FOUR

Last April, just before the start of the summer season, our village decided to announce to the world that it was ready to join the big leagues of Canadian tourist destinations. How did it do that, you ask? Elementary, my dear Einstein. By building our very own concrete symbol of modern industry and consumerism, of course.

Yes, I’m talking about a drive-thru snack stand.

And not just a regular old drive-thru: the mayor of Big Bend commissioned a twenty-four-hour drive-thru complete with neon signs, digital menus, and a billboard on Highway 8. Before she died, Aunt Su bet me how long it would take for the drive-thru to go out of business after the tourists and cottagers left for the season. She gave it six months. I gave it four.

Guess no matter what happens now, I win by default.

So here I stand in front of the shiny silver drive-thru speaker, feeling like more of a freak than ever before.

Walking through a drive-thru at the ugliest hour of the night. Why does everything about me have to be so wrong?

I clear my throat and lean close to the microphone. “Um, hello?”

Silence.

I try again, a little louder. “Hello? Anyone there?”

After a couple of seconds, there’s a scratchy reply — a voice that sounds like it’s crawling out of a yawn.

“Yeah, thanks for choosing McCool Fries. Can I take your order?” Whoever owns the voice sounds surprised and a bit annoyed. Crap, is there a camera on me? Can he see that I don’t have a car? My eyes jump around in the darkness, looking for a hidden lens. Yeah, this is probably a serious violation of the drive-thru bylaws. Maybe I should leave.

“Hey, are you going to order something or not?” demands the voice.

My stomach growls painfully as the smell of french fries blows under my nose.

“Um, yeah, okay, I’ll have a large fries and a small Coke.”

I swear I hear the sound of an exasperated sigh through the static of the speaker.

“That’ll be four twenty-five. First window.”

Suddenly, I’m regretting this decision. Is this guy going to give me trouble because I woke him up and I don’t even have a car? Digging some coins out of my jeans pocket, I walk forward to pay. My palms are sticky with nerves.

The guy slides the window open just over halfway. I can’t help myself — I have to stare. He’s got the oddest set of features I’ve ever seen grouped together on one face. His eyes are set widely apart; his nose is long and angular; he’s got a birthmark on his cheek, a dimple on his chin, and a top lip that’s slightly fuller than the bottom one; and his head is covered with a shaggy mop of brown curls. Strangely enough, the result is a face so good looking that it almost hurts my eyes to look at him. I can hear his music playing softly from behind him — vintage Oasis. He stares at me through narrowed lids. It kind of looks like he’s just woken up from a deep sleep and the lights are giving him pain. He must be close to my age, but I don’t remember ever seeing him in school, which is really bizarre because it’s one of those small schools where everybody knows everybody else. His sleepy eyes travel down to my feet and then slowly back up to my face.

“No car?”

I shake my head. Crap, crap, crap! Is there enough light for him to see the sudden gush of sweat flooding my upper lip?

“This is a drive-thru, you know?” Is that a smile or a sneer he’s trying to hold back?

I shrug, trying my best to look nonchalant (which is French for cool, in case you don’t know). “I was out for a walk and I got hungry. Sue me.”

“Whatever,” he says, reaching out to take my money. I drop the coins into his palm, careful not to touch my slimy, sweaty hands to his smooth, tanned skin. He takes the money and tosses it into the open cash register, like it’s garbage he’s glad to be rid of. Then he stands up and turns around to get my food. I rise up on my toes to watch him scoop my fries into a bag and pour my caffeine into a cup. The long, toned muscles in his shoulders and back stick out through the thin layer of his cheap polyester uniform. When he turns back to me, my eyes quickly drop to the ground before he can catch me looking.

“Here.” It comes out more like a grunt than a word.

Nice. I guess when you look that good, it’s easy to get through life without a sparkling personality.

“Thanks.” I take a greasy fry from the bag and pop it into my mouth. It’s cold and way too heavy on the salt. “Yum,” I lie, forcing myself to swallow. “Did you make these?”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, reaching out to slide the window closed again with a loud bang. Once I’ve been nicely shut out, he leans back on his swivel chair, tilts his dimpled chin up to the ceiling, and closes his eyes. I stare at him in complete shock.

Quel rudeness! Sure, the people in our village have their faults, but bad manners isn’t one of them. I mean, if you ran a local over with your car, chances are they’d apologize for getting in the way and offer to buy you a cup of tea. Dragging some soda up through the straw, I start to walk across the dark, empty parking lot. My head hangs low as my brain races with questions.

What’s that guy’s problem? It’s like he thinks he’s better than me or something! I mean, who exactly does he think he is? Just because you’re good looking, doesn’t mean you have free licence to be an idiot! Just my luck. The only person awake on this side of the world and he’s a total prick.

Now I’m starting to get angry.

Um, have I mentioned yet that I’m prone to great acts of stupidity when I get angry?

Spinning around on my heel, I march back toward the drive-thru, determined to set this guy straight. When I bang on the window, he’s so startled he almost falls out of his chair (which gives me more than a small moment of satisfaction).

The window slides open, only a couple of inches this time. The scowl on his face tells me just how pissed he is to have his nap interrupted. “What now?”

Okay, so whatever feeble attempt at customer service he’d been making the first time is officially over and done with.

“I have something to say. Can I come in?” I ask, pointing inside to his crappy little cubicle.

For a second or two, Rude Dude is speechless. And then a streak of anger rolls over his face. It really can’t be easy to pull off good-looking and grumpy at the same time, but somehow this guy is able to swing it. If I wasn’t so pissed off, I might have been impressed.

“No, you can’t come in,” he growls, and starts to slam the window again. But I’m faster than he is. I reach out and push my cup of soda onto the track before it can close all the way. The metal frame crushes the cup as it makes contact, splashing the remains of my soda across the counter.

“Look what you did!” he yells, scrambling around for some napkins. But I’m too mad to even think about apologizing.

“You know, just because I don’t have a car doesn’t give you the right to be so obnoxious,” I yell, ignoring the mess of soda pooling in front of me. “Did you know that cars idling at drivethrus are major contributors to carbon dioxide emissions? Or are you one of those selfish, clued-out idiots who don’t give a rat’s ass about the environment?”

Yeah, I’m angry now, and the word-vomit is out of my control.

“I mean, you should totally be thanking me for walking through here, you know?” I blabber on. “If anyone should be acting so high and mighty, it should definitely be me. I’m the solution here, not the problem!”

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I want to stuff them back in.

I’m the solution? Ugh, did I really just say that?

I wait for the inevitable explosion of rudeness. But it doesn’t come. For the first time tonight, Rude Dude actually looks awake. And … is he smiling? Merde, does he think that was funny? Or worse, cute? My hands fly up to cover my burning cheeks as I watch him get up from the chair and leave his little room. A second later, a bright red door swings open from the brick building beside me.

“Okay, if you want to talk so badly, come in,” he says, motioning me inside with a tilt of his gorgeous head. Yeah, he’s definitely smiling. Which just makes him even better looking than before.

Oh man, my pulse is hammering in my ears! Can he hear that?

Sucking in a deep breath, I clutch my bag of icky fries to my chest and walk through the red door. The whole time, the little voice at the back of my brain is screaming out a warning.

Be careful, Lily. What exactly are you getting yourself into?

Which sounds exactly like something my mother would say. Strangely enough, there’s a second little voice screaming in my brain too. This one is a bit louder. And it sounds just like Aunt Su.

Yeah, he’s hot! You go for it, Lily-girl!