Riley

Life preserver. Noun. [lahyf pri-zurv-er]. A buoyant jacket, belt, or other like device for keeping a person afloat.

What's worse than having to be rescued from almost drowning the ocean? Being rescued by a really hot guy who isn't wearing a shirt. What's worse than that? Having said hot guy yell at me for being stupid enough to swim in the ocean alone.

I am the living, walking definition of mortification.

Just when I thought this summer was taking a turn for the better, I get myself caught in a riptide and almost die. A tiny part of me wishes I would have drowned instead of having to face smug little Lifeguard Larry and his six pack. I storm off the beach in a rage, tripping through the sand and shivering as I go. I think it's safe to say I learned my lesson. No more swimming in the ocean for me.

I find my tank top and shorts on the bench where I left them and I tug them on, still shaking. The skin under my fingernails is turning blue and I feel like I just swallowed a few gallons of saltwater. Delightful.

When I get back to A Pizza the Action, I'm happy to find the Covingtons aren't awake yet. I shed my clothes and climb into the shower, letting the hot water finally raise my body temperature so I don't feel like I have hypothermia anymore.

I can still hear the words of Lifeguard Larry ringing in my ears. "See you later, princess."

I sincerely hope that he's just an over-valiant tourist with a hero complex who's here for the week, but knowing my luck, he won't be. This island's pretty big though; maybe if I avoid the beach in the mornings, I can also avoid his know-it-all frown and blue eyes the color of the ocean.

A few hours later, I'm awoken from my post-shower nap by Lucy singing my name. "Ri-ley, Ri-ley! It's time to wake up!"

It feels like my one and only week of summer camp all over again. "What?" I grumble, trying to sit up and banging my head on the bunk above me.

I am way too old for bunkbeds.

"A Pizza the Action opens in a half hour and we need to be there in fifteen minutes to get everything ready. Remember? You're working today?"

I groan and flop back onto the bed. If I have fifteen minutes, I calculate that I can sleep approximately thirteen more minutes and still make it in time.

"We're getting everything ready. Don't you want something to eat before we start working?"

"Not especially."

Lucy sighs and grabs my arm, pulling me off of the bed. I land on the floor with a bang, bruising my tailbone and my pride at once. She's stronger than she looks.

"Get up! We have a great day ahead of us. Saturdays are always our busiest day!"

I moan again, gingerly rising from my supine position on the floor. "And that's supposed to make me want to work?"

"It'll be a blast! Today's the first day of summer. How can it not be fantastic?" Nothing I say can sour Lucy's ever present cheer. She beams at me, her eyes twinkling into half moons. "So get dressed and let's get going. You have to wear pants past the knees and a t-shirt, plus an apron."
She throws an apron on my bed and bounces out of the room, humming a Christmas song as she goes. I dig through my bag and find a pair of capris and a ratty gray t-shirt. I hold up the apron and grimace. Not only does it have an embroidered pizza and the name "A Pizza the Action" on the front, but it's cardinal red. Everyone will know that I'm employed in slave labor at A Pizza the Action.

I tie the apron around my waist and then knot it in the front since I'm pretty sure this apron was designed for someone who eats way too much pizza himself. I trudge to the kitchen where Merry Gene Covington is cleaning up cereal bowls from the breakfast I missed. As if on cue, my stomach grumbles. I already swam almost a mile and nearly drowned today, and I haven't eaten anything.

"How'd you sleep, sweetie?" she asks me. I mumble something incoherent and she tosses me a granola bar with a wink. "Just in case you're hungry. I know some days it's a miracle that I don't steal a slice of every pizza we bake because I get so hungry!" She cackles and bustles down stairs to the already waiting crowd.

I munch on the granola bar by myself in the kitchen; I can hear the sounds of waiting customers already anticipating the hot pizza goodness of the restaurant. Who eats pizza at ten in the morning? Probably the same person who made this giant apron.

When I finish the bar, I stumble down the stairs and enter the back door into the kitchen. The three Covingtons are already at work; Lucy mans the cash register and counts out ones, fives, and tens as well as a few handfuls of quarters. Then she heads to the tables and wipes them down one by one. In the kitchen, Merry Gene rolls out pizza dough, slathers on the tomato sauce, and then sprinkles generous portions of toppings on top. Ronald, also known as Mr. Covington, mans the pizza ovens, filling them with pizzas, strombolis, quesadillas and every other Italian delicacy. His bald head is red and sweat already drips down his face. The unnamed pimply teenager I met yesterday is at work in the back room, digging through an industrial sized refrigerator and fetching the various toppings. I see onion, bacon, sausage, pineapple, and more. Even though it's early and I'm already determined to hate this job, my stomach still growls at the smell of the cooking pizza.

"Welcome to A Pizza the Action, Riley!" Merry Gene cries, beaming at me with round cheeks. "We're so happy you're working here this summer."

"I promise the benefits are good," Ronald interjects. "We were voted best pizza on the island, and you'll never guess what we're having for lunch." He wags his bushy eyebrows and displays a pizza with a Vanna White wave.

"I never would have guessed," I mumble, but I can't keep from smiling. I've never met two people who love pizza more.

"Since it's your first day and just so happens to be our first day of summer, I won't have much time to train you on how to make the pizzas or work the register, so, you're on dish duty!" Merry Gene announces as if I just won the lottery.

