When You're Ready (4 page)

I slid Scout’s business card into my pocket and went back to work. After serving about a million customers, including a rowdy group of frat boys who kept calling me “sweet cheeks” and offering to “show me a good time,” I met Tara in the back when our shift was done.

“Tonight was crazy. Must be a fucking full moon. I had all these freaky nutcases in my section,” she said, putting on her jacket.

I thought about how Scout had come to the restaurant to see me again and suddenly my night didn’t feel so bad. “Mine was okay,” I shrugged, trying to keep my face neutral.

“Then what are you smiling about?”

“I’m not smiling,” I said even though I was.

“You are to! What happened?”

“Nothing happened.”

“If you don’t start talking you’re gonna be on the bus,” Tara said, threatening to revoke her offer to give me a ride. I knew she wasn’t serious, but it was the only card she had to play.

“Fine.” I wanted to tell her anyway. “The guy from the party came to see me.”

She screwed up her face. “What guy? What party? Wait, you went out without me?”

“No…the party we worked. The guy I met.”

“What guy? You never told me about a guy. I swear, Nola, if you’re holding back on me…”

I smiled, finally happy I was the one with some actual news. Well, sorta. Usually I had to live vicariously through Tara’s escapades, but for once I had something to share.

“I met this guy at the party. We talked for a few minutes while I was resting my feet, and—“

“You guys went out?”

“No. We just talked. And at the end, right before we left he asked how he could see me again.”

“So you gave him your number?”

“Tara! Stop interrupting.”

“Well you’re taking too long. Geez, Nola, get to the good parts.”

“The good parts?”

“Yeah, the part where you’re both naked and you tell me how big his—“

“Tara!” I snapped. She was ridiculous—and I loved her for it.

She hunched her shoulders. “Okay, okay. Tell the story.”

“So he asked me how he could see me again, and I was all, ‘In your dreams.’”

Tara gasped. “You didn’t!”

I squealed, still proud of my flirtation attempt. “I did! Anyway, I told him if that didn’t work he could find me here, and well, he came today.”

“So when are you guys going out?”

My smile faded. “We’re not.”

“Turned out to be a jerk, huh?”

“No,” my voice grew quiet, “he was actually super nice. And gorgeous! He’s totally gorgeous.”

“Then I don’t get it. What’s the problem?”

I sighed, Tara never got it, no matter how many times I explained it to her: I couldn’t risk dating.

“You know I can’t get sidetracked right now. I’m so close to finishing school and—“

“Not this shit again, Nola. When are you gonna start living your life?”

“Next year,” I said, plainly. “After I’m done with school and have a real job. Then I can breathe.”

Tara shook her head in disgust. “Life is too short, Nola, and you deserve to have a little fun.”

“Right. Because it turned out so well for my parents?”

Tara’s eyes softened and she placed her hand on my shoulder. “You aren’t them, Nola. When are you gonna stop letting some parental boogeyman rule your life? You’re young, beautiful, and it’s time you start living!”

Of course Tara could encourage me to have some fun, her parents were great. They couldn’t afford to pay all of her tuition and living expenses, but they did what they could, and she could always, always count on them. I, on the other hand, did not have such a luxury. I knew Tara meant well, but seriously, what did she know?

I decided to switch subjects; I didn’t want to think about my parents or the fact that I was completely on my own.

“Wanna hear the best part?”

Tara nodded.

“He left me his business card
and
a $70 tip!”

“Shit, Nola. $70? Call him! Now!”

“Nah. Not calling, but I admit, it feels good to be wanted.”

“Girl, you’ve
been
wanted, you just haven’t wanted any of them back. This guy sounds different, though. I mean he came to your job—”

“Like a stalker?” I chuckled.

“Like you told him to. You should call him.”

Tara had a point. Life was too short to always put things off, but could I risk getting involved with a man like Scout? I wasn’t sure.

“Maybe I’ll call just to thank him for the tip,” I said. “I mean, it would be rude if I didn’t, right?”

“Right,” Tara said, while we walked to her car. “It would be even ruder to pass up on a nice guy who made you smile as big as you’re smiling right now.”

I caught a glimpse of myself in a store window and noticed my gigantic grin.  I wasn’t sure why I was so taken with Scout, but I knew I wanted to see him again. I made a mental note to call him—just to say thanks, for everything.

4
Nola

I sat in my media studies class listening to Professor St. James discuss the role of women in the music business. Normally, I would have been completely enthralled with her lecture, the way she championed feminism while railing against patriarchy and the objectification of women in popular culture almost made me want to switch my major from communications to women’s studies. But there was no money in being a militant feminist, unless you already had some. And while I loved reading about Gloria Steinem, Virginia Wolf, bell hooks, and Patricia Hill Collins, I couldn’t fathom being poor on purpose after having been broke for so long.

As usual, I sat in the third row of the huge lecture hall and took notes, only this time I was barely paying attention. My pen seemed to have a mind of its own, doodling Scout’s name in the margin of my notebook surrounded by frilly flowers and,
gasp
, hearts like I was back in the fifth grade.

I blacked out his name, covering the doodles with random zig-zags, trying to hide my relapse into schoolgirl-hood, but I just couldn’t stop myself. The battle went on for an entire hour—scribbling his name, then blacking it out—until soon the left side of my paper looked like it had been involved in a graffiti war.

After class, I waited for Professor St. James to hand back our papers on cultural appropriation, but my mind kept returning to Scout. It had been days since he’d stopped by Pink Taco and I still hadn’t called him. I thought about it, constantly, even taking his crisp business card out and punching in the number, but chickening out before I could press send.

