The Bermudez Triangle (19 page)

“Hey,” he said, as she came out of the room. He looked really good today. He was wearing a black button-down shirt made of some kind of satin or polyester or something. It was tapered, but it still hung loose against his thin frame. It made him look taller. (What was with this sudden height obsession?)

“S’up?” she said, casting an eye over the board, but not really reading anything.

“Nothing.”

Maybe she was going to get away with this after all….

“You have a second?” he asked.

Nope
.

“Um … yeah. If you walk with me to chem.”

Gaz didn’t say anything at all for about half of the walk. He just moved along beside her. There was nothing really different about
his walk, except that it seemed kind of … possessive. Like he was with her.

“I was thinking …” he said.

Admittedly, this was kind of a major announcement, coming from Gaz.

“Right,” she said, swerving to avoid half the lacrosse team. A few of them threw her looks. Lacrosse.
Screw lacrosse
.

“I heard something,” Gaz said.

“What?”

“About you and Mel.”

This was it. Moment of truth.

“It’s just …” How the hell did she explain this? “I can’t do anything about the other night. I’m in the middle of this … thing.”

“With Mel?”

“Yeah.”

He got it. She didn’t need to draw a picture.

“I think it’s cool that you’re open to stuff,” he said.

“So we’re cool?”

“We’re cool.”

And that was that. He didn’t even seem surprised. He wasn’t mad, or revolted. He didn’t ask to watch. He was just Gaz, and things were easy with Gaz. But something swept over his expression. He wasn’t completely happy with this. There was just enough hesitation….

And then there was the part that was both exciting and terrifying to Avery as Gaz left her at the door of the chem lab—nothing had ever been as appealing to her as his faint look of disappointment

November 22

TO: Nina

FROM: Steve

I’m pretty sure we shouldn’t be living in our house right now. The ceiling in my mom’s studio is sagging from all this water that’s trapped on the roof, our one toilet won’t stop flushing itself, and the corner of the wood floor in the living room turned black overnight and no one knows why. Plus this herbalist guy is staying with us. He keeps burning things and the place totally reeks.

All of this has driven our cat crazy and he has expressed his dismay by attacking my good biking shoes.

The weird thing is, no one notices any of this but me. When I point to the water coming through the ceiling or the stuff that’s growing on the floor, my parents just shrug and say, “What?”

I guess when you grow up in a teepee, some things just don’t get to you.

I’m starting my application for Stanford. By the time I’m done, it’s going to be wet and clawed up and smelly. At least I’ll stand out.

Sorry to complain.

November 22

TO: Steve

FROM: Nina

You can always complain to me! I love you, and it scares me that you are surrounded by mold and sagging ceilings and crazy cats. Come live here! My mom and I have cleaning parties for fun! (Sounds like a joke but is not. We buy Swiffers, cleanser, and ice cream and play music. We are v. sad but we like it.)

November 23

TO: Nina

FROM: Steve

You and I have very different lives. Want to hear sad? Know what I bought my parents for Christmas last year? A vacuum. They never had one before. No one used it but me. It doesn’t work anymore because somehow my brother accidentally chopped the cord off.

November 23

TO: Steve

FROM: Nina

Yes, we’re different but that’s what makes us so perfect! Every good couple is kind of mismatched. Don’t you watch TV? (Oh, wait. You probably don’t.)

I love you even more. I will buy you a hand vac when we get to school as a room-warming gift.

“Miss.”

Avery wasn’t going to turn around. She knew what those women at table 22 wanted to tell her, and it was not going to make her happy. These women were Daiquiri People—one of the worst types of customer around.

“Miss?”

First of all, as far as Avery was concerned, a daiquiri was not something a self-respecting adult should be seen drinking—especially not a Mortimer’s daiquiri, which came with whipped cream and a green crazy straw. Therefore Avery could ignore them in good conscience.

“Miss.”

