The Unexpected Everything (9 page)

“It's not cool,” Tom agreed from his end of the table. “Um, are you going to eat all your bacon?”

I pushed my plate across to him, wondering if Tom was really hungry, or if he was trying to get in character as pork-loving David.

“Wait, but that means you get to be here!” Toby said, brightening. “That's great!” I shot her a look, and she shrugged. “I mean, not so much for you. But it's great for
us
.”

“It's not great!” I said, my voice coming out louder than I'd expected it to, and the family in our normal booth glanced over at me. “Everything is wrecked. I'm never going to be able to find anything good now, which means there will be this
gap
on
my résumé. During the summer I needed something the most.” I could feel my heart start to pound harder, like just saying these things out loud had made them more real.

“She's spiraling,” Toby whispered.

“I see that,” Bri whispered back.

“Andie,” Palmer said, nudging my foot with hers underneath the table until I looked up at her, “tell me about the cute guy with the dog.”

“That's not important!” I snapped.

“What did he look like?” Palmer asked, leaning forward, nudging me again.

“I don't know,” I said, not wanting to think about the guy right now when there were many more important things I had to deal with. I had a feeling Palmer was just doing this to try and distract me, so I could calm down, but when she nudged me harder, this one bordering on a kick, I relented, knowing if I didn't answer her, she'd just keep on doing it. “Fine. Um—dark hair. Glasses. His shirt said something about droids. . . .”

Both Bri and Tom looked up at that. “
Star Wars
?” Bri asked, looking impressed.

“I like him already,” Tom said decisively.

“Can we focus here?” Toby asked, raising her voice. “If Andie's in town, that means we're all here for the summer, for once.”

I looked around the table and realized this was true. Last year Bri had spent all of July visiting relatives in India, terrified she was going to lose her memory because of the side-effects warning on her anti-malarial medicine. (We'd probably had more fun with that than we should have, making up things that hadn't happened, pretending she should know what we were
talking about, then acting overly concerned when she got confused. Bri, understandably, hadn't brought us back any souvenirs from that trip.) And the year before that, Palmer had spent the first half of the summer doing a service program, building houses in New Orleans, and come back with a drawl she didn't lose until November.

“You know what that means you'll be here for, right?” Palmer asked me, raising her eyebrows.

It took me a moment, but then I sat up straighter, seeing the first silver lining of that morning. “The scavenger hunt?”

“The
scavenger
hunt!” Palmer agreed, banging her palm down on the table and setting the plates rattling. For the past five years Palmer had organized a scavenger hunt, usually taking place in August, when she felt things needed to be spiced up a little. Scavenger hunts were an Alden family tradition, and as soon as we'd all become friends, Palmer had started organizing her own. I'd missed last year's, when I'd been stuck in bed with the stomach flu, getting photo updates so I could see just how much fun everyone was having. The year before I'd lost by a single point, something that still irritated me whenever I thought about it.

“I'm sorry, are you referring to my greatest victory?” Tom asked with a grin. “How many points did I win by last summer?”

“Nineteen,” Toby and Bri said in unison.

“And I've already started working on this year's list,” Palmer said, mostly to me. “It's going to be great.”

“Okay,” I said, nodding. It wasn't like it was making up for missing my summer program, but it was something, at least. “When?” I attributed my loss two years ago to the fact that
I'd spent far too long trying to get the impossible, high-points items, rather than just getting more of the easier, low-points ones. I wondered if I still had the list somewhere, so that I could use it to start refining my strategy.

“Just plan on August for the moment,” Palmer said, smiling down the table at Tom. “We have to look at the performance schedule.”

“Oh, right,” I said, nodding, feeling my stomach sink. “The play.” I realized as I looked around that all my friends' plans were set already, and had been for weeks now. Bri, our cinephile, was working at the Palace Movie Theater. Toby was volunteer docent-ing at the Pearce, the art museum in town—which, I now realized, explained Bri's Monet reference. Tom was acting in the community-theater play, and Palmer was stage-managing it.

