Page 41 of Devil in Disguise
Why did girls like that say, “Oh mygod”so much? Were the events of their life really so surprising?
She was never going to finish studying in time for her dinner shift. She’d have to work on it again tonight, but she’d planned a rematch with Fletcher.
She could still get it done. She’d play for an hour, and then go down to the lounge and study for another two hours. Yeah. That would work.
When her phone alarm rang at six-fifteen the next morning, she hit the button, thought,five minutes,and fell back asleep. When she woke again with a start, it was nearly seven.
Internal swear,she thought (she’d been trying not to swear as much, since Owen didn’t, Harlan didn’t, her mom didn’t, and Annabelle didn’t, and she wasn’t all that keen to be the pirate of the family). She was supposed to be at work in five minutes. She practically fell down the ladder, brushed her teeth, and threw on clothes in the light from the bathroom as Sydney called, “Do youmind?Could you beslightlyquiet?”
She didn’t answer. She just shoved her feet into her shoes and ran out the door.
Maria Hernandez, her supervisor, didn’t even look up from the grill as she said, “You’re late. That’s the third time.” The others looked up, too. Not looking accusing. Looking barely mildly interested, like student workers were always late. And always getting fired. Dyma knew all about that.She’dbeen the one keeping track of the time, before. The one judging other people for not having any self-discipline.
“Yeah,” she said, going to the sink to scrub her hands and pulling on her apron. “Sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t help me,” Maria said. “Being on time helps me. You’re scheduled for fifteen hours a week. If that’s too much for you to manage, let me know.”
“It’s not,” Dyma said. “It won’t happen again.”
“See that it doesn’t. I’ve given you enough chances. Get your gloves on and start filling bins.”
It wasn’t the reprimand. It was the look on all those faces. Mostly brown faces. Like,Another privileged white college girl who doesn’t know what it’s like to need this job.She wanted to say, “I do,” but she couldn’t. She’d just proved she didn’t.
Seven-thirty, and she was stacking trays and plates when she heard somebody say, “Hi.”
She looked up. A girl she didn’t know was standing there, pulling a tray from the rack.
“Hi,” Dyma said, then glanced around to see Maria watching her. She refilled the napkin container as the girl said, “I heard you’re the one who slapped Sydney Merck.”
“No. I didn’t.” She just wished she had.
“I’m not saying that’s bad,” the girl said. “IfI’dever had the guts to slap her, I’d have done a dance about it. If you need a GoFundMe for your legal defense, say the word.”
Dyma stopped with the napkins. “You know her?”
“School,” the girl said. “HerandCassandra.”
Another glance, and, yes, Maria was watching. Dyma said, “I can’t talk now, sorry.”
“I’ll see you another time,” the girl said. “I’m Pavani.”
“Dyma.”
A smile. “I know.”
Great. She was famous.
She didn’t have time to go back to her room and fix her hair or put any makeup on before class, so she just went to Thermodynamics as she was. Dr. Chiu started going over the midterm study questions, and she took notes and tried to follow along. She hadn’t exactly done the work last night after all, because an hour of video games had somehow turned into three. Why were video games made like that, to suck your attention? Something about hyperarousal and dopamine, but still. She hadn’t set an alarm, and there you were. After that, she’d tried to read the textbook in bed, but she’d fallen asleep, and then there’d been her hasty exitfrombed, which was why the textbook was stillinbed. Everybody else had their books open, and she didn’t. The guy next to her glanced over and shoved his book a little bit in her direction, and she mouthed,Thanks,tried to follow along, and got a little lost.
OK. New plan, that’s all,she told herself a couple hours later, when she’d grabbed a quick lunch and was hurrying back to the dorm to get her book for her afternoon class, for which she wasalsonot prepared, but which she could prep for some in the next hour and fifteen minutes, if she worked fast.
You screwed up. It’s one time.
Well, two times, if you counted being late to work and the not-doing-the-homework, forgetting-the-textbook thing. Possibly three, if you counted the too-much gaming. But still. A few days. They weren’t the only days so far that she’d done something like that, though, and it wasn’t even halfway through the quarter.
Her phone dinged with a text, and she thought,Owen.She hadn’t been able to talk to him nearly enough these past weeks, and when she had, their calls had tended to be short. And in the stairwell. She pulled the phone out of the side of her pack.
Not Owen. A text saying,Please call the Housing Office immediately.And a phone number.