Well, she could ignore them for a while, anyway. And then she would have to turn around and have all of her worst fears about them confirmed. They were going to say that there was no booze in their drink. Daiquiri People always did. Avery chomped down hard on her lower lip, then faced the four women in the booth. They were all in their forties or so and wore cute little cardigans that seemed to be passed out to all school
secretaries, along with hair-frosting kits and jingly bracelets.

“There’s no alcohol in these drinks,” said the woman closest to Avery.

This was one of the few occasions when Avery hated to be proven right.

While she knew perfectly well that there was alcohol in there (buried under some heavy layer of strawberry or banana goo), she would have to take the drink back to the bar to make them happy. Normally the bartenders would drip a few drops of rum down the straw. This was a great trick to get people to stop complaining because the first sip they took would be overpoweringly strong.

But there was no way that was happening tonight. These women didn’t understand that getting a frozen drink made on a Friday was no small achievement in the first place. The bartenders always took care of their own customers first, and the last thing they liked to do was fire up the blenders, which were loud and horrible and drove people away from the bar. But Avery had badgered the bartender and gotten this table their four daiquiris. There was no way she’d be able to get him to come back over and doctor the crazy straws just to make these morons feel like grown-ups. Besides, she had. a big order to put in right now, while there was no line at the computer.

“I saw them put it in,” Avery said. I promise. It’s in there.”

“I’m telling you it’s not,” the woman huffed.

“Maybe you should stir it a little.”

“Just get us some new ones, okay, honey?” The woman shoved her glass in Avery’s direction and turned back to her friends.

Big mistake. Avery was not in the mood for this. She adjusted a Guinness pin that was jabbing her in the rib cage and studied the glasses. This was one of those no-win situations her job put her in on a far too regular basis.

“I’m sure they’re fine,” she tried again. “I was there when he made them. If you stir it …”

“How many times do we need to ask you?” the woman said, turning back around in annoyance. “We had to wait for them long enough as it was. We’re not paying for them unless we get new ones. I’m not falling for this. I know this is how you try to get people, okay?”

Now they were accusing her of being part of a
cover-up?
The Great Mortimer’s Daiquiri Swindle? They had made it personal, and this was more than Avery could bear.

“Why would I lie to you?” Avery asked indignantly. “Does that even make sense?”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s not my rum,” Avery said. “Why would I try to cheat you?”

“I’d like to speak to a manager.”

Avery heard an evil laugh in her mind. These were famous last words. Finding a manager on a Friday night was impossible.

“I’ll go look for one,” she said dryly. She walked away, leaving the glasses where they were. As she walked back to the pantry, she
glanced to her left and right. No managers in sight. She had looked.

As she stood at the computer by the bar, punching in the other order, Avery sighed. There would be no tip on 22, which was a blow. They were probably going to bail on their food too. She should probably just cancel their order. She’d do it as soon as she got some ketchup from the pantry for one of her other tables.

When she passed by it a few minutes later, 22 was still occupied, which was somewhat annoying. She walked straight back to the pantry, where she found Bob waiting. Parker was there too, prepping a few plates. He glanced over at Avery nervously.

“It was a daiquiri thing,” Avery said, before Bob could get in a word. “I told them to stir it.”

“You’re fired,” he said.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I’ve warned you. Do you want to finish your shift or cash out now?”

“But it’s just a drink thing! You can’t be serious.”

Bob turned to Parker.

“Want two more tables?” he asked. “You can have 22 and 25.”

Parker glanced at Avery. She flashed him a look that told him she didn’t mind. And she really didn’t. It had nothing to do with him.

“I’ll meet you up front,” Bob said to Avery. “Bring your stuff.”

“See you in a minute,” she said brightly.

“That sucks.” Parker was hanging on to his suspenders and looking very uncomfortable.

“It’s my lucky day,” she said. “I’m out of here.”

“Yeah,” Parker said, trying to match Avery’s strained enthusiasm. “I almost wish it was me.”

Such a lie, but it was the kind of thing you were supposed to say in situations like this.

