’re the emo girl with the scar. We’re all categorized. Stereotyped by our flaws and weaknesses. Welcome to life. It’s a bitch and then you die.”

Fearing I’d say something I’d regret, I kept my mouth shut. Karlie stopped tossing extra-dead fish, spun, and clasped my shoulders, forcing me to face her. She massaged my deltoids through my pink hoodie.

“Look at me, Shaw. Are you listening?”

I offered her a grunt.

“Maybe he is nice.”

“Chances are he is evil.”

I knew I was letting my insecurities get the better of me, but based on his looks, reputation, and social status, West St. Claire was a perfect candidate to ruin my life.

“If he’s evil after the first shift, let me know and I’ll give him the boot. No questions asked. Not even one.” Karlie forced me into a handshake, making a one-sided deal with me. “You have my word. I know you think I’m starstruck, but to me he’s just a fellow student lookin’ to make an extra buck. I’m drowning in schoolwork and my internships are going to take the front seat once we finish this year. I need this. Now can you stop sulking?”

Unfortunately, Karlie made sense. West hadn’t technically wronged me. If anything, he’d given me one heck of a tip and hadn’t even asked for it back.

“Fine.”

She grinned, turning me back to the line of people waiting for their food.

“That’s my girl. Quick, tell me if you can see him in the parking lot. I asked if he could start today and watch me work the grill, but he said he had plans. Is he still around?”

I craned my neck, humoring her reluctantly. I spotted him straight away, the side effect of him being a head taller than the rest of humanity. He was leaning against his red 2016 Ducati M900 Monster, his Wayfarer sunglasses intact.

I recognized the girl with him, even from the back. Raven hair, endless tanned legs, and the same tiny shorts that couldn’t cover a pencil. Tess. She talked to him animatedly, flinging her hair and giggling. They’d probably spent the night together. West didn’t respond to whatever she was saying. He turned around, slapped a helmet over her head in one rough movement, buckled it around her chin, and hopped on the motorcycle. She slid behind him, snaking her arms around his torso.

He took one of her hands and placed it over his crotch.

“Yup. About to ride into the sunset, or closest STI clinic, with Tess Davis.” I accidentally crushed a crunchy taco shell as they zipped through the parking lot, clouds of dust curtaining their figures.

Karlie made a face. “She always draws the best bull. I wonder who he’ll do next?”

Hopefully his hand. We don’t want any mini-Wests populating our planet.

I spent the next five hours listening to Karlie pondering West’s taste in women, serving people, and obsessing over the disastrous turn my life had taken.

When I opened the truck’s doors to leave, a pair of ballet shoes sat on the stair. I picked them up, frowning. They were around my size, brand-new, but out of the shoebox. There was a note stuck to them, scribbled lazily.

Better start practicing.

“What the …?”

My words from this morning bounced inside my head.

“The chances of you wantin’ to work in this food truck are akin to the chances of my joinin’ the Bolshoi.”

West St. Claire had jokes.

Unfortunately, I had a feeling I was about to become his favorite one.