Feeling giddier than I have in a long time.
We had left the movies and wanted to grab a bite to eat before she dropped me off at the purgatory mansion. “These places have the best food.”
I would know,I wanted to add but don’t.
The neon blue and red of the welcome sign greeting me like an old friend.
A small pinch catches the back of my throat as we wander farther inside. The smell of greasy carbs and saturated fats reminding me of Alma’s.
My mouth was salivating before we’d sat down.
“This place is a little, uh… run down, don’t you think?” Hailey stresses, flicking a piece of brown duct tape about two shades darker than the booth seat.
So, it needed a little upkeep, big deal.
The walls, obviously once a pastel pink, now matches a pale salmon color. Dozens of record albums line the walls. A laminated bar lines the entire front area. Some guy in the corner was even flipping through tracks on a jukebox.
How could Haileynotlove this place?
I knew the food was going to be good. I just had to convince her of that before she ran out the door because of its eclectic atmosphere.
“It’s not that bad.”
Her eyes snap up. Pausing her flipping through the menu. “I’ll probably need a tetanus shot afterward,” she drolls, unimpressed. “Whichyouwill be paying for.”
She’d only been touching the menu by its edges after prying open the first page and finding it stuck together by some leftover sugary mess.
“You should have seen the seam my tailor tried to pass off as complete on my gown,” Hailey says. Making conversation after the waitress takes our orders.
Her cheeks inflate, blowing out hot air.
“If she thinks I’m going to walk into the Hardin charity gala looking like that.” Her mouth puckers. “Then she’s messing with the wrong female.”
“The what?”
“The seams. You should have seen how bad they were, Rory.” She sighs dramatically. “And she callsherselfthe professional. A baboon with scissors could have done a better job.”
I wave my hand dismissively. “The other thing.”
“What other thing?”
“The part about the charity gala.”
She cocks her head, looking confused. “What about it?”
“I mean, what is it?” Rephrasing my question when she quirks an eyebrow.
“You don’t know?”
“Hence, why I’m asking.”
She looks at me, dumbfounded. Which I don’t appreciate. It was a question, not a contract.
Folding her napkin back in her lap looking demure, she takes her time answering. “It’s only the biggest event of the year. Everyone who’s anyone will be there.”
I sink back into my seat, folding my arms. “Sounds like a drag.”
Also, something I wouldn’t be caught dead at. I’m already forced to deal with these people enough during school hours, why would I want to in my free time as well?