Five Steps | Chaelisa

Chapter 17

Lisa's POV

Tutti Fresh Yogurt is heaven on earth.

I stare in awe at the massive buffet of toppings: fresh fruit, cookie dough, Oreos, sprinkles in every color imaginable. My one-size-fits-all paper cup is already filled to the brim with cookies-and-cream frozen yogurt, but now it's bound for overflow.

My forearm is practically sore from scooping by the time I reach the end, and I glance up to see Roseanne has added only one small scoop of Rice Krispies on top of her strawberry yogurt, like an actual psychopath.

"Of everything here, you get that?" I shake my head. "No wonder you don't have a girlfriend."

She rolls her eyes and jabs me with her elbow, giving me a Really, Lisa? look that I've become all too familiar with over the past two weeks.

Only this time, there's a trace of a smile underneath it all.

We head over to the cash register and put our cups on the scale, mine probably quintupling the total. I pull out a stack of dollar bills I got from the tip jar this past weekend, but Roseanne holds up her hand.

"I said it's on me," she says, swiping her credit card before I can stop her.

I feel slightly guilty considering my frozen yogurt cup is eighteen times the size of hers, so I put a couple of ones in the tip jar for the uninterested teenager working behind the counter. He grunts a thanks, his eyes laser-focused on a YouTube video playing on his phone.

"Didn't pin you for a stripper," Roseanne says as we grab our fluorescent-pink spoons and find seats by the wall of windows that capture a breathtaking view of a Rite Aid, a Qdoba, and an overflowing trash can.

I laugh. "You caught me. I was thinking of throwing a dance routine together for my final project in bio." I point the spoon at her. "You're welcome to work lights. End of the semester? Ass-crack of dawn on a Monday? Any availability?"

"I'll see if I can pencil you in," Roseanne says as I dig into my top layer of whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles, unearthing the sea of cookie dough and cheesecake bites.

I jab at one of the blobs of cookie dough. "They're actually from—"

"Oh wait, that food truck job! You got it?" Her brown eyes light up, something about her excitement and the fact she remembered making my insides feel warm. I haven't been able to talk to anyone about it, with Samantha being upset at me this past week and my mom being... my mom. It feels good to have someone legitimately interested.

Besides, even if I could tell Samantha about it, she'd probably think it was kind of lame. She was always saying that about my job at Tilted Rabbit, telling me she wished I didn't work behind the counter and did something on the stage instead of watching from the crowd. I used to wonder sometimes if maybe she was embarrassed that I cleaned up glasses and poured drinks instead of banging out a sick bass line, but I shake it off now, just like I always have.

She said she loves me.

"Yeah! My boss, Jim, is... a little rough around the edges," I say as I picture him ripping the food truck across three lanes of traffic, middle finger hanging out the window while I bounce around in the jump seat every other evening. "But I think it'll be good. Pays in cash. And my hours are mostly on the weekends and at night, so it won't fuck with school. Plus, I get a cheesesteak or a burger every shift."

"Is the food good?" she asks, crunching on her Rice Krispies.

"Yeah! His cheesesteaks actually do Philly justice, which is saying something."