It was over in just a few minutes. Now she was in her car, looking at Mortimer’s from the outside—the only way she would ever look at it again. There was a small pile of cash on the seat next to her. It didn’t amount to much. Maybe ten or eleven dollars, if she was lucky.

She started the engine.

Fired.

Fired was cool.

Fired implied attitude. Fired was very rock and roll.

Fired was also broke, parents screaming, no money for her car, and no way of even thinking about going to New York City for school because her parents sure as hell weren’t paying for Avery to hang out with purple-haired, clove-smoking artsy trustafarians when Geneseo and Old Westbury were more affordable and infinitely less
furrreaky
…. Not that Mortimer’s made her enough money to pay for school, but it was some form of cash flow. Something she no longer had.

She turned up the volume on her car stereo to the point where the sound warped. She dug around in her bag and found a cigarette and then peeled out of the P. J. Mortimer’s parking lot.

I’m such an asshole
, she thought, fumbling for the cigarette lighter
in the dashboard.
How dumb do you have to be to get fired from P. J. Mortimer’s?
She must have had a job death wish, just like she did when she worked at the gas station convenience store the summer after sophomore year, when she used to scream, “Fire me!” into the surveillance camera (before she found out it was video only, and then she made a sign on a piece of sandwich wrapping paper). But this time she had succeeded, and now she was royally screwed. She might as well drive right into a wall.

Except that she would probably live and just be carless.

She instinctively turned down the sound once she got to Mel’s street. Avery wasn’t conscious of driving there on purpose. She gave her usual quick greeting to Mel’s dad. He was nice, if maybe a little oblivious, and he never seemed to care what time Avery turned up at the door. He was an extremely single dad and didn’t question the needs of girls to talk to other girls at all hours, which had proved very convenient for the last few months.

Mel was looking at something online when Avery came into her room without knocking.

“How did you get off early?”

“Bob fired me.”

Avery fell back on the bed and a stuffed palm tree fell over on her face. She pushed it aside. Mel came over and sat next to her, looking concerned.

“What happened?”

“Bob just did what he’s been wanting to do for a while.” Avery groaned, covering up her eyes with the heels of her palms. “Can you put on some music or something?”

Mel hopped up and switched on the MP3 player on her computer. Normally they put on music to cover up any noise that they made in Mel’s room—sometimes when they were talking, but usually when they were making out. Mel turned on Norah Jones, one of her favorites. She came back over and stretched out alongside Avery so that they were front to front. They kissed a little, but for some reason, all Avery could think of was Gaz. Gaz with his long legs and fingers and his lazy smile. He was as tall as two Mels. Avery imagined that she was lying next to him. Her head would tuck under his chin, and her feet would only hit his midcalf. She wanted to be the smaller person right now.

Avery closed her eyes and rolled onto her back.

“I kind of want to just lie here,” she said. “Cool?”

“Oh. Okay.” Mel pulled herself upright and played with Avery’s hair instead.

The music made Avery sad. She envisioned the daiquiri women snickering as they were told that they had just gotten her fired. In Avery’s mind, they hated her deeply and personally.

“Maybe I’ll apply to school in New York too,” Mel said suddenly, twisting Avery’s hair into a corkscrew around her finger.

“For what?”

“I don’t know. Maybe nursing. Or business. I don’t know. Something.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Avery said absently.

“And maybe we could share a place.” Mel sounded eager now. “I could even just go there and work for a while. Wouldn’t that be cool, to have an apartment together?”

Avery remembered a joke she’d heard somewhere: What does a lesbian bring on a first date?

Answer: a U-Haul.

What if there was some truth in that? What if Mel wanted to get married and have a commitment ceremony and play Ani DiFranco and k.d. lang songs and have cats as bridesmaids? That would be great for Mel, but it just wasn’t something Avery could picture. The thought scared her. A lot.

“Mel …” she barked while pulling herself up. “I just got fired, okay? Can you please stop?”