Bittersweet Page 2

  In the end they decided I could put a clear stud in it.

  Win-win. Not.

  GRANT LIVED IN A THREE-BEDROOM APARTMENT right next to the Mall of America and Ikea. So much for saving up for the Eurochocolate tour. I may be depressed and having trouble getting over the early demise of my father, but shopping therapy still worked. Too bad its effects never lasted longer than stepping foot out of the mall.

  Grant caught me spying Ikea out the living room window.

  “Your room is a little plain. You can go shopping tomorrow.”

  I nodded, pretending I didn’t care.

  He set my bags in my room and then asked if I needed anything.

  “No, I’m fine. A little tired.”

  “Me too, Kiddo, I’m going to bed.”

  I tensed. Kiddo? No one called me kiddo. Except my dad. He never called me by name; he used pet names instead.

  Before I could ask him to call me Savannah, I heard the door to his bedroom click shut. I sighed. He looked like my dad but didn’t act like him. Perhaps I reminded Grant of my dad, with my mannerisms and personality. I was just like him, though I tried to shake it off. Because then someday I’d end up dead the same way he did. I removed my watch and looked at my tattoo. My reminder.

  My room was pretty empty. A bed and a closet. Except the walls were covered in photographs.

  The first picture startled me a bit. My dad smiled at me from a boat; he was young, maybe my age. The next was his graduation ceremony. There was a wedding picture of him and my mom, an eight-year-old Grant frowning next to them. Mom and Dad looked so happy. They divorced when I was so young that I never thought to ask for details on why they split. Both always just said they were too different to stay married.

  A few pictures away he held a baby in his arms. That had to have been me. Damn, I was chubby. Cute though. Surprisingly, there were a lot of pictures with me in them. As I moved around the room I found the picture from the summer I turned twelve and we went to Disneyworld. My stomach clenched. No, I would not think of that.

  I removed all the pictures from the walls and stacked them in the corner of the closet. No way could I function with him everywhere. The walls were much better empty.

  I flopped down on the twin mattress. The pillow was flat. My bedroom at home was the one place I felt comfortable, where I could relax. This room was not designed for relaxing. It was too sterile.

  I pulled my backpack towards me and dug out an apple and a box of eight truffles. I took a bite of the apple. Chewed. Swallowed. Where to start? The Richileiu. The flavors rolled around my tongue. Both dark and milk chocolate mixed with cherry. Mmm.

  I wasn’t sure I would be able to live with a bachelor. Especially one who was obsessed with my dad. Unless he gave me an Ikea card and told me to spend whatever I liked. Then I might be able to deal with it.

  I took out my phone to text Candie about Ikea. In February, we ditched school one day and drove up to Minneapolis. We meant to go to the Mall of America but spent the entire day playing hide-and-seek in Ikea. It was one of those days that I’d almost stayed home because I didn’t want to face perky teachers and a pep assembly with too much school spirit. Candie didn’t even attempt to make the drive to school; she just got on the freeway and drove north. I loved that about her. The way she could tell when I needed something.

  I ran a hand over my slick bald head and put the phone back. I loved Candie but I didn’t think I’d ever be able to forgive her. Not after what she did.

  If only I hadn’t been bored that day and looking for my black nail polish. Then I never would’ve known. If I’d been thinking then that brown was better, I wouldn’t have seen the scene that meant I no longer had a best friend. But I did. I walked over to her house and saw things I couldn’t unsee.

  I had longed for the pain that came with betrayal. The desire to shout or cry or something. But nothing. No pain. No anger. Just numb nothing. I knew I had to do something, to find a way to create the pain.

  Now I realized that it was stupid to the think that a razor to the head would create emotion when I hadn’t felt any in two years, but at that moment I wasn’t thinking clearly.

  My hair had been long and a deep auburn, wavy and thick. It was the one feature that I loved. It was also a protection. I never wore my hair up because of my hearing aids. I didn’t want people too see them, but more than that, my hair protected them from rain or the stray water gun. Water and hearing aids don’t mix. I was probably a little crazy to even consider getting rid of it.

