Chapter Three: Kayla

I pulled up to the diner just as it was closing, which was fine with me. The later I was there, the less chance there was of anyone I knew seeing me. Kathleen's Diner was on the edge of town, and in my estimation, it was a big dump, so I could never understand why my mom had bought the place. I think maybe she had some nostalgia for it since she used to go there as a teenager, or maybe she just wasn't thinking straight at the time. She had acquired it just a year after my father's incident.

I parked my little truck in the back and went into the employee entrance. The smell of fried food and over-sweetened pie washed over me as I greeted our nighttime cook, Frank, and made my way to the small storage closet where my mom usually went through her closing checklists.

"Hey mom, I'm here," I said, peeking my head into the closet. "I'm just going to head back into the kitchen."

"Wait!" She said, reaching out to hold my arm, "You're here so late! Is everything okay?"

"It's fine. I just had to contact everyone who's participating in the pep rally and then I had a lot of homework."

My mother shook her head, causing a few strands of her dark hair to come loose from her ponytail. "You're too young to be working this hard."

"I'm doing exactly as much work as I want to," I assured her. "You're the one who's working yourself to death." It was true. Most days she spent fifteen or sixteen hours at the diner, and she rarely took a break.

My mom smiled and waved her hand dismissively. "I like it. It keeps my mind off of… things," she said vaguely, looking down at her hands. Then she blew out a breath and snapped her head back up. "So, how was school?"

"Fine," I replied. "Except that I have to work with Frog on a world cultures project."

My mother drew her eyebrows together. "Frog? His name is Frog?"

"No, it's Frederick."

"Oh, Frederick Vonnegan? He's such a nice boy."

"You know him?"

She gave me an odd look, but before she could answer, someone called her from the front.

"Helen! The register is acting up again!"

She squeezed my shoulder. "Sorry, honey, I have to fix that."

"It's okay, I'll just be in the back."

"Thank you."

I walked back to the kitchen and looked at the mountain of dirty dishes that were waiting for me in the corner. "Looks like they had a busy day," I murmured. I changed out of my clothes and into some sweats and a T-shirt and prepared to get completely drenched. I came and washed dishes at the diner almost every night, but since I didn't have a lot of time to spare, I had to be efficient, even if it meant half of the water ended up on me.

I filled the three large sinks with hot water, then set up the makeshift dish racks behind them. I threw all the silverware in the first sink with some soap and filled the racks with plates and bowls. Then I grabbed the sprayer, took a few steps back, and turned it on full power, hosing down the dishes in front of me and squinting my eyes at all the spray that came back. A few more rounds of this and soon all the dishes were free of food. I quickly ran them through the sinks to wash, rinse, and sanitize, then I set them all on the drying racks and dried them with a leaf blower. 30 minutes later I had changed back into my dry clothes and was heading home in my truck. It wasn't the most conventional way to wash dishes, but for now, it worked. Maybe one day we'd have enough to buy an industrial dishwasher.

*****

"Kayla, you're staring at him again."

I flinched and almost knocked over the beaker in front of me. Miranda giggled and I gave her a sheepish smile.

"Thanks for that," I said, stealing another glance at Wyatt before I set to straightening the things on our table. Everyone in our chemistry lab had a beaker of clear liquid, a container of blue food coloring, goggles, and gloves set out on our tables. The room was loud with the conversations of dozens of students. We were at capacity because the other chemistry teacher, Mr. Flannigan, had gotten in a bad car accident. So while he recovered they had combined the classes, and that meant I got to spend a whole hour in the same room with Wyatt, which was fine with me, except I kept getting distracted with the way his shoulders filled out his tight shirt. Frog and his short friend Milo were there as well, sniffing the clear liquid in their beakers. They were so weird. I scanned the teeming room and saw that the teacher, Mrs. Clements, was still preparing a tray at the front.

Suddenly, Miranda elbowed me in the ribs.

"Ouch!" I exclaimed. "What was that for?"

"He's coming over here!" She whispered.

I looked up just in time to see Wyatt approaching our table.

"Hey," he said, flashing a breathtaking smile. "I noticed you've been looking at me a lot. Do I have food on my face or something?"

"No, there's nothing on your face," I said with a forced laugh. Would you like something on your face? I thought. Like my lips, perhaps? I pulled myself out of my daydream and back to reality. "No, I wasn't looking at you. I was looking at the poster behind you."

Wyatt glanced at the wall, and then back at me. "The periodic table of the elements?"

"Yeah, I'm trying to memorize them," I lied. "You never know when you might need to engineer some fuel, or a bomb…"

His eyebrows shot up. "A bomb, huh? Okay, well, good luck with that."

He started to head back to his seat and I squeezed my eyes shut in frustration. Our conversation can't end like this.

"Hey, Wyatt," I called out.

"Yeah," he said, turning back toward me.

"I, um, just wanted to make sure that you knew the debate team is meeting again on Thursday."

"Right, thanks. But I'm actually not going to be able to make that one because I have football practice."

"Oh really?" I said in a teasing tone. "So you think football is more important than debate?"

"It is this week. We've got a game on Friday. But the debate team doesn't have a tournament for at least a month."

"Sure, that makes sense," I replied, a little irked that I didn't have a better response.

Wyatt leaned casually on the table. "When you have so much going on, you have to prioritize based on immediate need. I'm sure you understand that."

"I can relate," I agreed, determined to keep my voice even.

He smiled at me and I had to fight valiantly to keep a girlish giggle from escaping my mouth. He leaned a bit closer and looked into my eyes, but I stood my ground.

"I hope you'll be there at the game on Friday, cheering us on."

"I'll be there." I replied, returning his intense gaze.

"I'll be cheering you on," Miranda interrupted loudly, nearly causing me to jump out of my seat. "But I'll be cheering officially, because, you know, I'm a cheerleader," she said, batting her long eyelashes. "Kayla just plays volleyball," she added condescendingly.

I frowned at her attempt to belittle me. Wyatt gave her a small nod in acknowledgement and then turned back to me.

"I love volleyball," he said. "We should play sometime."

"That'd be great," I said, feeling my temperature rise a few degrees.

"I love volleyball too!" Miranda exclaimed. "Maybe we could play doubles!"

I pushed down the urge to punch her in the face.

Wyatt considered her for a moment, and then broke into a smile. "Sure, that'd be fun." He winked at me and then headed back to his seat. Now it was going to be even more impossible to stop staring at him.

Miranda sighed heavily, bringing my attention to her. "I guess I'll have to wait for you to break his heart before I get a chance with him," she said with a mischievous grin.

I shook my head in disbelief. "Does our friendship mean anything to you?"

"Of course," she replied. "I'm letting you have the first round, aren't I?"

I playfully rolled my eyes and she laughed until a nasty glare from Mrs. Clements made her stop.