Free Cut Both Ways by Carrie Mesrobian Page A

with a tear-off Dumpster. My dad’s laughing a lot. It goes on for a while, but I’m not around as much because of my new work schedule. I feel a little guilty about that, but it seems like my dad’s got it handled.
    A couple of times, Angus comes into the restaurant to say hi and I buy him a burger. Everything’s cool. I don’t know if it’s because we’re both guys that we’re able to be normal about things. It’s not like I have do something drastic like buy him flowers. It’s basically the same as before, except for the part underneath that only we know about.
    Since it all happened when she was in Wisconsin, I tell myselfthat there’s still Brandy Magic. No dent in it. Nothing’s changed.
    But when Brandy comes back, the day after the roofers finish the house, I’m nervous. I’m worried she’ll know something.
    We meet up in the afternoon at the Laundromat and both do our laundry. None of that is sexy, but Brandy’s aunt let stuff pile up while Brandy was gone and I’m out of stuff to wear to both work and remodeling. I’m nervous, but at least we have something to do, to cover that up. Brandy kisses me and then she goes next door and gets us coffees at the coffee shop and we get all hyper on caffeine and I push her around in the rolling hampers and it’s just kind of stupid but we are both laughing our asses off. Then we fold everything and put it in the backseat of my car and then she asks if I’m hungry.
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œGood. Let’s go get dinner.”
    Brandy Corvallis likes veggie burgers. And french fries. And onion rings.
    I have never heard of Miller Grill and would never have noticed it in a million years; it’s in a strip mall next to a discount furniture store and an Indian grocery. But Brandy comes here a lot with her aunt, and her aunt spends ten bucks in the jukebox and orders a pitcher of beer and she and Brandy play cards while they eat. The waitress nods at Brandy as we seat ourselves at a little booth. The table’s kind of uneven. Brandy pulls two menus from behind the ketchup and mustard in their rack and we start looking them over.
    This is a date. Even though we didn’t plan it. It’s very clear to me, shouting over my brain: YOU ARE HAVING A DATE WITH A GIRL.
    I act casual. Like it’s something I’ve done before. In my wallet is some cash that Sierra tipped me out with. Two school buses of soccer players had showed up the day before and Garrett told me to go out and give the waitresses a hand. Move chairs around for everyone, clear tables, deliver fresh cups to the beverage station. She gave me twenty-five bucks, which made me wonder how much money she made normally.
    But this is the first time I’ve spent any money from the summer. I have only gotten one check from Garrett, but it was pretty small and I still haven’t cashed it. It’s tacked up on the fridge at my mom’s house.
    I still have the sixty bucks Garrett paid me for my first shift, too. It’s in my wallet, next to Sierra’s tips. Probably I should get a bank account of my own, but I keep putting it off. I like seeing the money. And I’ve counted it several times, a stack of slightly greasy ones, plus the twenties. Anytime I think about buying anything with it, I hesitate.
    But I know I have to spend it. I can’t be all weird about it in front of Brandy.
    Because Brandy just orders things so easily, without doing the calculation, things that aren’t even given a price on the menu. Like the extra sides: barbecue sauce with her fries and the ranch with her onion rings. And the pitcher of Dr Pepper she orders. Not diet. And not caring if there’s no free refills. But after alittle nervous counting of everything, worrying I won’t be able to afford it, I relax. She’s smiling a lot and the window we’re sitting by is big and wide and it’s still light out, though