Free Perfectly Dateless by Kristin Billerbeck Page A

staring at us. He shakes his head and disappears back into the gym, fighting the exiting students like a salmon swimming upstream.
    I look back at the dimples in front of me.
    “You’re blushing.” He laughs, and his dimples appear in full.
    I feel my cheeks. “Too much sun, I guess.”
    “I wanted to introduce myself. I’m Max.” He rakes his hand through that gorgeous black hair. “I wanted to say that no one knows me either. So now we know each other. I thought maybe that would do us both good.”
    “Well, Max, maybe I can show you the ropes of being an unknown. I assume you’re at least new?”
    “Yeah.” He looks back toward the gym. Chase is standing beside Amber—who is pointing at me and laughing. “Maybe your days of anonymity are over. I wanted to say ‘hey’ before that happened.”
    “I don’t think you have to worry about that.” I keep talking to Max, but I can’t take my eyes off Amber’s flirtatious stance. “Good things don’t happen to me.”
    “What?” Max asks.
    I meet his deep brown eyes to force my attention away from Chase. “Do you ever feel like the Lord uses you for comic relief? I’m an understudy.” I’m talking to myself more than Max, but he lifts my chin with his thumb so my attention is fully on him.
    “Only Satan would make you believe such a thing.”
    “Where’d you come from?”
    “The public school down the street. They didn’t offer AP History and I need it for my major. I’m going to pray for you, Daisy. You’re not looking at the right things.”
    “They have that accent at the public school?”
    “Oh, you meant where did I originally come from.” He laughs. “Argentina. I’ll catch up with you later. I just wanted to introduce myself before you disappeared into the crowd.”
    That. Is. What. I. Do. Best.
    He starts walking across the quad. “I have to get to wood shop.”
    “Wait, Max! What’s your last name?”
    “Diaz!” he yells back. “And I find you cute too, Daisy Crispin! Save a few random facts for me, okay?”

6
    Checks R Us is a check-printing company, and my employer has a horrible track record for quality. The employees screw things up in the factory. I get yelled at in the office. Interesting system, but it pays well. Banks, customers—pretty much anyone who needs to vent—has my number and an issue. It’s good practice for school since no one seems to notice I’m an actual person there either. Until today, when I’m an actual person with parents who rap. Oh, the shame of it!
    When I started this job, I seriously thought about not going to college rather than pursuing my mother’s dream of me marrying a preacher. Then I did the math of listening to cranky bank tellers until I was sixty-five, and my head about exploded. So I applied like a madwoman for any and every college that would accept me.
    My co-workers are still on the phone, taking their own rash of crap. The thing about people yelling at you? They don’t want to be put on hold while they scream because they might lose momentum, and they’re like a torrent of steam or a freight train that will bear down on you. Not pretty. There’s usually some coarse language involved and lots of soothing words on my part. I might consider a career in wild animal training.
    I adjust my headset and answer the phone. “Checks R Us, this is Daisy speaking. How may I help you today?”
    “Daisy, this is Bev at Wells Fargo. Our customer received an order with someone else’s address, and this is not the first time it’s happened.”
    Nor will it be the last, Bev. Apparently you’re not familiar with our company. “Bev, I’m terribly sorry about that. There must have been a mix-up in the plant. Let me get that reordered right away.”
    Everyone’s off the phone at this point, staring at me while I finish. We’re at our ancient metal desks, arranged in foursquare order, and the phones have died down. Friday afternoon at the banks has started. Very few of the banks complain