Despite telling myself I’d call
just
to say thanks for the fat tip, I couldn’t go through with it. Scout made me feel things I was too scared to admit I felt—nervous, adventurous, aroused. Everything I’m sure my mother felt about my father, and you see how spectacularly awful that turned out. v

I shuddered. That could never be me. Scratch that; it would
never
be me. I would never be as naïve, reckless, and absolutely dependent on a man like my mother, Sandy Jane.

I tried to expel Scout from my mind because he
obviously
wasn’t thinking about me. He hadn’t been back to the restaurant since the night he stopped by, which pretty much confirmed he’d forgotten all about me and probably moved on to some anorexic bleached blonde with severe cheekbones. But still, I couldn’t keep my mind from drifting toward his devilishly handsome face, strong body, and I couldn’t even let myself imagine what was beneath his clothes.

“Ms. Chambers,” Professor St. James almost sneered, thrusting the essay into my hand. She looked at me over the top of her glasses, her face crinkling like she smelled something foul. Strangely, it looked better than her normal expression, which always seemed to be a mixture of a grimace and a scowl.

“What happened here?” she asked, accusingly. My heart sank at the less than positive response to the 15-page paper I’d worked on for three weeks. I needed to pass Professor St. James’ class with at least a B to keep my partial scholarship for my last year at UCLA, and she was a notoriously difficult grader.

I held my breath and flipped to the last page, hoping she was just trying to pull some kind of prank.

D+

My heart sank. I couldn’t afford a D+ in this class, not if I wanted to keep my scholarship and my average high enough to get into graduate school. A D+ was no better than a regular D, and it certainly wasn’t the B I was hoping for.

To my surprise Professor St. James was still eyeing me, but I couldn’t read her face. Was she pissed? Was she pleased? Did she hate me as much as I thought? What had I done to be the subject of her ire, other than raise my hand a smattering of times during the quarter? I could never tell what Professor St. James was thinking, and my face burned when I felt the tears gathering in my eyes.

Don’t cry Nola, don’t you dare cry.

I bit my cheek and forced a painful half-frown to my lips. “Professor St. James,” I gritted through my teeth. “I don’t know what happened. I put a lot of work into this essay. Is there any way I can revise it for a higher grade? I’m on a partial scholarship and I really need to keep my GPA above 3.3.”

Professor St. James removed her red-rimmed glasses and pursed her lips like she was considering my words. She wasn’t known for giving her students many chances, but I had to try. I couldn’t afford to lose the money for school, not when I was just a year away from getting my degree.

“I had such high hopes for you,” she said, shaking her head in disgust. “But you’re like the rest of the girls. Too concerned with playing nice. Such a pity.”

“Playing nice?” I was baffled. Professor St. James spoke to everyone like they were dolts, but I was genuinely stumped. “I don’t understand.”

She let out an exasperated sigh like I was bothering her with meaningless questions. “Every time you approached a forceful argument you backed away. Do you think I made it this far by throwing stones and hiding my hand?”

I stared at her blankly. Throwing stones?

Professor St. James rolled her eyes, too impatient to wait for my answer. “I cannot be bothered to discuss this now. You are not serious,” she said with a wave of her hand.

My stomach lurched. She was brushing me off and I was going to fail for the first time in my entire life. Everything I sacrificed so hard for was about to be snatched away if I couldn’t figure out how to fix it.

“Professor St. James, please, if there is anything I can do to bring this up. Anything—“

She held up her hand, silencing me. “Come to my office tomorrow at five p.m. We will discuss this.”

I almost breathed a sigh of relief, until I realized I’d picked up one of Tara’s shifts.

“I have to work at six, can we meet earlier?”

“I cannot be subjected to your whims, Ms. Chambers,” Professor St. James clucked. “I will meet you at five, not a moment before—or later.”

I dragged my hands through my curly hair trying to figure out how I could meet with Professor St. James
and
get to work on time.  If we kept our conversation to a half hour, I could make it if I caught a cab, but I didn’t have money to burn. I was between a rock and a hard place, but I knew I had no other option but to figure it out.

I sighed. “Fine. See you tomorrow.”

Professor St. James turned on her heels and continued handing out essays, no doubt crushing more dreams. I stumbled out of the lecture hall and into the bright blue sunshine in a daze. I was thisclose to being done with school. I was so close to accomplishing my goal and getting my degree that I could almost taste it. But Professor St. James had just thrown a huge roadblock in my way.

My mind raced, trying to figure out how to meet with her to get help on my paper and still make it to work on time. Ross had already threatened to fire me if I was late, but how could I not be a few minutes—or more—behind when I was cutting it so close?

I walked across campus on the way to the bus stop, too depressed to go home. I didn’t have to work and didn’t have any major assignments due for a while, so I was looking forward to grabbing lunch and stretching out on my couch. But my D+ had thrown me into a funk. I needed something to cheer me up, lift my spirits, and make me feel smart and happy again after dealing with Professor St. James.

Scout
.

His name crossed my lips and brought an immediate smile to my face. Even though I never called him, I’d punched in his number so many times I knew it by heart.

Could I actually go through with it this time?

I wanted to call Scout. I so,
so
badly wanted to call, but I didn’t even know what to say. Hello? This is Nola, the girl who served you the weird beer and who is kinda obsessed with you?

That certainly wouldn’t work. He’d probably think I was some kind of socially awkward dork who couldn’t even hold a decent conversation. On second thought, he wouldn’t be far off.

I checked the time and saw that it was only 11 a.m. Scout was probably working or still sleeping off the previous night’s events, so I told myself I could just listen to his voice once or twice (or maybe 50 times?) and leave a polite message thanking him for the tip.