Free Gabrielle's Bully (Young Adult Romance) by Doreen Owens Malek Page B

can stop if you’re hungry.”
    If I was hungry. If the sun would rise in the morning. I was always hungry. At dinner I had stuffed myself like Scarlett O’Hara before the Twelve Oaks picnic so I wouldn’t overeat with Heath tonight. But it had had little effect. I was ready for a banquet.
    “What time is it?” I asked as we got into the car.
    “Just about ten,” Heath said. “We’ve got time.”
    The hours were flying by at warp speed. Pretty soon Heath would have to take me home. For a second I resented my parents and their curfew, and then I thought of Heath, with no one to care what time he got in. Life in the Dexter domain wasn’t so bad.
    The diner was one of those that look like a railroad car, brightly lit with a neon sign advertising twenty-four-hour service. We were seated in a booth by a hostess, and Heath hung our things on hooks by the aisle. We sat across from one another.
    Heath’s cheeks were flushed and his eyes were sparkling from the cold. He looked bright, alive, and happy. I guess I looked about the same.
    A waitress dressed in a pink uniform with a beehive hairdo in an improbable tangle approached our table. She had a pencil jammed behind her ear and three check pads protruding from her apron pockets. She handed us menus enclosed in plastic and said, “The special tonight is beef stew, roll and butter and cucumber salad for $3.95. There’s a two dollar minimum and a fifty cent service charge. In addition to the desserts listed on the menu we have our own apple pie and rhubarb pie, baked fresh this morning. Take your time.” This was rattled off in a monotone, while she snapped gum and stared at a point on the wall behind Heath’s head. She then marched off, making squeaking rubber noises on the tiled floor with her nurse’s shoes.
    Heath and I looked at one another and then dissolved in helpless laughter. “Didn’t I just see her on television?” Heath asked.
    “I think I’ll stick with a tuna sandwich,” I said to Heath. “She probably made the beef stew.”
    Heath dropped his menu on the table. “I hate to think what might be in the cucumber salad,” he responded. “I’m going to get a burger and some coffee.” He looked around doubtfully. “This place is quite a comedown from the country club. I’ve never been here before, I should have checked.”
    “Oh, don’t be silly,” I said. “What can they do to a hamburger?”
    “You’d be surprised,” Heath said darkly.
    When the waitress came back she took our order without comment, and Heath breathed a sigh of relief. He leaned back against the leatherette cushion and said, “It’s nice of you to be so understanding. Gee, you’re a swell girl.”
    I frowned. “Don’t be a chump.”
    He sneered at me. “Think you’re a tough guy, huh?” He dropped the act and raised his brows. “I wonder how many times Edward G. Robinson said that during his career?”
    “Who knows? The public didn’t get tired of it, I guess. His movies were all hits, so they probably thought, why not stick with a winner?”
    He reached across the table for my hand. “That’s what I say,” he whispered. “Why not stick with a winner?”
    His eyes were warm, full of feeling. I didn’t answer because I didn’t know what to say.
    He released my fingers and the moment passed. I felt I had botched it, but I was powerless to change my lack of response. It seemed that he had been looking for me to say something that I hadn’t said. Why couldn’t I handle things better, why did I always become paralyzed at the wrong moment? I stared down at the table unhappily.
    “Hey,” Heath said, “I’ve got one for you. What’s the worst horror movie title you ever heard?”
    “What?” I said, a little slow on the uptake.
    “You know, Dracula Has Risen from the Grave or The Blood Spattered Bride. I’ll bet you I can best anything you can come up with.”
    Never let it be said that I failed to rise to such a challenge.
    “ Island of the Burning