Bump
an excerpt

It was a Friday afternoon in mid- June. I was at work, as usual. It was about 3:00 and I was wrapping silverware in preparation for the evening rush. It was a boring job, taking the clean knives and forks and wrapping them inside a fresh checkered napkin, but it kept me busy and out of my Manager‘s way. Fridays were usually hectic at Humphrey’s Pizza. We always had a crowd. We had our ‘kids night out at the movie’ crowd, our (usually teen) ‘date’ crowd and our ‘take out’ crowd. All in all, it was destined to be a frenzied night. I didn’t mind. Busy nights equaled lots of tips. I looked up from the silverware periodically to scan the restaurant. There was only one table occupied now, but that would soon change. Suddenly, the front door opened and I saw him.
The Apollo of Oak Hill's senior class was here in my restaurant. He sauntered in, flanked by three grungy teammates. They had apparently all spent the afternoon sweating it out on the soccer field, but the dampness on his tanned skin only accentuated his toned body. He was six-foot-two with the muscular build of an athlete: firm calves, broad shoulders; you get the picture. I found myself in trouble before they even found a booth.
I slipped inconspicuously behind the shelter of the pop machine and peered out from around the corner. The guys were piling into a booth in my section. My heart skipped a beat. I had never seen them in Humphrey’s before but I recognized them all- anyone would. “Apollo” was Jake Westerfield, the seventeen year old star goalkeeper of the Oak Hill soccer team. He had it all: brains, brawn, and natural charm all wrapped up in a varsity letterman’s jacket. It was well known that he came from money- after all, he drove a vintage convertible mustang to school every day. Still, despite all these attributes, Jake had a reputation for being a nice, genuine guy. It was partly this reputation, and partly his drop dead good looks, that made him a chick magnet. Jake was rarely seen anywhere- save the boy’s restroom, I presume- without a gaggle of popular girls around him. The rest of us average folk had to be content to admire him from afar. This afternoon, however, seemed to be the exception. There were no adoring fans in sight.
The other three guys in the booth were also from Oak Hill. They were: Bart Drake- junior forward; Thomas Cleary- junior wing; and Jay Holt- sophomore half-back. They were on the same soccer team as Jake Westerfield, but were clearly not in the same league- if you know what I mean. From my vantage point, still behind the pop machine, I could observe all four of them, laughing as they played “keep away” with the menus.
My observations were cut short as my Manager, Mr. Humphrey, crushed me against the soda machine as he crowded past. He deposited a tray of freshly washed silverware on the counter.
“Spying on the customers today, McGraw?“ He grunted at me over his glasses. “That’s not going to sell me any pizzas or get you any tips. Is there something I need to be aware of?“ He peered out into the restaurant.
“No sir.” I replied quickly, regained my composure. I began wiping down the counter. Mr. Humphrey is a portly man. I suppose this should not come as a surprise since he spends every waking hour in a pizza parlor. Secretly, I think some of his girth may be attributed to his “occasional” enjoyment of malt beverages; his clothes always had the aroma of stale beer mixed with cigars. Like many Italian men, he was of average height which, in his case, made him roughly square in proportions. His jet black hair was receding in the front and combed-over in the back. The style was further complimented by the slimy grease that clung to every strand. I guess that’s one bonus to working in a pizzeria- the grease that finds it’s way home in your hair is yours- free of charge. Mr. Humphrey was a quiet man for the most part; although he was often heard muttering Italian phrases under his breath whenever one of his female waitresses passed by. I think I’m glad I don’t understand Italian. Still, as far as bosses go, I suppose I could have picked worse. He was rarely present in the front half of the restaurant, instead choosing to occupy space in the kitchen supervising the creations of the pies that had made him famous.
“You planning to work today, McGraw, or are you just decorating my counter?” He shoved an order pad into my hand. “Get out there.” With a wink, he sidled through the saloon doors and lumbered into the back. Ignoring his teasing, I considered my options.
