By the time my car’s done an hour later, I’ve thought it through. I don’t have a choice. My money will run out soon, which means just one thing.

Cute Textbook Boy is right. I have to get a job.

Twenty minutes later, I’m scarfing down a pepperoni calzone, feeling illogically disappointed that Cute Textbook Boy isn’t here, when the dark-haired waitress arrives at my table to see if I’d like a refill on my drink.

“Yes,” I say, “but I also have a question.”

“Yes?” she asks as she pours me more Coke from the pitcher in her hand. I take a breath.

“I heard you’re hiring,” I begin. I draw a deep breath and add, “I’d like to apply.”

She raises an eyebrow at me.

“To be a waitress here?” she asks dubiously.

“Yes,” I say with as much confidence as I can muster, which actually isn’t much at all. She looks at me for a second.

“Do you have waitressing experience?” she asks.

“Yes,” I say firmly, although it’s a complete lie. Well, not completely. I have lots of experience being waited on. How hard can it be?

She regards me critically for a moment.

“How old are you?” she asks.

“Eighteen,” I say instantly. I have no idea how it works to get a job when you’re underage, but I don’t want to find out the hard way, thank you very much. I draw myself up a little straighter in the booth, trying to look as adult as possible.

“Well, I’m pretty desperate for the help,” she says. She sets the Coke pitcher down. “See, my cousin Mario, who was one of the waiters and an assistant manager, eloped yesterday with Jenny, one of my most reliable waitresses. They both just up and quit!” She throws her hands in the air to punctuate her statement.

“That’s too bad,” I say. The woman shakes her head.

“I’m Bev D’Angelo,” she says, extending her hand. “My husband Louie and I own this place.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize you were the owner,” I say, shaking her hand.

She nods. “So you say you have experience?”

“Yes. And I’m easy to train,” I add. After all, I don’t want her having any reason to not hire me.

She smiles at me. “Can you start this afternoon?”

I gulp. “Okay.” I hadn’t exactly expected to start my new career so soon.

“Great!” she says. “I’ll put you on the books, and we’ll take care of the tax stuff later. Besides, most of your income will come from tips anyhow. There is one thing I need to know now, though.”

I blink.

“Your name?” she says with a laugh.

“Oh! It’s . . . Amanda,” I tell her.