After the workshop ended, Gail had an hour for lunch before she had to get back to work. The cyber-bullying presentation had been for school counselors and had taken place in the plush auditorium of a neighboring district’s nicest campus nestled along a picturesque stretch of coast. Gail was unfamiliar with the area, so was relieved to happen upon an upscale chain bakery/restaurant nearby. She parked in their rear lot, ordered a salad, and settled down at a center table to eat.
It was before noon, and the place wasn’t yet crowded. A few old-timers sat here and there in pairs or alone, and several kids of various ages were scattered about flush with summer vacation’s new freedom. Gail watched three girls order cinnamon rolls that they took to a table in the back. They were about twelve years old and were all dressed in midriff-baring tops, tight denim shorts, and expensive flip-flops. They sat side by side giggling over cell phones they kept exchanging, licking their fingertips as they ate. Sun streamed through the adjacent window lighting their hair’s sheen and tanned faces.
Gail glanced at her watch, then hurried her way through her salad. As she was finishing, the girls passed her on their way to the front counter. An overweight young woman in the
restaurant’s trademark brown apron, T-shirt, and ballcap stood behind the cash register changing its paper roll; her name tag read: Cheryl. She stopped what she was doing when the girls arrived and regarded them blankly.
The tallest, prettiest one said, “We’d like cups for water, please.”
Cheryl’s facial expression remained unchanged as she took three large plastic cups off a stack, handed them to the girl, and returned to her task. The girls walked over to the soda machine, glanced once behind them at the counter, then took turns filling their cups with soda and ice. Gail felt her forehead wrinkle as she watched two of them choose Sprite while the prettiest one casually drank off a large portion of her Coke before refilling it to the brim. Gail considered confronting them on their petty larceny, but instead sat frozen and watched them bring the drinks back to their table and resume their airy chatter, nibbling, and cell phone exchanges punctuated now by slurpy sips. Gail narrowed her eyes and thought about the students with whom she worked at the year-round, inner-city middle school she’d once attended herself, almost all of whom qualified, as she had, for free or reduced lunch. She shook her head.
Several moments passed as the heat rose up behind Gail’s ears before she stood, threw away her trash, approached the counter, and cleared her throat. Cheryl looked at her with the same weary expression.
“Those three girls.” Gail pointed. “You gave them cups for water, but they used them for soda.” She paused, fixing Cheryl with a hard glare. “That’s stealing.”
Cheryl glanced from Gail to the table where the preoccupied girls sat, then back. Her expression stayed the same. She shrugged.
“Aren’t you going to do something?”
Cheryl emitted a short sound that was something between a chuckle and a snort. She said, “You want to order something else?”
“They stole.”
A voice from the kitchen shouted for more to-go bags. Cheryl gave Gail another quick shrug, lifted some bags from beneath the counter, and disappeared behind a half-wall. Gail stared at where she’d stood, shook her head again, bristled at the raised voices from the girls’ table, and left the restaurant.
To clear her head and slow her breathing, she walked to the next corner, then retraced her steps. She failed to notice the fancy boutiques she passed or the salty smell of the ocean just up the street. As she re-entered the parking lot, she stopped short: Cheryl sat on an upturned bucket outside the restaurant’s kitchen. She’d removed her apron and held a smoldering cigarette, her head resting back against the wall. She turned her face and looked at Gail. Perhaps ten feet separated them.
A handful of seconds passed while they stared at each other until Cheryl finally sat up straight, gave a third shrug, and said, “They’re just spoiled little shits like all the other kids in this town.”
“You’re not from here?”
“Hardly.”
“Me either.”
Cheryl nodded once.
“You didn’t do anything about it, then?”
“Ten bucks worth of soda?” Cheryl sucked on her cigarette, blew smoke, and said, “No, I did not.”
“Isn’t fair,” Gail mumbled. “Not right…that they get away with it.”
“I agree.” Cheryl dropped her cigarette in the gravel and stepped on it. “But it wouldn’t have mattered.”
The rear entrance to the restaurant burst open, and the three girls emerged through its opening. They each removed skateboards from the bushes of a planter, plopped them on the sidewalk, and took remote controls from their pockets. None had helmets.
Cheryl pushed herself to her feet and called, “Hey, you three.” When they looked over, she waited a beat, then said, “Next time, pay for your damn sodas.”
Their eyes widened briefly until the prettiest one slowly raised the middle finger of one hand and extended it towards Cheryl. The other two exploded into laughter, grabbing at her until she pressed a button on her remote activating her skateboard, and took off. They followed suit. Gail and Cheryl gazed after them as the clattering sound of their accelerating wheels grew faint.
“See,” Cheryl said. “I told you.”
They didn’t look at each other. Gail heard Cheryl step across the gravel and the kitchen’s screen door clap shut behind her. The parking lot stood very still, awash in clean, white light.
Gail knew that if she didn’t leave right away, she’d be late for the self-esteem group counseling session she was due to lead back at her school. She didn’t want to move, but she shook her head a last time, got in her car, started it, and tried to focus on hopeful things about the afternoon that lay ahead.
William Cass
William Cass has had over 250 short stories accepted for publication in a variety of literary magazines such as december, Briar Cliff Review, and Zone 3. He was a finalist in short fiction and novella competitions at Glimmer Train and Black Hill Press, and won writing contests at Terrain.org and The Examined Life Journal. He has received one Best Small Fictions nomination, three Pushcart nominations, and his short story collection, Something Like Hope & Other Stories, was recently released by Wising Up Press. He lives in San Diego, California.