  I didn’t use the straight edge at first. Instead I dug around the bathroom closet and found the kit that my mother used to give Teddy haircuts. I took both it and the straight edge to my bedroom. Then I went back to the kitchen and found an apple. I sliced it into eight pieces, and found the “Chocolates of the Month” box that my stepmom sent me. I’d been saving them for a special occasion; if that wasn’t a special occasion I didn’t know what was.

  I ate a slice of the apple, then studied the box.

  The liquor chocolates caught my eye first. Not that the alcohol would have any effect whatsoever, but it was the idea of it. It seemed appropriate. I picked up a Cognac truffle made with Grenadian chocolate. I let the chocolate roll over my tongue and closed my eyes to enjoy the flavor. When all traces of the chocolate were gone I put the number-one guard on the electric razor and forced it down the middle of my head. It pulled and tugged and hurt.

  My eyes welled up with tears from the pain but not from the shock of seeing twenty inches of hair fall to the ground. Another slice of apple, a Macallan truffle, and another clump of hair fell to the ground. Four slices later, all that was left on my head was prickly stubble. I brought the last two truffles with me to the bathroom where I ran the straightedge over my head until it shone. I didn’t even cut myself. I had hoped to feel the thrill of shock or anticipation. Nothing.

  Just emptiness.

  And chocolate.

  HIS NAME WAS KARL and he was altogether too perky. He was six foot six, excitable, and occasionally danced like Elmo. He was in charge of training and something else I didn’t quite catch. I sat in the back, slouched in my chair, hoping not to be noticed. I tried not to listen but he was so damn loud. He droned on about safety, courtesy, cleanliness and customer service.

  “What do we do if we see, say, a straw on the ground?” he asked.

  Hands shot up all around the room. I slouched some more.

  “You there, in the back, black shirt. What’s your name?” Oh hell, he was pointing at me.

  “Savannah. You leave it on the ground unless you have latex gloves.”

  His face fell. My answer was not what he wanted or expected. I wasn’t a germaphobe or anything but I wasn’t going to spend my summer picking up trash.

  He put his hands on his hips. “Now, I know you don’t want to end up on the wall of shame, so what would you really do?”

  “What’s the wall of shame?” Damn, asked that before I meant to. I didn’t really care. His perkiness disappeared and his face was a mask of seriousness.

  He pulled a camera out of his pocket. “See, management has cameras and if we see you step over or around a piece of trash we take your picture and put it on the wall of shame.”

  I smiled the fakest smile I could. “Well, that’s better than catching the black plague.”

  Karl looked baffled for a second. “You know, that disease went extinct a long time ago.”

  I sat up straighter. I hated it when people got their facts wrong. “No, it didn’t. It’s still possible to catch. I don’t want it so I won’t pick up something that potentially has a thousand viruses. But you go right ahead.”

  He crossed his arms. “Well then, I guess you’ll end up on the wall of shame.”

  I shrugged and slouched back down.

  My nails were stripped of the chocolate brown. I had a clear stud, courtesy of Claire’s, and a brand new pair of white tennis shoes, white being the only approved color. Plus a watch that completely
covered my tattoo. I felt like I was stuck in some strange sort of prison camp where I could catch the plague by picking up stuff that’s been in someone else’s mouth. (If I only knew what else I’d be touching that’d been in people’s mouths, I’d have quit right then and there.)

  Earlier in the day I filled out a buttload of paperwork where I wrote down my birthday no less than twelve times and tried to remember weird things like my mother’s maiden name. There was one question that I had no problem answering.

  “Is there anything you wouldn’t be able to do in the park?”

  Answer. “Yes, I have a fear of big roller coasters so I can’t ride them. I wear hearing aids so I can’t work anything that involves water or that would require me to stand out in the rain.”

  I figured that about covered the whole park. The fear of roller coasters was a bit of a fib. In truth it was more of a super strong hatred, but the hearing aids thing was definitely real. If so much as a drop hit them in the wrong place they’d short out and I’d be almost completely deaf for two weeks while they got repaired. Not fun.

