Love & Despair ~ a romantic short story (COMPLETE)

Part 1:

"Well, we understand that she punched another student. I'm afraid that behavior--"

My mom interrupted at once: "How do you know that she was the once who started it?"

Principal Elliot pursed her thin lips. "Look at--"

"Her hands were like that before. Admit it. You don't really know what happened."

I left the high school after the meeting with bruised knuckles a flashing red, and hardened eyes that admitted I had seen the prinicipal's office often. I had demanded a frequent customer card before the meeting had ended. Principal Elliot hadn't laughed.

"Hey babe," Mom called on the other side of our blue car. The dull light coming from the cloudy sky glowed feebly on the reflective surface of the car roof. 

I stopped at my door and she stretched a hand across the roof.

"It will all be fine," she said.

I nodded and pulled at the handle until she unlocked my door.

Once inside, I stared at the wide window, eyes trailing over the blue stucco walls of the sprawling school. I was never going back into its white halls.

"I didn't start it," I blurted.

"Did you?"

I sighed. "I did. I did start it."

I glanced at my mom. Her short black hair brushed her shoulders. She gripped the black steering wheel. Her mind was elsewhere I knew where. 

"Mom?" 

"It will all be fine," she repeated. 

The car hummed to life. 

We drove through the small, yawning town in silence. Cows nodded as we passed along the random farm in the middle of the city and fluttering green trees swayed over our car as we drove by.  The radio mumbled a shy melody, crackling once in a while.

At last the car purred to a stop in front of a restaurant. A shiny white sign and fresh flowers on windowsills greeted us. The glass door was in constant motion, waltzing with the frequent flow of customers. 

Mom clutched my hand and smiled. "You're first day. How exciting."

"Yeah--"

"I'll pick you up at the end of your shift, okay?"

"Sure--"

"Love you."

With a shoulder curved forward and my bandaged hands tucked inside my jacket's pockets, I pushed my way into the building. The glass door opened with a swoosh and a ding! My converse stomped into place and I glanced around. Everyone's peering gazes were brief and polite. But the one behind the bar being wiped lingered longer than anybody else's. 

A shy, sweet, lopsided smile stretched across a fair face in greeting. I tensed at the attention. My mouth tightened into a line and I ducked into the back of the restaurant. Who is that guy?

"You'll be working the counter, serving drinks--"

"I'm only sixteen," I interrupted. 

The manager, Mr. Mitchell rolled his eyes behind a pair of Ray-Ban glasses. "Yes, child. I know. This a place for young people like you. We don't do alcohol."

He lead me back into the bustling front of the building with a prim, clean apron in his white hands. 

"Will is in charge of your training. He'll lead you through today's work," he said and tossed me the apron. He caught sight of my bandaged hands as I caught it. Only a side glance and a quirked eyebrow acknowledged them.