A Shimmer of Angels Page 0,2

with a clear view out the front window, where angel-guy had been. There was no way I’d let the possibility of seeing another set of imaginary wings doom this interview. I moved quickly, sliding in behind the waitress to claim her seat.

The back wall of the café was blissfully wing-free. I let out a small breath. See? You can do this.

“Have a seat,” the waitress invited, her voice sharp with sarcasm as she took the seat across from me. My face flushed with embarrassment as she examined me, much the same way Dr. G had so many times. Like there was something not quite right with the person across from her.

Nerves turned my stomach, and I wrung my hands together under the table. During my time at the facility, I’d learned that when you’re wearing a smile, it’s easier to pass yourself off as happy. As normal. So I flipped the happy switch I’d been perfecting. The corners of my mouth fluttered as I tried to hold a smile that wasn’t as convincing, or as solid, as it used to be.

Pull it together, Ray. Normal kids hold down jobs, and you’re normal now.

The name tag pinned to the waitress’s pink-and-white frilly uniform read “Daphne.” She leaned across the table to flick a crumb to the floor, and I noticed the dark line of a hairnet behind her ear. And I’d thought the nude stockings and white nurse’s shoes were the worst part of the uniform.

“Can you tell me about the job?”

Daphne slapped her notepad down on the green-and-pink speckled tabletop. “We open at six every morning. We close at ten, midnight on weekends. The work is hard, the tips are crap, and the neighborhood gets rough after dark.”

I was sold.

Daphne tilted her head, propping it up with her hand. A dull sheen coated her hooded eyes, mirroring the luggage and yellow-tinted concealer beneath them. “We pay minimum wage, offer flexible hours for students, and we’re desperate.” She leaned in closer, dropping her arm. I waited, wondering if her head would fall without the support. “What’s your name, darlin’?”

“Rayna, but I go by Ray.”

“You know, Ray, you have to be at least sixteen to—”

A siren cut through the air. I jerked my gaze to the window in time to watch an ambulance squeal around the corner and out of sight. Daphne was still talking. I knew that, but I couldn’t make myself hear the words. Couldn’t tear my gaze from the corner of the building, where the ambulance had disappeared. Couldn’t quite make myself believe it wasn’t coming back for me.

Daphne’s cigarette-etched voice rose above the fading wail, a note of suspicion lacing her next words. “You’re not one of those runaways, are you? ‘Cause I’ll need a parent or guardian’s signature for the work permit.”

I dragged my attention back to the interview. It’s just an ambulance, I told myself, willing my shaky hands still. At least they were under the table, out of sight. I dug my nails into my palms to keep myself in the moment.

“I’m sixteen and definitely not a runaway. Just new to San Francisco.” A dish crashed to the floor. I flinched, immediately hating myself for it. The time away from the SS Crazy hadn’t made me any less jumpy. But there was little difference between the sound of that dish breaking into a million white pieces and that of a fellow schizophrenic throwing the contents of her dinner tray at my head.

A waitress with way too much cleavage stooped beside the counter to pick up the pieces. The bell above the cook’s station chimed, and a man at the table behind Lee bellowed for service. Daphne and I turned toward the yelling customer, totally busting Lee, who was watching Cleavage Waitress a little too closely.

Daphne squirmed to the edge of the booth. “Glamour calls. Jot down the hours you’re available and any previous references you have.” She slid her ordering pad and pen toward me and climbed the rest of the way out of the booth, her joints popping as she stood. “I’ll be right back.”

She shuffled toward the pick-up window. I watched her balance five omelet specials across her arm, dropping them off at the table behind Lee. She returned to the counter and shoved a broom into the clumsy waitress’s hands. I looked down at the blank ordering pad in front of me.

Previous references. I cradled the pen in my hand, waiting for it to write something—anything that would make me appear experienced,