I ate slowly, mostly because I had no appetite. Samantha and Logan finished way before I did and then had to sit there and watch me pick at my food. "You don't have to wait for me," I told them. "If you need to go, I understand."
"We can wait," Samantha said. "It's no problem."
"Are you done with your calculus homework yet?" Logan asked her. Logan is Samantha's self-appointed tutor ever since last year when she bombed the SATs.
"Not really," she said and looked at me to see whether I wanted her to stay or not.
"You might as well go," I said. "We came in separate cars anyway."
The waitress brought our checks, and Logan took care of their bill.
"Sorry Romeo didn't show up," Samantha whispered to me.
Logan leaned closer to me and said, "Don't feel bad. It wouldn't have worked out—I've read the story and you both die in the end."
Then Samantha and Logan said their good-byes to me and walked out of the restaurant holding hands.
I dug my wallet out of my purse, laid twenty dollars on the bill, and took a drink, waiting for the waitress to come.
When she did, she looked over her shoulder, then back at me. "Can I see some ID with that?"
I blinked up at her, wondering if she'd automatically assumed I laid down a credit card. "I need an ID to pay with cash?"
"The manager requested it."
"The manager," I repeated, and blushed.
I dug my driver's license out of my wallet and gave it to her. Maybe in some horrible twist of fate I'd unknowingly given them a counterfeit bill and I'd be dragged off to a police station for questioning. Rachel would be so disappointed to have missed it.
Or maybe, yes—it was the guy, and he was walking toward me with my ID. I wondered when he had noticed me and why I hadn't seen him.
He sat down on the chair across from me and handed me both my money and my driver's license.
"I'm comping your meal, Chelsea. It was worth it just to find out what your name really is."
"Thanks." I slipped my ID back into my wallet. "I told you all along my name was Chelsea."
"Yes, but you did it under suspicious circumstances. Why was everyone else calling you Juliet?"
I hesitated, thought about it, and took the fifth. "I could explain, but I'd rather appear mysterious. Is it working?"
He tilted his head down and laughed. The tenseness left his eyes. "I guess so." He held out his hand to shake mine. "I'm Tanner. Now we've officially met."
I shook his hand, afraid I was blushing again. College girls probably didn't blush when they met guys. "Aren't you kind of young to be a manager here?" I asked and held my breath, hoping he didn't answer with something like, "Yeah, everyone tells me I look so young. Actually I'm twenty-five . . ."
Instead he shrugged. "I'm really an assistant manager. For a while my brother took to shortening the term 'assistant' to—well, it's just easier to say manager—so that's what most of the employees call me." He shrugged and his blue eyes crinkled around the corners as though he was letting me in on a secret. "My parents own the restaurant."
How come every time I saw him he looked better than the time before? "That must be nice," I said. "I bet you always get really good dinners and stuff" I didn't know what else to say and realized my last sentence had verged on babbling. Having a hot guy sitting so close will do that to you.
"I eat well when I work here," he said. "I can't say the same for dorm food."
He probably needed to get back to work doing whatever it was assistant managers did, but I didn't want him to leave. We stared at each other for another moment and then because I couldn't think of a casual way to say it, I just blurted out, "So Tanner, we didn't really get off to the greatest start. Do you believe in second chances?" The next moment stretched out as I waited for his answer.
He smiled, nodded and leaned closer to me. "Yeah, I guess I do."
"Great," I said and then mentally added as though it were a mantra, Don't ask me how old I am. Don't ask me how old I am.
He shrugged. "Would you like to get together sometime?"
"Sure." Don't ask me which dorm I live in. Don't ask me which dorm I live in.
"Can I have your phone number?"
I gave him my cell phone number. He wrote it on the back of my bill, studied me for another moment, then shook his head. "I keep trying to figure out where I know you from. Do you take Economics 101?"
"No." Don't ask me what my major is. Don't ask me what my major is.
"Have you ever lived in California?"
"Nope."
"Do you go to the Rec Center to run track?"
"Maybe you just recognize me from the restaurant. I come here a lot." I didn't, but I didn't want him to keep asking about my schedule.
He nodded uncertainly. "That could be it." Then his expression changed, and I could tell he'd put the matter out of his mind. "I'm closing tonight, but we could get together after classes tomorrow. What time are you done?"
"Two-thirty." Which was, after all true, because that's when the high school got out.
He nodded. "Let's get together for dinner. Can I pick you up at six?"
If I gave him my house address he'd know I wasn't a college student. My throat felt dry. "I have some errands to run tomorrow. Why don't I meet you somewhere. Where did you want to go?"
He said, "Let's go someplace where my coworkers and family won't be around. How about Basilios?"
We worked out the last of the details and then he glanced around the room. "I'd better get back to work. If I stay here too long the other employees will never let me hear the end of it." He stood up but gave me another smile before he left. "I'm glad you came in tonight, Chelsea."
So was I. All the way home I repeated his name in my mind.
My friends and I generally got together on Jock's Landing before school to talk. The subject the next morning was my secret double life as a college student.
"I never told him I went to WSU," I pointed out. "I just never said I didn't."
"It's almost the same as lying," Samantha said.
"It's not lying," I said. "It's verbal camouflage."
"Camouflaged or not, he's going to be mad if you're not up front about it from the beginning," Samantha said.
Aubrie nodded. "He'll wonder what else you haven't been honest about. Besides, it's not such a big deal. A lot of the guys we dated last year are in college this year. Girls date guys who are older. People know that."
"But there's a difference between a college guy dating a girl he went out with in high school and a college guy hitting on some random high school girl." I folded my arms and stared out at the river of students making their way to the lockers. "He'll think I'm too young for him."
"He'll find out eventually," Samantha said. "You can't hide it forever."
"I don't have to hide it forever," I said. "Just until next year when I actually go to college." Or until he decided he liked me so much he didn't care I was seventeen—well, almost eighteen.
"Why not let her pretend to be older?" Rachel asked, finally chiming in on the subject. "Chances are she'll get tired of him before he figures out her age." Rachel forgets that the rest of us don't date as much as she does.
"And how is she going to keep her age from him?" Samantha asked.