Page 2 of Find My Way Down to You

1

Nearly Two Years Later

I barely haveone foot through the door before I hear, “You’re late.”

It’s Max.

She breezes past me. A stack of dirty plates is balanced in her hands. I look at the time on my phone.

Sixteen minutes late, to be exact. A new record.

I wish that was funny. That I had a reason to laugh. I didn’t mean to be late,again. To stay in bed after two different alarms went off, curled in on myself, staring into the blurry edges of nothingness. Waiting for the tide to recede.

It’s been almost two years, and I still haven’t learned how to stop it from happening on my own yet. I’m not sure I ever will.

“You’ll never get promoted like this,” Max teases from behind the front counter.

I flash a weak smile. “From busboy to cashier is considered a promotion?”

“Not with that attitude!” someone calls from the kitchen. Junie, no doubt.

Max shakes her head. “Napkins are restocked. Shakers refilled,” she tells me. “I reset tables three, four, and eight. I also—”

“Cleaned the restrooms?” I chance with little hope.

Her lips twist into a smirk. “Even I have limits, August.”

As I pass her, Max adds, “And I’m taking a cut of your tips. Compensation for all this extra labor.”

I shrug. Whatever. I don’t have the strength to care. Besides, Max is the only reason I have this job. The only reason I managed to survive the last two years of high school with minimal incidents.

I owe her more than the sad tips I take home every week.

On my way through the pizzeria kitchen, I say, “I’m gonna be late on rent. Again.”

“I’m shocked,” she deadpans.

My feet drag as I go.

The employee restroom is tucked in a corner of a slender hall. Just beyond my boss’s office. I stride by with my head down, but Angela is nowhere in sight.

Behind the locked door, I strip off my wrinkled T-shirt. I replace it with a loose heather grayViva Catalina’sshirt from my bag. In the water-speckled mirror, my reflection taunts me.

Mussed auburn curls rest against my forehead like tightlywound ribbons. The warped lighting washes out my mellow brown skin. Faint dark circles sit under my eyes like bruises. I never get enough sleep. My cheeks seem thinner too, my jaw too long.

Most days, I almost don’t recognize myself.

I don’t see August Clarke anymore.

Just a shadow of who I used to be.

Before the accident, I remind myself. As if I needed it.

The scents of fresh dough and earthy basil hit me the moment I’m back in the kitchen. My stomach growls. I forgot to eat before catching the bus. It’s not the first time.

“ ’Sup, August!” Junie calls in his infectious, surfer-like drawl.

I wave half-heartedly to him and Tonia as they work on new pies. From there, I move on autopilot. It’s the same routine: clear tables, gather dishes, clean the customer restrooms.