  Three hours after Karl started talking he mercifully stopped. He handed everyone a slip of paper with their assignment on it. We had to report at nine the next morning.

  My paper said H-O-L-E. I had no clue what that meant, but hopefully it wasn’t a giant roller coaster.

  I shoved the paper in my pocket and went in search of my uncle. He had told me that after training I could go hang out in the park, but that was the last thing I wanted to do. Amusement parks held too many bad memories, though a very small part of me remembered they used to be fun. Maybe I could just go and ride the carousel. Nah, I’d rather wait in his office. I found it after navigating a maze of cubicles. He had the only real office in the place.

  He wasn’t there and so I sat in his chair, propped my feet up on his desk and dug out my phone. Angry Birds would have to keep me entertained. I thought about texting Candie and whining about this hellhole, but then I remembered what she did. Bitch.

  An hour later I dug through my bag and pulled out a small box of L. A. Burdick chocolates. They’d arrived in the mail on Saturday and I hadn’t opened them yet. Every time I looked at them I remembered my last conversation with Gina. Why did everyone else get to be happy but me?

  There were eight small truffles. The dark chocolate smell always made me swoon. The door opened and I looked up from the box. Finally. Maybe Grant would take me home.

  But Grant didn’t cross the threshold.

  Liam Hemsworth did. At least he looked like Liam. Of course he wasn’t. I was exaggerating. Of course I was. But my breath still caught when I looked up and saw the gorgeous guy standing in the doorway, holding an iPad.

  “Oh, hey, I was just looking for Grant.” Smile.

  I died.

  When I finally found my words I replied.

  “He’s not here.” Duh. Could I be more lame?

  He crossed the room.

  “Obviously. Do you know you where he is?”

  I shook my head. How on earth was I supposed to keep my head straight when he was around? They didn’t make boys like that in Albert Lea. Maybe Haunted Valley wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  He sat in the chair across from Grant’s desk. What the…? He was going to sit and talk to me.

  “Ooh, chocolate.” His reached for one and instinctively I covered the box with my hands. He withdrew his.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  “Savannah.”

  “Ah, the elusive niece. Did you have training today?”

  Nod. Words. Where were my words?

  “Well, Savannah, may I have a piece of your chocolate?”

  Nod. “But wait. You can’t simply eat one. If you’d just grabbed it and popped it in your mouth you totally would have missed the flavor. You have to prepare yourself for it.”

  He raised his eyebrows. I. Am. Such. A. Nerd. It couldn’t be helped though. People think chocolate is for gorging yourself on, but it’s not. It’s meant to be savored.

  I handed him an apple. “Take a bite of this first.”

  “Why?”

  “It cleanses the pallet to help you more fully appreciate the flavors. There is a reason the chocolate is so small. You don’t need a lot to enjoy it.”

  “Grant didn’t tell us you were a food snob.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m a chocolate snob, there’s a difference. Take a bite of the apple and then you can have one.”

  He took a bite and pointed to the box. “Can I have that one?”

  Of course he pointed to the Porto Baton. My favorite. Super dark with cinnamon and hazelnut. Liam Hemsworth lookalike or not, he was going to have to pick a different one. I shook my head.

  “Sorry, the Porto Baton is mine. You can have any other one.”

  “Hmm, okay, what’s that one called?”

  “Orinoco. Good choice, both dark and light chocolate, exotic spices, and rum.”

  He raised his eyebrows again and I got the feeling that it would be a sight I’d see often. Or at least I hoped I would. This boy would be nice to have around. He chewed slowly and his eyes widened. They were so blue.

  “You’re right. That is good.” He sat back for a minute, studying me. My palms began to sweat and I stared at the chocolates. Boys that looked like him didn’t look at me that way. “You should be out riding.”

  “I don’t like coasters.” I didn’t look up.

  He laughed. It was a beautiful and musical sound.

  “You’re working in the wrong place. Can I have another?”

  “Sure. Apple first.”

