Before The Boys Say No Part 1

Before the Boys Say No.

by Juliet Pierce.

For My Sisters, hips never looked so good!.

CHAPTER 1.

Let's just say I'm a large girl. Oh, I'm not talking about being huge, but I've got some junk in my trunk. I come from a long line of Italians where the women have big hips and b.o.o.bs. My mom says I'm proportionate. I think she's just trying to make me feel better about my self image. When I look at all the skinny girls on campus, I can't help but feel self-conscious. They must count every calorie that goes into those tiny bodies. Italian households don't count calories; we consume them.

I don't have a chance to look like them because not only do I live in an Italian home, but my family also owns the Italian restaurant--the one with the great reputation for papa's homestyle food. It's been in the family for years.

I work in the restaurant with my brother, Dean. He cooks with my father while I wait on tables. Dean likes working in the family business. I detest it. My customer service stinks and I've had to apologize to customers more times than a human should be expected to. I really should have been fired by now. My father tolerates me because I'm family and he doesn't have to pay me. I work for those tips. And trust me, it's a lot of work to get a tip in this town.

After the midday s.h.i.+ft, I find my thoughts drifting to my debate team. I scrub at dried tomato sauce on the tables and run different arguments in my mind. My debate coach calls me a "spirited debater." He's always cautioning me not to let my emotions control the debates. What can I say? I'm Italian--we always speak our mind. Except when I'm around the skinny, popular girls. I freeze up and get tongue-tied. I can't stand the judgmental looks they cast my way and how they roll their eyes and whisper. About my hips, no doubt.

And then there are the guys. It seems like all the guys go after those thin girls. The only guys who have ever shown interest in me have been the gross ones who don't even have the confidence to look at the skinny girls.

Peter Wiles in seventh grade. He played with the retainer in his mouth, pulling it in and out with the saliva dripping onto his dirty fingers. It was enough to even muster a polite smile when he tried to flirt with me. I finally just had to get frank with him so he would leave me alone. He went out of his way to avoid me after that.

Then there was Ian Paul in ninth grade. It's not that he was ugly; more like, just plain. But he had a problem with gas--we're talking real stink bombs. No way could I see myself even sitting next to him. Yeah, I shut him down, too--with my big fat mouth.

Last year, Sam Davis asked me to the Junior dance. I really wanted to go that dance, and yes, it would've been great to go with a guy, but Sam never takes a shower. His hair is always greasy--natural grease, you know? Not the kind that comes from hair products. His body odor is so foul it would make Ian Paul's stink bombs smell good--okay, maybe not good, but at least tolerable.

So here I am, ready to start my senior year at school. I had pretty much lost interest in boys by now because, well, I hadn't met anyone that inspired me. Yeah, even though I've never been on a date, I have high standards. My mom says to drop the standards; she'd like to see me date at least once in high school. I didn't see that as a possibility--until he walked in.

Summer had just started, and with it, our restaurant got really busy. With teenagers ordering pizza. Dad yelled at me from the kitchen. I was used to it. Most of the customers were too. I rolled my eyes and went to see what he wanted. He was talking to one of the cutest guys I had ever seen. Instantly, I ripped off the sauce-stained ap.r.o.n.

"Beatrice," my father coaxed me over, his Italian accent thick with excitement. "Meet Brody, my new cook. Brody just moved here from Michigan."

My dad had been looking for someone to replace Dean as he was headed off to college in the fall. I knew he'd hired someone, but this was the first time I'd met him. I looked into the most beautiful blue eyes I had ever seen. He was tall with blond hair and was already sporting a tan. And, of course, I got nervous as I always did around cute guys. I couldn't say a word.

"Look at that," my dad crowed. "Your good looks have made her speechless, no?"

I felt the heat rise up in my cheeks. I couldn't believe my father had just said that. Out loud. In front of Brody. I threw him the most vicious look I could. He just laughed.

"Nice to meet you, Beatrice," Brody said with a warm smile.

I awkwardly reached out to give his hand a shake and muttered something in reply. My father crossed his arms, watching me with a gleam in his eyes. I tightened my lips and refused to look at him.

"I need to get back out on the floor," I said, and quickly made my exit. I could hear my father chuckling behind me.

Ugh. Why did I have such a problem talking with beautiful people? Put me up in a debate room and I thrived on driving them into the ground. In a social setting, it was different. I lost all my confidence. I was so mad at myself that I took it out on poor old Joe when he held up his coffee cup for a refill.

"How long you been coming here, Joe? Get it yourself. You know where it is," I snapped. I didn't even feel sorry when I saw the hurt look on his face. I just needed some privacy to pull myself back together.

I darted into the bathroom and locked myself into one of the two stalls. I sat down on the toilet and crossed my arms. I had to get a plan of action together if I was going to be working with such a cute guy all summer. I'm a planner--that's what debate is all about. Being better prepared than your opponent.

I don't know how long I stayed in the bathroom, but it was long enough for Roma to come looking for me. She's my aunt and helps wait on tables with me.