“So everyone else has a plan,” I said, looking around, realizing that for the first time I could remember, I was the one at loose ends, with no solution for this in sight.

“You'll find something,” Palmer said confidently to me as she took a sip of her Coke. “It'll all work out in the end.” This was Classic Palmer—she was hardwired for optimism and seemed absolutely incapable of not seeing the bright side. All the Aldens were like that. They didn't dwell; they looked for solutions, made some snacks, and kept moving forward.

“Okay,” I said, sitting up straight, figuring that maybe I could learn something from her. “I have to fix this.” I needed some sort of plan. I didn't even care if it was a good plan right now. Just so long as it was something concrete. “I have to do something. I can't just hang out all summer.”

“We always need people to help build sets,” Tom interjected from the end of the table. “I mean, it doesn't pay or anything. And some prior set-building experience
is
preferred. But I could put a good word in for you.”

“And all the really good internships are gone,” I continued, not letting myself get distracted by this. “Same thing with summer programs and volunteering slots.”

“Do we need to be here for this?” Toby whispered to Bri.

“So I need to do something else,” I said, my fingers itching for a pen so I could start brainstorming. “Something that might not look as good per se, but something I could spin if I needed to . . .”

“I don't think we do need to be here for this,” Bri whispered back, and Toby shook her head.

“Told you.”

“I need . . .” I looked around the diner, like it might provide some answers for me, and blinked when I saw that maybe it had. There was a bulletin board by the door that I'd never paid much attention to, covered in business cards, missing-pet posters . . . and help-wanted flyers. “Bri,” I said, nudging her. “I need to get out.”

“Why?” she asked, even as she slid out so I could get past her.

“Can I finish the bacon?” Tom called as I practically ran up to the bulletin board and started scanning it. There was nothing hugely promising right away, but there were a few that looked like possibilities. I pulled out my phone and started taking pictures of the flyers.
Looking for summer tutor—must be proficient in French; COMPUTER HELP REQUIRED WILL PAY $$; Mother's helper needed, 30hrs/week.
None of them
would be perfect—and I'd stopped taking French in eighth grade—but it was something. I'd started to put my phone away when my eye landed on one all the way in the corner.
NEED A SUMMER JOB?
the top of it read in twenty-four-point type. I leaned a little closer.
Great Pay! Flexible Hours! Work Experience that will look great on any application or résumé!! Call or e-mail SOON!
There was a phone number and an e-mail address listed beneath it.

I read it over again, wondering if I'd missed what this job actually
was.
But there was no explanation, which actually made me a little wary. It reminded me of that time Palmer's sister Megan was home from college on Christmas break and took what she thought was a job selling knives that actually turned out to be part of an elaborate pyramid scheme.

“Find anything?” Bri asked, and I turned my head to see she was leaning over my shoulder, looking at the bulletin board as well. I nodded, then tapped the vague one in the corner.

Bri read the ad, then frowned. “But what is it?”

“I don't know,” I said, pulling out my phone and taking a picture of it as well. “But there's only one way to find out.”

“I don't like this,” Toby said through my phone as I parked in front of Flask's Coffee and cut my engine.

“Me neither,” said Bri. It was two days later, and I was on a conference call with all of them. But since Palmer was stage-managing, she had to pretend she was paying attention to the play. She had one of her earbuds in, hidden by her hair, and could only say “Mmm-hmm” occasionally.

“Mmm-hmm,” Palmer said, somehow managing to convey great disapproval in two syllables.

“Guys,” I said, glancing through my windshield to the coffee shop. “There's nothing else. This is my best shot.”

“I'm pretty sure this is how kidnapping movies begin,” said Toby. “And there's that scene where the girl is going to meet the person who's going to kidnap her and her friends are like ‘No, don't do it,' but she does it anyway.”

“Well, otherwise there would be no movie,” Bri pointed out. “But Toby is actually making a point.”

