Tear: A Seaside Novel

Chapter Eleven

Work was busy.

It seemed like everyone and their mom had decided to come into Seaside for the weekend. I was handling the crowds fine until a mom with three screaming kids walked in. The children began running in circles and testing every flavor of salt water taffy as if it was free.

"Evan." I elbowed him. He still looked hung over from the night before. He was holding his head in his hands and moaning.

"Why. Do. Children. Exist?" His teeth were clenched.

I would have laughed if I didn't feel so bad for him. He said his head hurt so bad he wanted to die this morning. That's what he gets for underage drinking. I took it upon myself to slam the doors more often during our shift.

But the little kids were making my job easy — he was miserable.

"Make it stop, please make it stop." Evan drank from his bottled water and glared at the mother.

I wouldn't be surprised if she disappeared on the spot.

"Evan, here." I gave him some more aspirin and set about cleaning the counter. Seaside Taffy was one of the largest taffy stores in the city. It had every flavor you could possibly think of, including some that didn't seem like they should be edible. Who wants to eat a grass flavored taffy? Or buttered popcorn?

We also served ice cream and caramel apples. Evan was usually in charge of the candy while I helped serve the other food. But today he just sat like a bump on the log.

"Seriously, Evan, I need help." I seethed two hours later when the line grew so long, it reached out the door and down the sidewalk.

Evan said something under his breath, but finally moved to the register and began taking people's money.

"Is it true?" A girl gushed to Evan.

"That your voice is very high pitched?" Evan offered. "I'm afraid so."

"Evan." I nudged him. "Sorry, sweetie, is what true?"

"That like, the band AD2 is staying here in Seaside and going to school?"

"Yup," Evan answered quickly. "Now what can we get you girls?"

They were in middle school and knew the art of distraction too well to allow us to manipulate them.

"So," the girl in pigtails said, jutting out her hip. "You guys look old."

Evan's grip tightened on the register. "Listen, you—"

"Yup, we're old! You're right!" I smiled wildly. "But girls, there's a line, we need to grab your order, okay?"

"Fine," they grumbled in unison.

When I handed them their caramel apples, the pig-tailed girl whipped around. "Since you're old and in high school, do you like know the guys?"

"Do I look like the type of girl a rock star would talk to?" I countered.

They tilted their heads, taking in my candy-stripped uniform complete with white visor and shook their heads.

Awesome.

"Oh, I don't know. I'd talk to you, you know, if I was a rock star," a voice said to my left. I turned and immediately wanted to die.

Demetri was leaning against the ice cream counter. His muscled arms protruding out of a tight gray T-shirt that was half-tucked into low-slung designer jeans.

"Nice visor." This from the guy who has more female admirers than most movie stars.

I nodded.

The girls who had just been rapidly firing questions at me and Evan were shocked into silence.