"Beatrice?" I heard her voice from the other side of the stall.

"Yeah," I sighed.

"You coming out? I could use your help."

I reluctantly opened the door. She had a sympathetic look on her face. I loved Aunt Roma. She was like a second mom. She was the one person I could confide in.

"Sorry, Auntie. Dad just really embarra.s.sed me."

"The new guy?" she asked softly.

I don't know how she did it. She always seemed to have insight on what was bothering me. I nodded. "Did you see how cute he is?"

Roma gave a hearty laugh. "He's a cute one, all right. You gonna be able to work with him?"

"Help me," I pleaded. "I can't even get a sentence out."

She laughed again. "I'll give you good advice. Treat him like he is one of the customers."

"Our customers aren't usually so cute," I said. "And if they are, I always have a problem waiting on them."

"Well, maybe he is the one," she said with that same gleam in her eyes that my dad had. They were always trying to find me a date.

"I am way out of his league," I grimaced.

"Perhaps he is out of your league, Beatrice."

I loved my Aunt Roma. She had a way of making me feel good about myself. Of course, I didn't buy what she was saying; still, it made me feel good to know that someone valued me so much. I gave her a quick hug then scurried to the sink to wash my hands before heading back on the floor. Frizzy pieces of my red hair had gotten out of my ponytail. I had my mom to thank for that uncontrollable mess. Her Scottish roots came out in her red hair and white skin. I got that and the Italian body. Not much I could do about that, I lamented.

With a sigh, I refastened my ponytail and joined my Aunt Roma. I caught old Joe's eye and mouthed "sorry." He grinned. He was almost family as much as he came into the restaurant. I really needed to work on controlling my emotions better. I darted to the back and pulled on a fresh ap.r.o.n.

My father was showing Brody how to chop vegetables. I loved watching my father with a knife. He could slice faster than anyone I had ever seen--even those professional chefs I saw on television. Not that I enjoyed watching those shows. They were personal favorites of my family. What can I say? We own a restaurant.

"You apologize to Joe?" my father asked without looking up.

"Everything's fine," I said, swiftly knotting the ap.r.o.n ties in the back.

I caught Brody's blue eyes looking at me. He grinned in an attempt to be friendly. All of a sudden it hit me. I needed to stop looking at him as anyone who would ever have a romantic interest in me. He was only interested in skinny girls--all guys like him were. He was trying to be nice and I was freaking out. Suddenly, a light bulb went off in my head. The pressure left me. I didn't have to try to pretend I was pretty or interesting. I would never have a shot with him in a million years.

I was able to smile back at him. "Watch that knife," I warned. "Dad cut off the tips of his fingers years ago."

"Maybe that's why I can cut so fast now," my dad laughed. "The fingertips were just slowing me down."

Brody laughed. "Well, I'd like to keep my fingertips, sir. I wouldn't be able to play football without them."

Great. He was one of those--the popular guys. He would fit right in with all the beautiful people at school. If he played football, he probably wasn't planning to work at the restaurant when summer ended. I wondered if my father realized that.

Dean stuck his head around the corner. "You gonna stand there all day, Bea? Table three needs these bread sticks."

I grabbed the breadstick order and started out, but my brother stopped me again.

"Take out table six's salads while you're at it," he ordered.

"Table six isn't my table," I retorted and started walked away.

It's not that I don't like to help out my aunt; it's just that I refuse to let my brother order me around. We have a balanced relations.h.i.+p, as I call it. He does his thing and I do mine. Dean was pretty popular in school. He got the dark Italian looks and the charm to go with them. He spent high school avoiding me because I had embarra.s.sed him on more than occasion when he brought his dates home. It was kind of funny watching him squirm as I told his dates about his smelly feet or any other number of embarra.s.sing details about him they may be unaware of.

"Beatrice," my father barked after me.

I stopped in my tracks. I knew that voice. I reluctantly turned back around and headed straight for the salads. I tried to control myself as I slammed the bowls on my tray. The whole time I could feel Brody's eyes on me. He would get used to our Italian att.i.tudes soon enough.

"And take a cafe mocha out to the blonde waiting on the to go order," Dean added with a sly smile.

"Are you serious?" I asked him. I could feel my nostrils flaring, which wasn't a pretty sight. But right then, I didn't care how. "We are not going to give away free food to every girl you find attractive."

"It's Marge," my father said behind me.

My anger suddenly left me. Marge was a large blond woman who had been a close family friend since I could remember. She was a traveling sales rep and must have come back into town. Now I felt embarra.s.sed at my sudden outburst. Dean clacked his spatula on the grill and bent back down, whistling.

I took a deep breath and left the kitchen, conscious of my hips swaying as I walked away from them. I really needed to control myself. I forced a smile to my lips and dropped off the bread sticks and salads. Somehow, a smile seemed to produce bigger tips; most days, it was hard to plaster one on my face, even though it did bring me more money.

Marge engulfed me in a huge hug. My face got buried between her large bosom. I felt like I was suffocating between two soft pillows. It was all good. I loved Marge's vivacious personality. She made friends easily and was alway laughing.

