The Moon and More by Sarah Dessen Read Free Book Online

are
worthless
.”
    Uh-oh
, I thought. Luke gave me a look, which I ignored, focusing instead on his mom’s perfect updo, which wasbouncing slightly in front of me as she led me up to the house. As we climbed the side steps to the kitchen, I saw it was crowded with people: Luke’s dad was arranging steak and salmon on a platter, his younger sister Stacey was taking pans from the oven, and a woman in black and white, clearly hired, was busy piling rolls in a big basket. Only one person was standing still, doing nothing, and of course it was Morris.
    “We’ve got to get this food out,” Luke’s mom said to me over her shoulder. “Can you find the salads and bring them to the table? Oh, and there are a couple more bottles of wine in the pantry, I think the bartender might need them by now.”
    “Right,” I said, negotiating around Luke’s dad, who gave me a wink, hoisting his tray of meat and fish. I spotted the salads on the counter by the fridge and made a beeline over to them, grabbing one before walking up to my best friend, who was busy holding up the fridge and examining his fingernails. “Morris,” I hissed. “What are you doing?”
    He looked up at me. “What do you mean?”
    I shoved the salad into his hands, hard, making him jump. “Do you realize you are the only one in this entire room not working right now?”
    “I’m working,” he said. This I ignored, grabbing the other salad bowl and sticking it under my arm before ducking into the pantry to grab the wine.
    “Come on,” I said. He just looked at me. “
Now
.”
    We went out onto the deck and down the stairs, heading to the rows of tables that were set up in the backyard, tikitorches lined up between them. All the way, just behind me, I could hear Morris’s signature shuffle-lope. It was a sound I knew well, mostly because despite the fact that we’d known each other since grade school, he had not once
ever
been in front of me. He was that freaking slow.
    “What’s your problem?” he asked as I plunked the salad bowl onto a table by a stack of plates. He was still holding his, would not put it down unless directly instructed to do so. “You and Luke in a fight or something?”
    “Do you even know how much I had to stick my neck out for you to get this gig?” I demanded. “Robin did
not
want to hire you. I basically begged her.”
    “Why’d you do that?”
    I couldn’t take it anymore: I grabbed his salad, putting it on the table. “Because,” I said, “Daisy told me you were desperate for work.”
    “I wouldn’t say
desperate
,” he replied.
    “Clearly not. Because if you were, you’d actually be, you know,
working
.”
    Most people, having been spoken to this way, would be chastened. Or at least react. But this was Morris, so he just looked at me. “She told me to bring in the salads and bread. I did. I was awaiting further instruction.”
    I rolled my eyes. “Do you really always have to be specifically told everything? You can’t see a need and jump in to meet it?”
    “Do what?”
    “Morris?” I turned. It was Robin, the owner of RobertsFamily Catering, who had owed me a favor. Now I was pretty sure I was in
her
debt. “Did you unload those napkins and plates from the van?”
    “Uh-huh,” he told her.
    “
Yes
,” I corrected him, not that he heard me.
    “Are they”—she glanced at the serving station, now lined with platters of food—“here?”
    “You didn’t tell me where to put them.”
    Dear God
, I thought, as Robin—and I—looked over at the driveway where, sure enough, the plates and napkins were stacked on the pavement, right next to the van. “Go,” I said to him. “Go
get
them and
bring
them
to
her.”
    “You
are
in a bad mood,” he observed, but now, finally, he was moving. Shuffle-lope, shuffle-lope. I shook my head, then headed over to Robin, who was busy pulling foil and cling wrap off her various dishes.
    “Don’t say it,” she said, before I could even begin to apologize.