Satisfied that I’d done the best I could do with my limited wardrobe options, I stepped out into the kitchen, already warm and sticky from the heat of the brick ovens, and went to help Frankie prep the counter.

The first few hours melted away before I’d had the chance to even think about looking up at the clock. At eight or so, when there was a small lull between the main dinner crowd and the second string of stragglers, mostly kids my age and younger couples, I pushed through the back kitchen door and stepped out for some cool, clean, pizza-free air. The worst of the nausea had passed by then, thank God, though the omnipresent, stinking haze of oozing mozzarella and garlicky tomato sauce still didn’t smell nearly as good to me as it had a few months ago. But I could fight through it. I could smile while I sliced up steaming hot pies for customers, swallow the gag reflex that threatened to come out with an especially strong whiff from the ovens.

I closed my eyes as I leaned back against the outside brick wall, breathing in the scent of the late-September evening, the smell of grilling steaks from a nearby backyard barbecue, fresh grass clippings from the soccer fields across the back alley. It would have been so easy to walk just a few more feet to my car, to drive away and lose myself on some winding back country roads with old-school John Mayer blaring from the speakers. But I couldn’t let myself give in to that impulse, just like I couldn’t quit altogether, not yet. There was more money to make first, before I was too far along, before the jig was up and all eyes really would be on me. And I knew I would need that money, when I had a newborn to support. Besides, I was getting so used to fighting myself—I seemed to be doing it all day every day lately. It was getting harder to separate what I actually felt from what I thought I should feel, or what I actually wanted from what I thought I should want. The line was so faded and fragile, I could blink and miss it, almost like it hadn’t existed in the first place. And maybe it hadn’t. Maybe I’d never really listened to myself before now.

The door next to me swung open with a bang, colliding with the wall only a few inches away from where I was leaning. My eyes split open and I jumped forward, startled.

“Oh, hey, Mina, didn’t mean to scare you there, kiddo,” Carl said in his jolly round voice that so perfectly suited his jolly round body. Sweat was pouring from under his white cook’s cap as he heaved a massive carton of what looked like plates and glasses from the top of his shoulder down to the pavement in front of us. “Just getting ready to clean out the back of my van and load up some supplies. Frankie’s catering a party in the morning, before the lunch rush.” He paused, huffing as his bright red cheeks mellowed back to their more normal shade of light, rosy pink. “Jesse should be right behind me with another big box. He has a list with him. Would you mind seeing if he needs any help? I know he’s been here a few months now, and he’s a smart enough kid, don’t get me wrong, but his head’s not always on the ground if you know what I mean. Too much of a thinker and a dreamer for his own good, that one. He looks like a space cadet most of the time, floating around the kitchen here with stars in his eyes. I don’t know where he actually is, but it sure isn’t Frankie’s,” he said, chuckling as he winked at me conspiratorially. “Must be from his mom’s side of the family. Didn’t come from my brother or me, that’s for sure.”

I grinned at him. Carl generally had that effect. Everyone loved Carl. He was like a younger version of Santa, a big, happy man who made everyone else around him happy, too, just by the sheer proximity of his presence. It was a shame he was hidden away in the back, slaving in the kitchen, but he seemed perfectly content dicing onions and frying cheesesteaks on the griddle, as if there was no better job to be had anywhere in the whole entire world.

“Sure, no problem,” I said, slapping him on the back as I reached behind him and pulled the door open. “Whatever Carl asks, I do. You know that. I’ll keep tabs on that nephew of yours.”

I sounded more confident than I felt, but that was the power Carl had over people. As soon as I’d set foot back in the kitchen, my stomach fluttered with doubt.

I was being ridiculous, I reminded myself. I could talk to Jesse. We were both outcasts, so why not at least be friendly to each other? So what if he thought I was a little weird, especially since it seemed as if he was a little weird, too, based on what Carl had said and my own observations. And besides, it wasn’t as if I could really have avoided him altogether forever, given the fact that we worked at the same restaurant and went to the same school. I wasn’t even sure why it mattered that I tried to anymore.

I walked across the deserted kitchen and poked my head into the storage closet. He was sitting on top of another enormous box, his forehead wrinkled in concentration as he stared down at a grease-stained, crumpled piece of paper. His fingers were knotted up in his dark brown mop of hair, a Medusa-like mass of wild curls that looked outraged by the steamy heat pouring out from the kitchen.

I bit back the small smile that was creeping up my lips. “Hey there.”

He jumped up in surprise, his customary distracted haze slipping off as his eyes focused on me.

“Your uncle . . . asked me to check in. Give you a hand if I can.”

He grinned at me, the same grin I suddenly remembered with a flash from that first night, so shockingly bright and genuine. Infectious smiles seemed to run in the family.

“Old Carl doesn’t trust me, does he?” He shrugged, waving the paper in the air. “I’m just going over the list for the last time, but I think everything’s crammed into this box now, so I should be all set. But thanks for the offer. Really. I appreciate it.”

He put a slight emphasis on those last words, like he wanted me to know that he really meant it. That he was touched that I’d gone out of my way to help him, probably because it was so entirely out of character based on the Mina he’d witnessed for the past few months. I blushed and looked down at the ground, scraping my foot against the light dusting of flour.

I watched from the corner of my eye as he folded the paper into his apron pocket and bent over, hunching his shoulders as he started to pick up the box.

“Let me help with that at least,” I said, rushing forward to grab the other side. My fingers had just barely grazed the cardboard when Jesse put his hand on my wrist to stop me.

“Wait,” he said, sounding panicked. “You shouldn’t be lifting that.”

I looked up, confused. My eyes met his, dark honey brown and rimmed with worry.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. “I know I’m not exactly Superwoman, but I think I can help you move this box to the back door.”

“No, it’s just that . . .” he started, and stopped, his cheeks flushing a deep red.

“It’s just that what?” A slow burning ache gnawed at the pit of my stomach.

“It’s nothing. I mean, I shouldn’t have said that. It’s not any of my business . . .” His face was tilted down, his eyes hidden from me behind thick black lashes.

“What were you going to say?” I needed him to answer. Now.

“It’s just something I overheard,” he said, still refusing to make eye contact. “Two girls sitting in one of the back booths yesterday, at the very end of the night. They were the only two people in the restaurant at that point. I was wiping down a table near them, but I don’t think they even realized I was there. I tend to be kind of invisible, I’ve noticed . . .” He was still staring down at the floor, where his ragged blue and white Converse sneakers were rocking back and forth to a nonexistent beat.

“What did you hear?” I asked, more hesitant this time.

“I . . .” He broke off as he raised his eyes to face me. There was so much regret and sympathy looking out at me that I gasped and stepped back to move away from him. I felt entirely too vulnerable, as if he was gazing straight through my clear blue eyes while I laid out every last intimate detail of my life for him to see all at once. I couldn’t look away, though, either unwilling or unable to break the connection, I wasn’t sure.