"You got any summer plans, honey?" she asked in her loud voice.

I shook my head. "Nope. Just work and debate stuff."

"You need to get out, have some fun before you graduate," she scolded.

I shrugged. "How about you? Where you headed next?"

"Oh, just a small vacay to the Caribbean," she crooned. "Wanna join me? We can wear our bikinis and drink some margaritas--"

"No, thank you," I cut her off. No way was I going to be caught dead in a bikini in public--or private, for that matter.

Her small red lips pursed into a pout. "I'll get you on a cruise s.h.i.+p some day, Beatty."

I snorted and inclined my head to the other customers She understood I had to get back to work. Dean was bringing her order out anyway. She planted a kiss on my cheek before I left her to tend my tables. By experience, I knew I had a lipstick mark that I'd have to rub off when she was out of sight.

Then I heard the giggles. It was a group of those girls. They were here for pizza, no doubt. How they were able to eat it and not gain a pound was a mystery. I recognized Lanie, the beautiful blonde cheerleading captain. She had her barbie doll hair pulled into a high ponytail. Her short jean shorts bared her long toned legs. With the blue cami highlighting her blue eyes, she drew more than one stare from the customers waiting at the register.

She led her troupe of girls to the register. They all seemed to wear the least amount of clothes to show off their tiny figures. My brother wasn't immune to the beauty standing before him. He grinned like a dufus as Lanie batted her eyes at him.

"Is Brody here?" I heard her ask.

I stopped in my tracks and turned to openly stare. Dad had said Brody just moved here. How did the popular girls already know him?

"Brody!" Dean yelled to the back.

Brody came out, wiping his hands on a towel. He grinned when he saw the girls. "Hey, Lanie."

She gave her husky laugh. You know, the low, s.e.xy kind of laugh that let's a guy know you're flirting with him. "We thought we'd surprise you on your first day of work."

"Great," he said with a smile. "You want to order some pizza?"

She placed her hands on her small waist and stuck her chest out. "Do you really think we eat pizza with these figures?"

The girls started giggling and whispering. Poor Brody lost his smile and looked confused. Lanie must have sensed it because she cleared her throat and smiled sweetly at him.

"Actually, we don't have to watch what we eat because we're just naturally made this way. Besides, with all the jumps and tosses and--"

She seemed at a loss for words, so one of her friends threw in, "and flips--"

"Yeah, that's right. All those flips and things we do for cheerleading keep us in such great shape. Don't you think, Brody?"

"Uh, yeah, sure," Brody said.

I wasn't prepared for him to look over their shoulders at me. When his baby blues met my brown eyes, I felt my heart jump unexpectedly. Lanie looked back to see what had drawn his attention away from her. She snorted when she saw me. I remembered the lipstick mark from Marge and immediately tried to rub it off. It was too late. The skinny girls had seen it. They broke into a loud laughter.

I felt the blood rush into my face. It always happened when I was embarra.s.sed or mad. I was turning to leave when I heard the most awful comment. It was from Marge, who thought she was sticking up for me.

"What are you girls cackling at Beatty for? She's got more cla.s.s than all of you put together," Marge's loud voice boomed across the restaurant.

I froze right where I was and slowly turned back around to face the train wreck. I know my eyes were wide but I couldn't close them from pure shock. The girls were shocked too. They stood with their mouths open as if they couldn't believe what had come out of Marge's mouth. Dean swallowed hard and darted around the counter to Marge. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and whispered something in her ear. She started to protest, but he gently urged her to the door. She shot a look of distaste at the girls but left peacefully.

I threw a grateful look at Dean. He winked back at me. No matter our differences, I knew he would have my back when it came down to it. He used his head to point to the customers. No need to tell me twice. Best to get out of the way of the vicious laughter that I knew was coming.

"Cackling at Beatty?" I heard one of the girls shriek.

Yep. Just as I walked out, they burst out laughing. I kept my head up and moved through the tables. Thankfully, the other customers didn't seem to be aware of what just happened. I stayed out on the floor for as long as possible. I couldn't ignore the requests for dessert for much longer though. I had to go back into the kitchen. That meant pa.s.sing the girls who were waiting for their pizza order.

I took a deep breath and marched toward the kitchen. It wasn't too bad. I heard just a few snickers as I pa.s.sed them. My shoulders sagged with relief when I entered the kitchen. Dean threw me a sympathetic look from the grill.

I pulled out the cheesecake from the fridge. It was still a little frozen in the middle, but a little extra whipped topping and berries should disguise that. As I plated the cheesecake, I couldn't help but squirt the whipped topping on my finger and plop it in my mouth. I loved the swirl of the creamy froth on my tongue. I had just plopped a second finger of the creamy goodness in my mouth when I heard Brody behind me.

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry for how those girls treated you," he said softly.

I whirled around, quickly swallowing the whipped topping. "I'm used to it."

"You shouldn't be. I don't understand why they get like that."