“If I had to.” Then, gauging his reaction, she altered course. “No. I’m kidding. I wouldn’t.”

“So I guess you didn’t get the money back into the register or anything?” he said, politely changing the topic. “That sucks.”

“Yeah.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“You think you’ll get fired?”

“No idea.”

“You’d find something else.”

“Probably.”

“Hot Dog on a Stick. They’re hiring.”

“Fuck you!”

“Popeyes Chicken.”

“No way.”

“Arby’s.”

“Fuck you. I’ll be eighteen next month anyway. I’ll be fine.”

“How does being eighteen solve anything?”

“I’m starting a porn site.”

“A what?”

“A porn Web site,” she said. “As soon as I turn eighteen, it’s legal. I can be my own boss. Sell my own pictures.”

“Oh Jesus.”

“What? You think it’s a bad idea?”

“I don’t know. I mean, whatever. I don’t care.”

Kendra smiled, taking another hit from the bottle. “I’m totally shitting you,” she said. “I know a girl who’s doing it though. She’s got a countdown going until her birthday. She gets massive hits. It’s sick.”

“Who?”

“I’m not telling you!”

“Someone at school?”

“Maybe.”

“Your mom?”

“Duh. Yeah, my mom. My mom is seventeen.”

Bryan reached for the bottle, the thought of Kendra’s naked photos on the Web obviously turning at the forefront of his mind. Then Kendra took the whiskey back and sipped daintily, shifting her legs, giving him an easy avenue to lean toward her if he so chose. All the talk of exploitation was potentially a preamble to something. She was open to the idea, herself.

To her dismay the moment was broken by Bryan’s cell phone. The old-fashioned rotary tone rang annoyingly. He fumbled in his pocket and inspected the number on the screen.

“Mmmm,” he said. “I have to take this. Hold on a second.” He stood. “Hi.”

Cradling the phone, staring at the floor, he walked into the other room, leaving Kendra with the remaining fries and whiskey. The call was probably from Jenny Shepard, the slightly bloated, orange-hued rich girl from Wilson that Bryan sometimes dated. Kendra didn’t know her well, but she had her opinions. She imagined Jenny and Bryan’s time together as a fantasy of all-American youth culture. Nights of bowling, drag racing, banana splits. Kendra, for her part, failed to see the allure.

From the other room Bryan’s voice floated in and out of audibility. “No way . . . Really? . . . Yeah, I know where that is . . .” He began in a soothing tone, conciliatory, and gradually, to Kendra’s pleasure, his voice became gruffer. The conversation rapidly devolved to a series of barks, sighs, and exasperated questions. The whole thing took almost twenty minutes, and he came back into the room looking slightly drawn.

“Sorry about that,” he said, pocketing the phone. “That was Jenny. She says hi.”