The lunch rush came in, and the kids screamed and threw fish sticks. They got up out of their chairs and ran into the little dark alcove where the video games were.

The video games pinged. They made noises of things exploding.

And the parents sat in the blue dining room and stared out at the ocean as if someone had cast a spell on them.

Beverly went from table to table with her bucket. She picked up people’s plates and put the plates in the bucket. She took the bucket back to the kitchen and gave it to Charles, who took it from her and shook his head.

“No end to it,” he said each time. “No end in sight.”

The people became a blur, and the plates became a blur, and the noise and the cigarette smoke became a blur. It was all a loud, blurry dream.

But in a way, it was good because none of it left any room in Beverly’s head for anything else. She forgot about Buddy. She forgot about his grave. She forgot about her mother. She forgot about Raymie. She forgot about the cat and the Pontiac and the flowered nightgown. She forgot about Iola and bingo.

She forgot everything.

There was nothing in her head but dirty plates and dirty forks and dirty napkins and people’s loud voices; there was nothing but the weight of the bucket in her arms and the occasional bright flash of sunlight — light that bounced off the blue ocean and entered the blue dining room and made everyone cover their eyes and say, “Oooh, that is so bright.”

Beverly’s feet hurt and her arms hurt. She had ketchup on her jeans. She smelled like fish.

It was almost three o’clock and only a few customers were left when Mr. Denby said, “Come back to the office with me, Beverly Anne.”

She followed Mr. Denby down the dark hallway to the office. The desk was still piled high with papers. The fan was on the floor, turning slowly from side to side, looking for something it had lost.

There was a safe in the wall. Its door was open.

When Beverly was a kid, she had seriously planned on growing up and becoming a safecracker. She had had a book on how to crack a safe entitled The Safecracker’s Manual. She had read the book so many times that she had ended up memorizing parts of it, and she would go over the memorized parts in her head when she couldn’t sleep.

Safes may be compromised surprisingly often simply by guessing the combination.

That was one of the sentences she had memorized, and it popped into her head now as she stared at the open door of Mr. Denby’s safe.

“I’m paying you in cash,” said Mr. Denby, “at least until we get the paperwork filled out. And the paperwork can’t be filled out right now because I can’t seem to locate the paperwork. It’s somewhere around here.” He waved his hand at the desk. “I’m sure it’s here. But in the meantime, I’m paying you under the table. Do you understand what I’m saying, Beverly Anne?”

“No,” said Beverly.

“Good,” said Mr. Denby. He handed her fifteen dollars. “You can come back tomorrow at ten. You hustled out there today. I appreciate that, and Doris and Charles appreciate that. I’m sure that Freddie appreciated it very much, too.”

“Okay,” said Beverly, even though she doubted that Freddie appreciated anything very much.

“See you tomorrow,” said Mr. Denby.

Freddie was waiting for her when she walked out of the office. “Here,” she said. She handed her two dollars.

“What’s that for?” said Beverly.

“That’s tipping out,” said Freddie. “That’s what that old grump Doris was so excited about. So next time you see her, tell her I tipped out, okay?”

“Okay,” said Beverly.

“And one other thing,” said Freddie. “Doris thinks she’s insulting me when she calls me a Barbie doll. But it’s not an insult. It’s a compliment because Barbie is beautiful. Do you know I used to have a job as a Living Darlene?”

“Who’s Darlene?” said Beverly.

“She’s a doll, like Barbie, only not as famous. And prettier. Anyway, they hired me to be the living incarnation of Darlene, the Living Darlene, and I passed out coupons and so forth.”

“Coupons for what?” said Beverly.

“Coupons for money off toys, okay? That was my first modeling job.”

“Wow,” said Beverly.

“Well, I’m not going to work at a restaurant for the rest of my life. I’m not going to end up like grumpy old Doris or broken Charles. I have dreams. I’m going to be somebody.” She looked Beverly up and down. She said, “You could be somebody, too. You’ve got good, long legs. How tall are you, anyway? Five eight? Five nine? It’s good to be tall like that when you’re a model. They want you to be tall. And your hair is nice. Let me see your teeth.”

Beverly bared her teeth at Freddie.

Freddie took a step backward. “You’re scaring me, kind of,” she said.

“Good,” said Beverly.

“Well, you should wear some different clothes tomorrow,” said Freddie. “That’s my advice to you.”

“And you should mind your own business,” said Beverly. “That’s my advice to you.” She pushed open the door to Mr. C’s.

The sunshine hit her like a fist.

Here she was, Beverly Tapinski, alive in the world.