Free No One Needs to Know by Amanda Grace Page B

write one every other day, to keep it moving and finish on time.”
    “Okay.” I dig a pen out of the front pocket of my backpack. “Here’s my email address. Once you send me your scene, we’ll go from there.” Just as I finish writing the dot com part, I glance up at her and scribble down a little more. “And my cell number. In case we need to get together, or you want to ask about my character.”
    “Okay,” Zoey says. “I’ll get it to you tomorrow, after my shift.”
    “Ugh, you have to work on Sunday? Again ?”
    She nods. “I don’t always, but one of my coworkers talked me into swapping.”
    “Oh. Okay, well, I’ll start brainstorming.”
    “Sounds good,” Zoey says. “Anyway, I should probably get back home so my mom can use the car.”
    “Sure you don’t want to let your sister finish the movie?”
    “Some other time, maybe?”
    “Yeah. Totally.”
    Ten minutes later, I’m in the office alone, scribbling down notes. My pen flies across the page, word after word, idea after idea.
    It’s easy to think of all the ways my character would be different than hers.

ZOEY
    Olivia’s been on my mind all day while I clean the stupid fryers and run the tomato slicer and sweep the floors, all things that have nothing to do with her.
    The mere idea of Olivia herself doing such chores, actually, brings a funny picture to mind. I bet she could rock the visor, though.
    The thing is, there was something in that look she gave me when she said she wanted to read my notes. It was this long, lingering gaze that I could practically feel , like a heavy blanket draping over me. In that one crazy moment, I would have given her whatever she wanted, my notes included.
    She probably uses that look a lot to get what she wants. She could use it on teachers and boys and daddy dearest.
    And so I let her see my notebook. I let her read my unfiltered thoughts, the things I’d been scribbling down at Burgerville the day before. The despair and the frustration as I watched the minutes of my break tick away, as I smelled the grease leaching into my clothes, as I listened to the horrible pop music crackling through the overhead speakers.
    I’d braced myself for some kind of uncomfortable laugh. For her to look up and smile and shove it back at me with a look that said she felt sorry for me.
    But the strangest thing happened instead.
    It was like she understood me. Like she knew exactly how I’d felt as I scribbled those things down.
    And her new idea for the project is genius. It’s just too bad I have to stay up late tonight to finish it. All I really want is to crawl into bed.
    I shove a bag of fries and unsold burgers into my backpack. Carolyn won’t be awake, but she’s not opposed to eating reheated fast-food for breakfast, so I’m not about to let them go to waste.
    I’m the last out the door tonight, just like on a lot of other nights. No one likes the closing shift because of all the cleaning, so I get it more often than others.
    After zipping up my jacket, I pull my backpack over my shoulders and walk over to the alarm. I glance outside for the first time in more than half an hour—it took that long to wipe everything down and mop—and my heart sinks.
    It’s pouring.
    I pull my hood over my head, punch in the code, and hit arm. And then I dash out onto the sidewalk, locking the door behind me.
    The sky’s a dark, angry black. There’s no way this storm is going to let up any time soon. I’ll just have to move quickly and dream of the hot shower I’ll take when I get home. I can’t get that soaked in just a mile, right?
    Just as I step into the rain, a sleek silver car pulls into the parking lot. Between the tinted windows and the raindrops, it’s impossible to see inside.
    It looks familiar. It looks …
    Like Olivia’s car.
    It pulls up beside me at the curb and the window glides down. “Get in,” Olivia says, hitting the unlock button.
    I don’t say a word, just round the car and climb into the