An All-American Summer

Chapter One

Selling chicken is a surprisingly efficient way to meet boys.

Something about the way it's breaded and fried has an awfully strange effect on men, who often find themselves confident enough to try their way with whatever cute girl is behind the counter.

It was late April, and by then I had still not yet become accustomed to the attention. Newly single, it was surprising to me every time a crusty kitchen worker attempted to get my number; offers to give me a ride home or to hang out with me after work were plentiful once word got out that I had gone through a breakup.

It was a fascinating and scary new development in my life, the concept that guys were interested in me. My wavy brown hair and smattering of freckles were far from eye-catching, and my body was decidedly average.

Embracing this newfound power over men, I attempted to summon Scarlett O'Hara level courage and managed to juggle flirty friendships with more than a few coworkers at once. I took none of them seriously, as I had always been in a relationship before then, and I was looking forward to walking into college confidently single.

They all wanted to hook up with me, or date me, and some probably even wanted to fall in love with me.

I managed to tease them all for weeks at a time, texting cute nothings and throwing meaningful winks until they realized I wasn't interested in indulging their elicit fantasies.

Needless to say, they were none too happy about that.

Not only did I meet eligible bachelors among my coworkers, but I also managed to find a few customers who asked for not only a refill but also my number. Some of them were hot, some of them were not, but all of them I successfully evaded.

I was not interested in beginning a relationship before college.

You read it in all the college advice books: break up with your high school boyfriend, come to college single, and enjoy exploring your youth.

I wasn't going to give away all my hard work for some guy. I knew I was destined for a life and a career built for myself rather than around someone else's, and seeing how easily attached I could become I refused to allow myself to make the mistake of long distance commitment.

I did, however, manage to make the mistake of overthinking.

I sighed. Too much time thinking, I thought to myself. The irony. My manager glanced at me from across the restaurant, and I hurriedly made myself look busy.

She shuffled over, a bit of pep in her step, advising me: "If you have time to lean, you have time to clean."

My favorite restaurant saying.

"Sorry about that," I mumbled, reaching across the cupboard to pick up the sanitizer spray. I wiped down the counters, humming to myself as I worked. It was getting late now, around eight o'clock, and things were slowing down.

The sky outside was a pink sort of purple, orangey with the glow of another beach town sunset.

The beach.

I hadn't been to the beach in over a year, and I lived only thirty minutes away. Locals complained that it was only a tourist trap, but I knew that if you could find the right places the town was a paradise.

My time living there was fleeting, and I knew I had to take advantage of my proximity to the beach before it was too late.

A young couple with a newborn child entered quietly, staring at the sign above my head while, choosing their various chicken combos. It all tasted the same to me after a few months of work.