know how you can just . . . go to funerals every day? Like itâs nothing?â
I thought for a moment.
âThey wonât be every day, man. Plus, you donât make money like this at Cluck Bucket,â I joked, pulling the wad of cash from my pocket again.
Of course, I couldnât tell him the truth. The truth that I was having a hard time telling myself. I liked the funerals. And in thinking about how I couldnât tell Chris that, I started thinking about why I was actually so into them in the first place. I wasnât just being a creep. Well, I sorta was, but it wasnât for no reason. I know that now. I liked watching other people deal with the loss of someone, not because I enjoyed seeing them in pain, but because, somehow, it made me feel better knowing that my pain isnât only mine. That my life isnât the only one thatâs missing something it will never have back. See? Reasons. I couldnât explain that to Chris. I mean, he didnât have a father, but he never had one. Itâs not like having one and then losing him. At least I donât think it is. And his mom was fine, so he wouldnât understand. But Ms. Jameson . . . she understood. And Ms. Knight did too.
âYeah, and you wonât keep money like that if you keep treatingme to food!â Chris popped me back into reality. And the guy was right. At Cluck Bucket he ordered a Cluck Deluxe, which was basically a huge chicken sandwich on a hero, with mayo, lettuce, tomato, onion rings, some kind of special sauce, and pickles on it, with a large fry and a large chocolate shake. Then he asked me if he could get a banana pudding, too. All I got was a three-piece, dark, and a biscuit. His: $8.50. Mine: $3.35.
And guess who took our order?
âYour total is eleven eighty-five,â Renee said, turning around to scoop the fries. She looked just like she had the first time I saw her, wearing that ridiculous net on her head, and that greasy purple shirt. She looked funny, but she probably thought I did too, with the suit on. At least she looked silly in a cute way. I thought about saying something to her. Maybe mentioning how the way she embarrassed that dude that day was hilarious. I donât know, just something to spark conversation. But now that I was right in front of her, that seemed like a stupid idea. My mother used to say to simply start with âHello, how are you?â but my mom ainât grow up in this neighborhood. She grew up in the South where everybodyâs nice. But, who knows? Maybe it would work.
Just say it. Hello, how are you? Say it. It was on the tip of my tongue. Just. Say. It.
Nothing.
âEleven eighty-five,â she repeated, now holding her hand out.
I didnât say a word. I just pulled out my wad of money, like I was some kind of hustlerânot a good lookâand paid.
We walked back to our block, stuffed. Chris looked ridiculousas he tried to get the last bit of chocolate shake up through the straw. His face was all sucked in and his eyes looked like they were going to pop out of his head. He made drinking a milkshake look painful. I saved some chicken for my fatherâthe breast, and half the biscuit. I didnât have much of an appetite anyway, and figured that he would need to put some food in his stomach whenever he got in. I was pissed at him, but what can I say, heâs my dad.
In front of my house I asked Chris what he thought of Renee.
âWho?â
âRenee, man. The girl who took our order.â
âYou know her?â
âNo, not yet. But I want to know her.â
âSo you stalking her.â He grinned.
âNo, man,â I said, frustrated. âLook, I just wanna know what you think of her.â
âOh.â He thought it over for a second. âShe aâight.â
âAâight?â I asked, shocked. To me she was way better than aâight.
Chris replied with a shrug. Damn.
I