Page 25 of Insincerely Yours
The very name causes a pathetic sound to escape my lips, caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob.
I hate myself.
I promised I’d never waste another tear on this, and yet here I am—in the same place, with the same old scars being torn back open into festering wounds.
A light bulb must turn on in Maggie’s brain, because her hands fly to her mouth. “Wait, you’re not the girl from…?”
She can’t even finish the thought.
Since the upper echelon of Ravenswood’s social circles would never stoop so low as to talk with the commoners of neighboringtowns, school gossip wouldn’t normally reach Maggie’s ears… But nothing about what happened to me had been normal.
“But your last name’s Moretti—”
“I changed it this past summer after I graduated,” I say. “Moretti is my mom’s maiden name. I was born Alexandria Sharpe.”
After the “incident,” I didn’t have much of a choice if I wanted a fresh start at college. All it would take was one person Googling my name to find out what happened. Or, at least, what the public wasmade to believehappened.
I fill Maggie in on the basics of what actually went down, and it’s no surprise that she puts the car in park and reaches over, wrapping her arms around me despite the awkward angle.
“I’m so sorry. I had no idea…”
“That’s what I hoped, that no onewouldknow.” The laugh I rasp out is painful at best.
I thought I’d be able to bury the past, but oh boy, does it enjoy unearthing itself to humiliate you.
“I guess I just wasn’t quite prepared for that. I knew coming back here would be tough, but to see Jase…” I put any and all thoughts of him in the rearview mirror long ago. And like a hideous Jack-in-the-box, the bastard pops up at the worst possible moment. “I just want people to forget. But with him around, it’ll only stir things up again.”
“So, to say that you’re in need of a distraction would probably be the ultimate understatement, huh?”
“Something like that.”
Thankfully, Maggie has a plan for that.
Sadly,the plan isn’t a very good one.
“Well, this officially sucks.” Maggie drags herself out through the automatic doors of the grocery store, looking comically deflated. “We’re never gonna find a decent place to work at this rate.”
“What are you talking about? They just said they had two positions available.”
“Yeah, ascartcollectors.” She says the last two words slowly, as if the communication issue is frommyend. “That’s a negatory there, Captain. No way in hell am I going to spend my days frying in this heat.”
“Coming from the girl who was just looking updog-walkinggigs on her phone?” I can’t help but laugh. “Hate to burst your bubble here, but you wouldn’t be walking Fido at three in the morning.
Maggie mock-glares at me. “Two totally different scenarios. If I’m ‘walking Fido,’ I can do so in a bikini top. If I’m a cart pusher, I’ll be subjected to wearing those hideous yellow vests, thus giving me the worst redneck tan known to New England. Not to mention, they don’t even have one of those retriever machines. We’d be doing it all by hand. Do you really think our little noodle arms have that kind of strength behind them?”
She isn’t wrong.
As we enter the parking lot, we pass by a kid who barely looks fifteen. He’s currently wearing said vest as he struggles to guide a row of at least twenty carts towards the front of the building. His arms are beat red, but with his maneuvering, we both glimpse the milky white skin below his shoulders.
I couldn’t give a crap about tan lines, but it’s apparently a hill Maggie is willing to die on. “I don’t know what to tell you. We’ve already exhausted our options.”
Since we attend school over three hours away, coming in for interviews here had been impossible when we had already looked into getting summer jobs months ago. High schoolers and community college students had snatched up any cushy jobs for lifeguards and hostesses long ago…save for the handful of positions available at the country club. They had a rigorous hiring process, and let’s just say we aren’t up to snuff. My hair colormightpass their guidelines, but Maggie’s pink locks definitely won’t. And I can’t look past the clientele. Having to regularly cater to people like my sister and the “Untouchables” sounds about as appealing as sticking my head in a truck-stop toilet. Not to mention, I’m pretty sure Blythe would have an aneurysm if she found out I was working there.
Ihadbeen hoping for a position at the library, especially since I’d worked there my senior year, but they had hired full-time help since I left.
Maggie punches in some stuff on her phone and makes several inquiry calls as I drive us around, all ending in a bust. “Can you think ofanywhere elsewe could try? The only other thing I can find is a pet sitter, and my mom’s apartment doesn’t allow animals.”
And my stepmom is allergic to cats…and hates dogs…and pretty much anything else with four legs, fur, scales, or claws.