She tosses a wet, sudsy rag at me and I catch it, some of the filthy water splattering onto my beautiful apron. "Lucky me," I grumble and make my way to the huge stainless steel double sink.

Even though it's only 9:30, the sink is already full of dishes--pizza platters, silverware, plastic bowls that hold pizza toppings. I turn on the faucet and a spray of hot water splatters me instantly. Crap. I grab the hose and pull it loose, directing it at the dishes instead of myself. Unfortunately, it's too late and I'm already soaked for the second time in one day. At least this time I didn't need to be rescued.

At 10:00 A.M., the front doors open and a rush of enthusiastic customers come in. In a bizarre turn of luck, I don't have to deal with them thanks to my position as Official Dish Washer. I spend the morning and early afternoon washing dishes, drying them, returning them to their homes, and then washing the next set. I fall into this routine, my hands turning into shriveled prunes and sweat pouring from my body as the entire kitchen heats up thanks to the ovens.

Around two, Merry Gene touches my shoulder and offers me a towel and a piece of pizza. Apparently this is my lunch break. I collapse onto a spare chair and shovel the entire slice of cheese pizza into my mouth. Between the swim and slave labor, I've worked up an appetite. I'm typically more of a salad and fruit sort of person, but today the greasy pizza hits the spot. I even go back for seconds.

After my brief lunch break, I spend the afternoon wiping down tables and picking up all the trash our customers found themselves unable to throw away themselves. That evening, around four, we do it all over again. It's ten o'clock until all the customers are gone, everything is cleaned and put away, and we eat the leftover food.

As we trudge up the stairs to fall into our beds, I feel something strange: contentment. I realize that I've never really had a job before. Sure, in college I was a part-time swim coach for a few semesters, and I had a brief stint as a waitress in high school (for three months before we moved again), but this is the first job I've really had. And as mundane and redundant as washing dishes is, I enjoyed being part of the Covingtons' pizza shop. Not to mention the benefits, courtesy of Mr. Covington. I understand why they were voted best pizza shop on the island, and I'll be lucky if I haven't gained fifteen pounds by the end of the summer.

Once I'm upstairs, I trudge into my room and find my discarded cell phone. Zero notifications. I shouldn't be surprised; I've never had long-term friendships, so there's no one to text me and ask how my first day went. Still, I thought maybe my mom would at least send me a text. That's a mom sort of thing to do, like taking a first day of school picture or chaperoning the first prom. My mom never did any of those things, and I never want to prom, so I guess we're too far from normalcy for me to expect something like a simple "how was your day?" text.

I text her to see how the U.A.E. is, and despite the time difference, she texts me back. It's already 6:00 A.M. tomorrow in Dubai, and she's awake and getting ready for the day, which means putting on three layers of makeup and a dress that shows off the body Weight Watchers gave her. She sends me a picture of the Burj Khalifa, a huge tower in Dubai, and says that she wishes I was there. The words send a pang of loneliness through me. I wish I were there too. Exploring Dubai with my mom sounds far superior to nearly dying in the ocean and spending hours and hours working in a pizza shop.

I pull up Mom's number and call her. "Hello, darling!" she answers, sounding like Audrey Hepburn from My Fair Lady.

"Hey, Mom."

"Is something wrong, Riley? I have quite a lot to do today."

"How's Dubai?"

"Oh, just fantastic. Your father and I both wish you were here."

"Oh yeah?"

"Of course. But I'm sure you'll love spending the summer with the Covingtons and their daughter. If I remember correctly, they were quite a...traditional sort of family."

You mean exactly the opposite of ours?

"Yeah, I just spent ten hours working in their pizza shop."

This makes Mom pause. "Well, I'm glad you're learning the value of hard work. Your father and I were much too easy on you growing up."

"Are you sure I can't come and visit you and Dad? Just for a weekend?" I haven't seen them since Christmas, so I feel like this is a valid request. Plus, I've never been to Dubai.

"Honey, I just don't think that's financially possible."

I snort, picturing the new Prada ball gown she bought a few weeks ago. I'm pretty confident money has nothing to do with it. They just don't want me there.

"Please? You basically have me doing slave labor here for the summer. The least you could do is let me come see you sometime this year."

"I'm afraid that's not an option, Riley. You understand that this a punishment for you dropping out of college, don't you?"

Emotion wells in my throat and I try to swallow it down. There's no use getting upset about something I've known my entire life: My parents care more about their jobs and lifestyle than they do about their daughter. They say they sent me here because I dropped out of Cornell, but it's really because I'm an obstacle. They never wanted me in the first place; I was an accident, an oops baby, and stranding me on an island in New Jersey was the best way to get rid of me for a summer.

"Of course I understand, Mom. Sorry to be such an inconvenience."

I end the call and flop on the bottom bunk, tears welling in my eyes. Lucy enters a few seconds later and stares at me for a few moments. I wonder if she overheard our conversation, but then I realize it doesn't matter. All she would do is feel bad for me, and I don't need her pity.

~~~~~

And now we have a little more insight into Riley's relationship with her mom! Plus, the Covingtons are the most adorable people  ever. I would kill for some of that pizza right now.

Thanks for reading! More chapters coming soon :)

~ Hannah