I wipe the counter and decide to call Adam after work. But Adam doesn’t leave. He’s sipping coffee that’s probably gone cold, hunched over his notebook, scribbling. I catch his eye too many times when I look over, even when I try not to, and I feel like a deer being watched from the blind. This is the kind of thing Margo warned me about. Someone paying too much attention. But I don’t know how you’re supposed to meet people, how you’re supposed to tell if someone likes you in a normal, friendly way.

Adam has his shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows. His forearms are more muscular than I would’ve expected. He’s not big, but he’s probably strong.

When the kitchen closes, the red-headed kid leaves. Before the door swings shut, I hear the frantic howl of a pack of boys out on The Commons, and that lightning-storm feeling takes over my stomach again and won’t go away.

At ten p.m. the only people left are Adam, a table of students working on a project, and a guy in the corner reading Stephen King. Carly turns the front door sign to CLOSED, but none of them seem to notice.

I count the drawer because Carly says her brain feels like it’s full of pipe cleaner fuzz. “Not the wires, just the fuzz. Green and yellow, mostly.” Her smile tells me she’s being strange on purpose. This is her humor and I think I get it. Maybe.

Now that she thinks I lied about school I am too scared to make my problem her problem. I need my job too much to risk asking about her couch. But I remember one time some truckers at Margo’s talked about boondocking at Wal-Mart instead of paying for a hotel and you’re allowed to sleep in those parking lots. I decide on the way out, I’ll ask Carly where the nearest Wal-Mart is. She doesn’t have to know why I’m asking. People don’t think about Wal-Marts that way. She’ll probably assume I’m out of toothpaste or toilet paper, because she probably thinks I’m a normal enough person with a normal enough place to sleep.

Carly dumps the rest of the drip coffee and unplugs the espresso maker while I band up bills and slip them in the bank bag.

“Alright, guys,” Carly shouts to the remaining customers, “you don’t have to go home, but I don’t want you.”

I run to the kitchen while they pack up to leave, so I don’t have to talk to Adam.

It’s warm in the kitchen. I wish there was a way to store that warmth inside me. It will be cold in that Wal-Mart parking lot and I will be alone in that car and instead of raccoons there will be truckers.