Fresh Toppings, Served Hot

I loaded the last box into the U-Haul and bent my lips into an unconvincing smile as my dad theatrically dusted off his hands. He walked my apartment keys to the rental office for me, then climbed into the driver's seat of the truck. I tried to make myself useful by pulling up directions on my phone and opening a bag of M&Ms for the trip. As with all dads, the directions weren't necessary, but he accepted a handful of his favorite driving-candy.

"You know, it'll be nice having you back. Think about how happy your mom will be to have you around for a bit... and the dog, too! You know you're his favorite!" Dad was earnestly trying to get me to see any upside to my move home. My employer had collapsed in scandalous financial ruin so quickly and so completely that, like most employees, I hadn't had time to plan; we'd barely had time to pack our desks before security herded us out the door. I was luckier than many, since I happened to be at the end of my lease and had parents who were willing and able to take me in.

My dad shifted the U-Haul into gear, and we pulled away from my adult life as I'd known it. I didn't look forward to a return to my hometown and living with my parents, but it was better than starvation... I mean, probably... right? As we reached cruising speed on the interstate, I glanced at the rearview, saying goodbye to the city I had called home.

A job managing a pizza shop wasn't my first choice, but right now it was all I had. All right, fine, I was assistant manager. Anyway, despite my parents' assurances, I insisted that my having a job was an unnegotiable condition to living with them. Mom and dad were great, giving me as much privacy as possible with us all under the same roof, but as I continued striking out at interview after interview, my failures felt like they were broadcast above my head like the bat-signal. I liked to think that I hid my debilitating disappointment, but at times it had to have bubbled past my pretty façade.

Any friends I'd grown up with had long ago moved away for their own lives, so, other than my parents, I was limited to coworkers for company and conversation. Suffice to say, the past three months had been rough and lonely. My career and social frustrations were magnified by my lack of friends or peers to vent to. My brain was a noisy, self-sustaining network of disappointment and isolation. Some days, clocking in at the pizza joint was a relief, just to have a distraction from my loneliness.

Tonight, the shop's regular Friday cashier was scheduled off for a high school lacrosse game and the college kid who usually delivered for us had abruptly quit two days ago, so I was working alone at the register. It was unusually slow for a Friday in April, and I was distracting myself with gossip articles on my phone when the door chimed. Glancing up, my stomach sank as I recognized the customer.

"Hey! Uh, Sarah, right? Wow, you work here?" The rich, popular boy who had hardly spoken to me in high school approached the counter. My body tensed at the kind of embarrassing, familiar encounter that I knew had to be inevitable when I took this job.

"Oh... hey, Trevor. How can I help you?"

"Didn't know you were back. Where are you living?"

"I moved in with my parents at the end of January. What would you like?" My jaw clenched so hard I worried I'd crack a filling... and my job didn't pay for dental! I forced myself to hold his eye contact.

"Wow, because didn't you go to school at-"

"Yeah."

"And I thought my mom said you had a job with-"

"Yeah."

"But now you're working... here?" His eyes brimmed with smug amusement at my misfortune. I had to break off eye contact, looking down and fidgeting with the register, trying to hide my welling tears behind a swooping lock of my auburn hair.

With the slow night of business, it was just me and the owner, Ari, in the store; that greedy lout was in the back manning the empty ovens and tabulating our lack of receipts. The isolation at the front of the shop hung around me like a petrifying fog, and my skin prickled with goosebumps of instinctive alarm in the presence of a predator.

"Would you like to order anything?" I repeated, gritting my teeth. Trevor took his time pretending to scrutinize the menu.

As he pondered whether to place an order, his eyes settled again and again on my ripe D-cups. I cursed my laundry procrastination the weekend before, which had left the red, 'mega-lift' push-up bra that I normally reserved for 'special dates' as my only clean option this morning. I self-consciously imagined the dazzling cherry cups radiating through the transparent white cotton of my work shirt as my rack jutted out beneath my chin. Under Trevor's leering stare, my tits felt like overinflated, neon balloons. I prayed for the flimsy fabric of my polo to magically transform into a baggy sweatshirt. It was a small blessing that no one would see the cheap panties from an old multipack that I'd pressed into service today. The lycra of my leggings felt too tight; I fought the urge to squirm as it hugged me in all the wrong places, squeezing me until I felt the nervous need to pee.