“What do you mean
actually
?” Toby asked, sounding offended.

“I don't like that you don't know what this job is,” Bri said.

“
Mmm-hmm
,” Palmer agreed.

I let out a breath as I smoothed down my dress. I didn't love it either, but I really was out of options. In the two days since I'd found out I wouldn't be attending the Young Scholars Program, I had tried everything I could to line up something for the summer. I'd been practically laughed out of the career office at school when I'd explained I was looking for something for
this
summer. None of my other leads had panned out—the parents of the kid looking for a tutor realized pretty quickly that my French wasn't up to par; I could handle my own computer, but couldn't code or work within multiple operating systems; and when I'd called about it, the mother's helper gig had already been filled—which I was actually fine with, since I didn't
love
little kids. Finally, I'd called the vaguely worded listing, and the girl who'd answered—her name was Maya—had seemed thrilled to get my call and only too happy to meet whenever was convenient for me, causing my pyramid-knife-scheme sensors to move to high alert. After we'd agreed to meet at Flask's (my favorite coffee shop and the place where I acquired my daily iced latte) and settled on the time, she'd said good-bye before I could find out what, exactly, this job was.

“Look,” I said, after pulling the phone away from my ear for a moment to check the time. “We're meeting at a coffee shop. I'll call as soon as it's over. It'll be fine.”

“Hmm,” Palmer said.

“I don't know,” Toby sighed.

“Aren't you at work?” I asked her. “How are you able to spend this much time lecturing me?”

“I'm just being a caring friend,” Toby said, her voice rising, “and—” There was a pause, and when Toby came back she was
speaking much lower. “Actually, gotta go. Call me later. Don't get kidnapped.”

“Me too,” Palmer whispered. “Call me.”

“Bri?” I asked, after they'd both hung up.

“Still here.”

“You don't think I have anything to worry about, do you?”

“Nah,” Bri said easily. “Putting a flyer up at the diner is a super-inefficient way to go about kidnapping someone.”

“Thanks, B. I'll call you later.” Bri said good-bye, and I hung up and took a breath before carefully stepping out of the car. I was wearing one of my best dresses—blue, with a tight-fitting bodice and slightly flared skirt—along with heels and light, tasteful makeup. I'd printed out a copy of my résumé on thick paper stock and was carrying it in a folder so it wouldn't get bent on my way inside.

I stepped inside and looked around. The place was half-filled, mostly with people typing on laptops and groups of moms with strollers. There was a girl who looked like she was in her mid-twenties, but my eyes skipped over her until I realized she was smiling big at me and waving. “Andie?”

I nodded, my hopes plummeting as I made my way over to her table. “Hi,” I said, holding out my hand, feeling myself inwardly groan as she stood up to shake my hand. Her blond hair had pink tips, and she was dressed casually—jean shorts, tank top, sneakers. Even though it was the very beginning of summer, she was already tan, with tattoos that peeked out from under her tank top straps and twisted up her ankles like vines.

“I'm Maya,” she said, smiling at me, revealing slightly crooked teeth. If she thought anything about the fact that I was
either seriously overdressed or she was underdressed, it didn't show. She took a seat, and I sat across from her, trying to hide the disappointment on my face as I took my résumé out of the folder and slid it across the table to her.

She looked at it while she took a sip of her blended drink, the kind with whipped cream and sprinkles that always seemed more like milk shakes to me than anything else. (I kept this opinion to myself around Palmer, though, who was addicted to the mint java chip flavor.) While she was reading it over, I pulled out my phone and sent a quick text to my friends. Normally, I never would have done this during an interview, but it was clear to me already this wasn't an interview that was going to matter.

ME

All fine. Nothing to worry about.

“This looks great!” Maya said, her eyes scanning down my résumé as I dropped my phone back in my bag. She looked up at me and her smile faltered, and she glanced back down at the paper for a second. “Walker . . . ,” she said, like she was trying to place my last name. “Didn't I . . . ?”