Option number one: let someone else wait on Jake’s table. This would have been great if I weren’t the only waitress on duty right now. Option # 2: feign illness and beg Mr. Humphrey to send me home. This was implausible as Mr. Boss Man had just seen me looking the picture of health five seconds ago. Option #3: head for the back door. The butterflies in my stomach were favoring that choice, but realistically, that would result in my getting canned. Finally, after deciding that slinking out the back exit would not be good for my financial aspirations, I resolved to forge ahead.
Before heading to the table, I discreetly checked my reflection in the mirrored side of the soda machine. I cringed at the likeness staring back at me. My mousy brown hair was falling in wisps about my face, my cheeks were flushed, and my uniform was a saucy mess. Quickly, I fluffed my bangs and tightened my long ponytail. I then looked down to address the clothing situation. I was not going out to meet the best looking guy in school wearing a sauce stained apron. Praying that my manager wouldn’t notice this huge breach of uniform code, I ripped off the dirty apron and tossed it deftly under the serving counter. It landed in the bus boy’s dish tub on top of a half-eaten piece of cheese pizza. Making a mental note to buy more stain remover on the way home, I grabbed my order pad and set off toward the booth.
The guys were arguing defensive soccer tactics when I approached the table. Jake looked up as I approached, his blond hair falling in careless cascades over his stunning blue eyes, but he was too busy grinning up at me to notice.
“Hi, I’m Jake. You work here, right?”
Struggling to escape the pull of his gaze, I faltered in my answer. “Uh, yea, can I take your order?”
“The guys and I will have two large deep dish supreme pizzas with double the toppings,” he replied, flashing that engaging smile again.
“Um, sure, it’ll be right up.” I extricated myself from the watery depths of those gorgeous eyes and hurried away.
I walked over to the counter feeling like and idiot. Could I not have thought of something more brilliant to say? Why is it that my brain seems to fail me at the most inopportune times? It’s like I go into a trance and am unable to control what words- or lack thereof- pass my lips. I pounded the computer keys in frustration as I entered the pizza order. Am I doomed to go through life expressing myself as an idiot? My cheeks were burning with embarrassment when I heard Jake’s voice behind me.
“You’re Bree, right? You’re a sophomore, aren’t you? I know I‘ve seen you around there.”
I caught my breath and pivoted on my heel. There he was again, standing before me, smile flashing. “I will be a sophomore this year.” I replied.
“Well, Miss Sophomore, you forgot our drink order.” His words were mocking, but his tone was gentle.
“Oh, I am so sorry,” I stammered, mentally kicking myself again. “What can I get for you?”
That smile played around his lips again, “ three sodas for them, and maybe a date for me…”
I paused in my writing, unsure if I had really heard him say those words or if my mind was editing this scenario in my head. “What did you say?”
“I was asking you for a date.” Jake’s eyes were teasing me now. “I’ve been wanting to get to know you better for a while now. That’s why I decided we’d come in here to eat today. A friend told me you worked here. ” He glanced over at his friends who, mercifully, were engaged in yet another debate over soccer tactics, quite unaware of our conversation.
My mind was spinning. I couldn‘t believe this. These seniors actually planned to come in here today? Jake had been wanting to see me? ME? I was beginning to feel a little lightheaded. Even my ‘edited daydreams’ weren’t this good.
“Bree?” He looked at me expectantly.
I came out of my reverie. “Sorry?”
He chuckled. “I just asked you for a date. Are you going to leave me hanging here or are you going to give me an answer?”
Staring into those eyes was taking my breath away. “Sure“, I breathed, heart pounding in my throat.
“Sure, as in you are going to give me an answer or sure, you will go out with me?” He inquired teasingly.
I finally came to my senses. “Sure to both,” I replied, my cheeks flushed with excitement.
“Great”, he grinned. “I’ll pick you up here at Humphrey’s tomorrow night at five, and Bree…”
I struggled to paste a not-too-shocked looking smile on my face as I met his gaze, “yes?”
“Don’t forget about those drinks.” He sauntered back to the table, leaving me breathless in his wake.