"I think I'll just have a Coke... for now." Trevor winked carnivorously as he dropped two dollar-bills on the counter. "Keep the change. See ya around." He stopped at the cooler for a bottle, then walked out the door. The chime as Trevor exited drew Ari out of the kitchen.

"Who was that? They buy anything?" Ari stuck his head out from the back. I held up the singles in mock-bragging. "Excuse me!" He retorted; that was his favorite way to start a statement. "You better hope things pick up; I can't pay your salary on no 'two dollars'." He disappeared back into the kitchen. "You barely pay me as it is." I muttered under my breath, wrinkling my nose snottily as I dumped the bills in the register drawer. I crossed my arms in front of my chest and leaned against the counter; this place really couldn't afford many nights like this.

There wasn't another customer for the rest of the evening. Ari was admitting defeat and shutting down when the phone rang. He beat me to the receiver, and I heard the growing excitement in his voice as he scribbled down the lengthy order. "Yes, sir... well, thank YOU very much! We'll see you soon!" He almost shouted in his exuberance before triumphantly slamming down the receiver. Ari hurried off to the kitchen, leaving me to ring up the order for six large pizzas. The call had come just twenty-two minutes before the shop closed.

"Yo! Ari! This is for pick-up, right?" I called. I could hear him singing in the back as he worked, his joyful, off-key aria soaring above the banging of pans and trays. It was amazing how a hundred and fifty-some-odd dollars could improve his corrupt attitude. I checked the receipt again, mulling that the address looked familiar, though I couldn't place it. Spotting the ticked box under 'delivery,' I called out again. "Hey! Ari! We don't have a driver tonight; who's running this?!" His song had ended, and my only answer was the mechanical clanking of the pizza oven's conveyor.

After several more minutes of silence, I walked back to the kitchen. My view of my short, round boss was obscured by the pizza boxes piled on the counter. My reflexes saved me from injury, as I reacted in time to catch the keys that he tossed at me over the towering stack.

"Oh, no way, Ari! I can't do this delivery! By the time I get there and come back here to return the car, I'll miss the last bus!" The mountain of boxes gave no indication of changing its mind. "Come on, maaaaaan!" I resorted to whining as a final, hopeless tactic.

"Hey! Excuse me! But that's not your name out front last I checked!" It also wasn't Ari's name out front, last I checked; "Naples" was a picturesque town on the coast of Italy, not my portly boss's surname.

He emerged from behind the pile of boxes, looking like he'd given the issue a modicum of thought. "Tell you what: you're a good kid, so I'll make you a deal," he continued, "If you make the delivery, you can take the car home for the night and bring it back tomorrow. And I'll even clock you out whenever my wife picks me up, so you won't lose any time, maybe even get a couple minutes of OT."

I jiggled the keys in my hand while I thought it over. Roaming a dark, strange neighborhood searching for an address wasn't how I wanted to end my Friday night. On the other hand, at least this way I wouldn't have to take the bus home. And of course, this wasn't a true debate, since he was my boss, and he had given instructions.

"Okay, Ari... Thanks." I still wasn't comfortable making the late delivery but getting to skip public transit for two commutes was a decent compromise.

Ari walked out the back door with me, carrying half the boxes. We reached the car, and I popped the trunk and loaded the pizzas and a bag of napkins and condiments. I shut the boot and turned for the front, spotting Ari as he affixed the illuminated magnetic sign to the roof. The car-topper was an elongated plastic pyramid bearing the shop's name and number beneath the slogan "Fresh Toppings, Served Hot" (which I was convinced had to be a printing mistake). The words bent in an arc of blue letters below a stylized semicircle of pizza slices that I thought resembled a nightmarish clown's smile.

"Oh, come on, man!" I resumed whining. "Ari, that sign isn't gonna bring in any business tonight because you're closing! At this hour, that thing's not an 'ad', it's just an attractive nuisance for drunks and delinquents!"

"Excuse me!" That really was Ari's favorite phrase. "You're making a pizza delivery; you gotta advertise the pizza shop!" He thought for a second about my point. "And remember that thing's your responsibility. If that sign vanishes, so does your next check, capiche?"

