The Pledge
Page 8
I was glad, I supposed. At least I wouldn’t have to lick his fork, I thought, smirking at Brooklynn as I passed her on my way to the serving station.
Brook carried a basket filled with freshly baked bread out of the kitchen. “Did you see the guys at table six?” She winked at me. “Hopefully I’ll make some decent money tonight.”
Brooklynn told everyone that the reason she worked for my parents at our restaurant, rather than at her father’s butcher shop, was for the tips, but I knew better. Since her mother’s death, she’d used every excuse she could to stay away from her home—and from the family business—whenever possible. Working for the extra money was just a convenient way to avoid painful memories and a father who no longer acknowledged her existence.
Whatever her reasons, I liked having her around.
I glanced over my shoulder to the three men crowded into the corner booth. Two of them—looking far too large for the table they sat at—watched Brooklynn with hungry eyes. It was the way most men looked at her.
I raised my eyebrows. “I don’t think getting tips from them is going to be a problem for you, Brook.”
She frowned back at me. “Except I can’t seem to get the cutest one to notice me.” I saw who she meant. The third man, younger than the others and only somewhat smaller, appeared to be bored by his companions, and by his surroundings in general. Brook didn’t like to be ignored, but she also didn’t give up easily. Her eyes sparkled mischievously. “I guess I’ll have to turn up the charm.”
I shook my head, grabbing a new fork for the man at my own table. I had no doubt that Brooklynn’s pockets would be full by the end of her shift.
When I returned with the utensil, I felt my heart beating a little faster, and my cheeks flushing hotly.
The Counsel man wasn’t dining alone after all, and in my absence, his family had joined him.
I immediately recognized the girl sitting with him—his daughter, I assumed. A girl I passed nearly every morning at the Academy. The one girl who took perverse pleasure in mocking me and my friends as we walked by: Sydney. And here she was, still in her uniform, reminding me that hers was a life of privilege, and not about rushing to her parents’ restaurant after school so she could work the rest of the evening.
Suddenly I wished that I had spit on all the forks. I had an overwhelming urge to turn around and excuse myself from work for the night, to tell my father that I was ill so I could go home.
Instead I forced my best false smile—one that most certainly did not reach my eyes—and concentrated on not tripping over my own two feet as I walked the rest of the way to their table.
I replaced the fork and glanced around at the perfect Counsel family before me: the mother, looking poised and professional; the doting father; and the overindulged daughter. I tried not to pause for too long on any one of them. I wouldn’t give Sydney the satisfaction of knowing that I’d recognized her, even though I was certain she recognized me. “Can I bring you anything to drink?” I asked, relieved that the quiver I felt didn’t make it to my voice. It was a good sign.
I didn’t want to be nervous. Just the opposite, in fact. I’d passed those arrogant Counsel kids—her among them—every day for the past twelve years, and I was tired of pretending that I couldn’t hear the contempt in their voices. Or the words behind it.
Sydney didn’t bother answering me directly, which made my skin itch all the way down to my bones, in places I would never be able to scratch.
She looked to her mother, dressed in an impeccable white suit—a color rarely found among the Vendor class. It was too impractical, it stained too easily. She was a doctor probably, or an attorney, or possibly even a politician. And the moment Sydney opened her mouth to relay her words through her mother, the world around me vibrated, a familiar warning that I should no longer be capable of understanding them. “Tell her I’ll just have the water.” I could feel Sydney’s glare fall upon me. “Wait! First ask if they serve clean water.” The smooth dialect of her foreign tongue slithered from her mouth and felt greasy to my ears.
I forced my eyes downward while they spoke among themselves.
“Thank you,” the woman answered, her voice absent of the oily feel as she slipped back into Englaise for my benefit. “We’ll just have some water.”
When I heard the universal language once more, I tipped my head back up. “I’ll give you a few minutes to look at the menu,” I answered as blandly as I could, trying to mimic the mother’s diplomatic tone. Politician, for sure, I thought. “I’ll be back with your drinks.”
I hid for as long as I could behind the wall of the serving station, slowly pouring water into three glasses. As much as I wanted to do unsavory things to their drinks, I knew my father’s heart would stop beating in his chest if he caught me, and I didn’t want to be responsible for widowing my mother or leaving my little sister fatherless. I considered it a sign of monumental willpower that I was able to resist, and I was more than a little proud of myself.
I took several breaths as I looked around the restaurant. I thought about asking Brooklynn if she’d be willing to trade tables with me, just this once, but I knew that would be considered offensive—an insult to the Counsel family at my table. And Brook was happy with her table—men she could flirt with and flatter, trying to pad her tips. Besides, she hated the Counsel kids almost as much as I did.
