Song of Summer by Laura Lee Anderson Read Free Book Online Page B

Holding up a finger, I tell him to wait. He puts on his motorcycle gloves while I write, “I do this stupid thing where I sometimes mutter to myself under my breath. I am so sorry.”
    I hang my head and show him the pad of paper.
    He laughs again, takes the paper, and pauses for a minute before motioning for me to give him the pen.
    â€œI didn’t hear anything,” he writes, grinning.
    I’m beginning a chuckle when “MISS!” cuts into our moment. I turn my head to look. The old lady from table one is holding up the empty basket of rolls. “Bottomless rolls!” she calls. “I can see the bottom!”
    I turn back to Carter, jerk my head in the direction of the most inconveniently demanding table in the world, and roll my eyes. “Duty calls,” I say. “Bye.”
    He waves and turns toward the register, check in hand. Elsie waits there, all her weight on one hip, tapping her toe. She self-consciously runs her ponytail through her fingers and smiles as Carter approaches.
    â€œMISS!” I hear over my shoulder. I turn my smile on, approaching the table.
    â€œOh no!” I say. “I can see the bottom, can’t I? I’ll be right back with more.” I take the basket back to the kitchen and throw it in the pass-through window.
    â€œFannie? Can I please have more rolls?”
    â€œWhat are these people doing? Sticking them in their pockets?” she calls back.
    â€œProbably.” Old people are notorious for stealing rolls. And steak knives.
    The door slams and Carter strides across the parking lot, fastening his helmet and sliding on his jacket. He gets on the bike and it revs to life, coasting effortlessly out of the parking lot.
    â€œRobin!”
    â€œNot now, Elsie. Can’t you see I’m drooling? Let me bask in this moment for just a second.”
    â€œRobin! Look!”
    She’s holding Carter’s check and a wad of cash. “The bill was only seven bucks and he paid with a twenty! Then he just left! He gave you a thirteen-dollar tip, Robin! And look at the ticket, Robin! Look at the ticket!”
    I take the ticket. “For Robin,” is written on the back. Then, “573-555-2934.”
    â€œIt’s his phone number!” Elsie sounds more excited than I am, and I’m pretty excited. “He wants you to call him!” And then her eyes widen and her face drops. Her eyebrows draw together in a worried crease. “How can you call him? How can he hear you? Maybe he’s not really… you know…”
    â€œDeaf,” I say. “He’s deaf, Elsie, not dying. You can say it. And we can text.”
    I see it dawn on her. “Oh!” she says. “Texting. I’m such an idiot.”
    â€œNo you’re not.” I reach out an arm for a half hug. “You’re just excited.” I pause and give her a little squeeze. “And old.”
    She pushes me away, pouty. “Robin Peters, I am not old!”
    â€œRolls up!” Fannie calls. I take the warm basket out of the window and back to my table, Carter’s number still in my pocket.
    At four o’clock precisely, I pull out my phone and text Jenni.
    â€œOff work!”
    â€œI’ll be ready in five minutes,” I get back from her.
    â€œBe there in six.”
    I’m just cashing out my tips when calloused fingers cover my eyes, making me lose count. My heart dances to the tune of “Skip to My Lou.”
    â€œIs this some hip new thing that all the kids are doing?” I say. “This whole eye-covering deal? Or have you just decided to completely weird out everybody you talk to?”
    He laughs and uncovers my eyes and takes a step back, leaning on the counter. His stubble is there in all its two-day glory and he rubs it as I transfer all my money back into my left hand for a recount. Today, it’s a baseball cap that’s mashing his curls to his head. Last week it was a newsboy cap.