  “Right. I’m Dallas, by the way, I do surveys in the park.” He held up an iPad.

  “Cool,” I replied. Cool? What decade was I in? The nineties? I must sound like such an imbecile.

  “It is, actually. Best job in the park. I could talk to Grant about transferring you to our department if you want. We need a couple more people.”

  “No thanks. I’m not much for talking to people. I think I’ll stick to running rides.”

  He laughed again.

  “You are in the wrong place. Don’t you know your whole job is about talking to people? If you don’t like interaction you’re going to be miserable this whole summer.”

  “Yeah, pretty much.”

  He opened his mouth to reply when Grant appeared in the door with a leggy, gorgeous blonde. Seriously, was anyone normal-looking here?

  She spotted Dallas sitting in the chair.

  “I found Grant first,” she said in a sing-song voice. “You owe me five bucks. I was right. Grant would never think up the wall of shame on his own.”

  “Yeah, he would. What better way to make sure insecure teenagers do what you want them to? Embarrass them.”

  Grant interrupted him. “No. The wall of shame is corporate. When the big wigs come they expect it to be filled with pictures.”

  The blonde made googly eyes at my uncle. “I knew you’d never be that mean.”

  “Whatever,” said Dallas, then he turned back around. “Where are my manners? Savannah, this is Julia. She does surveys with me.”

  I looked from them to Grant.

  “You’ve got those two doing surveys? Smart choice. Find hotties to get opinions about the park. I bet your results are fantastic.”

  Dallas retorted before Grant could. “She just called me hot.”

  “As if your head needed to get any bigger. In case you didn’t notice, she called me hot too.” Julia winked at me.

  Grant spoke. “They are good at getting results. I hired Julia, but Dallas has been working here nearly as long as I have. I can’t believe he didn’t major in marketing.”

  “Where do you go to school?” I asked.

  “I went to the University of Minnesota. I just graduated.”

  Julia tugged on Dallas’s arm. “Come on, we need to get out of here. Bye Savannah, we’ll chat some other time. Maybe we can go to McDonalds after work. Grant can come too.” She pulled Dallas out o
f the room.

  Grant shook his head. I wondered if he noticed that Julia had it bad for him. Funny, the room felt so empty without them. And cold.

  “I thought you’d be out in the park,” said Grant.

  I shook my head.

  “I don’t like roller coasters.”

  “That’s funny. Your Dad always told me how much you loved them. I’d transferred here the year he died. He was going to bring you. I said I’d let you in early and test ride. He seemed to think that would thrill you. That’s actually why I offered to have you come up here. I thought you’d enjoy it.”

  “Well, you thought wrong. Maybe I used to like them. I haven’t been on a roller coaster since he died and I don’t plan on riding them ever again.”

  He nodded.

  “I get it. Here are my car keys. You’ll need to come back and pick me up at eight.”

  HOLE ACTUALLY STOOD FOR The Headless Horseman (a carousel), The Omen (a spinning ride), The Lurking Dead (a scrambler ride) and The Executioner’s Plunge (water, yikes).

  Becca, the HOLE team lead, trained me first on how to check for heights at the Executioner. Oh, and I had to make sure people were wearing shoes. All I had to do was stand there and tell them to go jump off the bridge if they were too short (okay, not really but I wanted to a couple of times). And tell them that even though they were about to get soaked they had to make sure they ruined their two-hundred-dollar Nikes in the process. Sorry. It’s the rules.

  The Executioner’s Plunge is one of those super tall water rides. People sit four to a row and everyone gets drenched. Then you go under the bridge and more water comes down like a guillotine’s blade. If you don’t want to ride, you can just go stand on the bridge and get wet when the boat comes down.

  The weather was about sixty degrees and cloudy. No one in his right mind would ride this ride today. My dad and I had a rule when we went to parks. No water rides unless it was over ninety. And then only if we’d already hit all the coasters. Both he and I weren’t so crazy about wet clothes. Plus it was a pain in the ass to find a place for my hearing aids. We brought zip lock baggies, but I always worried that something would happen to them.