He had two main tactics. One, he would wander around the kitchen like he was looking for something, occasionally stopping to talk to people who were actually doing work. When they looked like they were about to brush him off, he’d say, “I can’t talk anymore, I gotta find that…” and he’d leave before saying what it was he was looking for.

His second trick he saved for closing time. He’d grab the mop and spend nearly an hour mopping the front dining room, a ten-minute job at best. If you called him on it he accused you of low standards of cleanliness. Whenever you had to close with him it would generally take an extra half hour to get out while you did everything yourself.

Dean jumped up on the back counter.

“So, spud, tell me about that girl.”

“What girl?” I rolled another burrito.

“The one you brought by the other night.”

“I didn’t bring her.”

“Whatever, you Pollock. She was pretty tasty.”

“Yeah, well she’s not your type.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. She has taste.”

His eyes narrowed. “Then why is she hanging out with a loser like you?”

“Lucky, I guess.”

“You’re such a nerd.”

He went back out front. He didn’t say anything else to me for the rest of the shift but he smacked me in the back of the head on his way out. I had never been happier to hear his car engine rev.

Jackie and I had the late shift. I liked Jackie. She was in my math class at Granite and was tall, wore braces on her teeth, and had bright red hair. She also played the violin and was on the chess team, which pretty much put her in the same social class as me.

She talked a lot about dumb things, like the existence of leprechauns and life on Venus, but I never heard her say a mean thing about anyone. (An interesting note: In her mid-twenties, Jackie became a female bodybuilder and was later recruited by the Women’s World Wrestling Federation. Her violin lessons weren’t wasted. She was called “The Maestra.” After she’d pin someone she would hold them down with her foot, play Bach’s “Toccata and Fugue in D Minor,” then break her violin over their head.)

As we closed up I filled a bag with leftover food. I remembered how Grace had devoured the onion rings so I put a couple jumbo-sized orders inside. Jackie saw me stowing the food in my knapsack. “Mr. Dick would purée you if he saw you doing that.”

“I know.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell. I think it’s a stupid rule. Mr. Dick would rather we throw the food away then take it home. He doesn’t respect us.”

“Jackie,” I said. “We’re teenagers. No one respects us.”

“True,” she said sadly.