She would hate them more if she could hear what I heard.
Brook carried a basket filled with freshly baked bread out of the kitchen. “Did you see the guys at table six?” She winked at me. “Hopefully I’ll make some decent money tonight.”
Brooklynn told everyone that the reason she worked for my parents at our restaurant, rather than at her father’s butcher shop, was for the tips, but I knew better. Since her mother’s death, she’d used every excuse she could to stay away from her home—and from the family business—whenever possible. Working for the extra money was just a convenient way to avoid painful memories and a father who no longer acknowledged her existence.
Whatever her reasons, I liked having her around.
I glanced over my shoulder to the three men crowded into the corner booth. Two of them—looking far too large for the table they sat at—watched Brooklynn with hungry eyes. It was the way most men looked at her.
I raised my eyebrows. “I don’t think getting tips from them is going to be a problem for you, Brook.”
She frowned back at me. “Except I can’t seem to get the cutest one to notice me.” I saw who she meant. The third man, younger than the others and only somewhat smaller, appeared to be bored by his companions, and by his surroundings in general. Brook didn’t like to be ignored, but she also didn’t give up easily. Her eyes sparkled mischievously. “I guess I’ll have to turn up the charm.”
I shook my head, grabbing a new fork for the man at my own table. I had no doubt that Brooklynn’s pockets would be full by the end of her shift.
When I returned with the utensil, I felt my heart beating a little faster, and my cheeks flushing hotly.
The Counsel man wasn’t dining alone after all, and in my absence, his family had joined him.
I immediately recognized the girl sitting with him—his daughter, I assumed. A girl I passed nearly every morning at the Academy. The one girl who took perverse pleasure in mocking me and my friends as we walked by: Sydney. And here she was, still in her uniform, reminding me that hers was a life of privilege, and not about rushing to her parents’ restaurant after school so she could work the rest of the evening.
Suddenly I wished that I had spit on all the forks. I had an overwhelming urge to turn around and excuse myself from work for the night, to tell my father that I was ill so I could go home.
Instead I forced my best false smile—one that most certainly did not reach my eyes—and concentrated on not tripping over my own two feet as I walked the rest of the way to their table.
I replaced the fork and glanced around at the perfect Counsel family before me: the mother, looking poised and professional; the doting father; and the overindulged daughter. I tried not to pause for too long on any one of them. I wouldn’t give Sydney the satisfaction of knowing that I’d recognized her, even though I was certain she recognized me. “Can I bring you anything to drink?” I asked, relieved that the quiver I felt didn’t make it to my voice. It was a good sign.
I didn’t want to be nervous. Just the opposite, in fact. I’d passed those arrogant Counsel kids—her among them—every day for the past twelve years, and I was tired of pretending that I couldn’t hear the contempt in their voices. Or the words behind it.
Sydney didn’t bother answering me directly, which made my skin itch all the way down to my bones, in places I would never be able to scratch.
She looked to her mother, dressed in an impeccable white suit—a color rarely found among the Vendor class. It was too impractical, it stained too easily. She was a doctor probably, or an attorney, or possibly even a politician. And the moment Sydney opened her mouth to relay her words through her mother, the world around me vibrated, a familiar warning that I should no longer be capable of understanding them. “Tell her I’ll just have the water.” I could feel Sydney’s glare fall upon me. “Wait! First ask if they serve clean water.” The smooth dialect of her foreign tongue slithered from her mouth and felt greasy to my ears.
I forced my eyes downward while they spoke among themselves.
“Thank you,” the woman answered, her voice absent of the oily feel as she slipped back into Englaise for my benefit. “We’ll just have some water.”
When I heard the universal language once more, I tipped my head back up. “I’ll give you a few minutes to look at the menu,” I answered as blandly as I could, trying to mimic the mother’s diplomatic tone. Politician, for sure, I thought. “I’ll be back with your drinks.”
I hid for as long as I could behind the wall of the serving station, slowly pouring water into three glasses. As much as I wanted to do unsavory things to their drinks, I knew my father’s heart would stop beating in his chest if he caught me, and I didn’t want to be responsible for widowing my mother or leaving my little sister fatherless. I considered it a sign of monumental willpower that I was able to resist, and I was more than a little proud of myself.
I took several breaths as I looked around the restaurant. I thought about asking Brooklynn if she’d be willing to trade tables with me, just this once, but I knew that would be considered offensive—an insult to the Counsel family at my table. And Brook was happy with her table—men she could flirt with and flatter, trying to pad her tips. Besides, she hated the Counsel kids almost as much as I did.
She would hate them more if she could hear what I heard.