Nervously chewing my bottom lip, I relented. "Fine, but I'm putting it in the trunk as soon as the delivery is made, okay? Otherwise, I know I'll forget and who knows what'll happen to it." Ari nodded and waved goodbye as he turned to close down the shop.

I crawled glacially along the dark street through the post neighborhood, searching for the address. Finally, I spotted the numbered mailbox in front of the large, unlit house. To my dismay, the horseshoe drive in front was parked solid with four cars. I pulled to the curb, then lugged the heavy stack of pizzas out of the trunk. Reminded that my leggings didn't have pockets, I awkwardly dangled the car keys from one finger and the bag of napkins and spices from another as I hefted the boxes and locked the car. Walking up the brick walkway to the front door, I strained to support the order.

Mounting the front steps, my stomach lurched uncertainly at the sight of the dark foyer. Balancing the boxes, I extended my elbow to press the doorbell and waited anxiously on the dim doorstep. A shadow appeared in the hallway, turned back the way it came, then reemerged into the foyer and approached the entrance. I stared at the door, convinced that I recognized the house, but when had I been here befo- my thought was interrupted as the form arrived at the door. My belly plunged despairingly as the door opened.

"Oh! Sarah! Small world, huh?" Trevor and his voracious grin greeted me. Even though the boxes were piled in front of my chest, I still felt naked and exposed under his wolfish gaze.

"Hi, Trevor..." I surmised that his presence here and the late order to my shop weren't a coincidence. But I knew his family didn't live here; his parents lived a few blocks from mine. And why were there so many cars in the drive when the house seemed totally dark? My flight instinct surged; the brick path seemed to stretch a mile back to the street and the safety of the car. I nervously licked my lips with a dry, anxious tongue. "That's one fifty-eight ninety-four." I just needed him to pay for his food, then I'd be home and in my bed.

"What's your rush? Why don't you bring those into the party; you could make some friends. I think you'll find some familiar faces, and I bet they'll all be excited to see you." He insistently waved me inside, and, against my better judgment, I entered after a final glance over my shoulder at the car.

Trevor strode quickly ahead, rapidly leading me through the marble parlor, then down a long, dim hallway towards the back of the house. Spectral furniture loomed in the periphery of shadowy rooms as we passed. My slip-on sneakers squeaked on the polished floors as I hurried to keep up. A lighted doorway waited at the end of the corridor. The clattering of bottles and loud, boisterous voices resonated from the room beyond the door.

With a flourish, Trevor pushed open the door, then placed a hand on my back to usher me through. "Hey guys, the pizza's here! And look who came with it!" he called as I passed him and entered the spacious library and billiards room. The bookshelves and furniture were so recognizable that I thought I would scream from the block in my memory. And, true to Trevor's word, the room was filled with faces I remembered.

The "party" awaiting me was a gathering of six -- five, plus my guide -- boys from my high school class. Standing and uncapping a beer bottle was Connor, a lacrosse star, like Trevor. Tommy and Reese, twin rowing champions and student council co-chairs, were loitering near the pool table. And on the couch facing the TV, I recognized Aidan and Duncan, who had been unremarkable athletes and students but renowned partiers in our time. These guys, with a few others, had constituted the "cool boys" in my graduating class. Their group had been snobs and bullies, rich and spoiled; entitled and untouchable.

Five new sets of eyes stalked me as I followed Trevor to the end of the room. He nodded to a small table laden with bags of chips and a bowl of ice and beer bottles. I dumped the heavy stack on the tabletop with a grunt, dropping my keys and the plastic bag in the process. Bending at the waist, I reached under the table to retrieve the keyring and hunt after scattered napkins and packets of parm and red pepper. After a short scramble, I straightened to find the party gawking at me. I tossed the bag of free extras on the table, then nervously tried to tuck my fingers into my back pockets, remembering yet again that my leggings didn't have pockets as my fingers skimmed fruitlessly across my butt.

"Oh yeah, I remember you..." Connor grunted as he passed me on his way to the food. The embarrassing schoolgirl portion of my mind bubbled at the recognition by the cute, popular boy. I speculated with a dreamy flutter if he -- or his friends -- had changed since school; maybe matured and mellowed. He turned with a loaded plate, his eyes focused on my chest, and I once more cursed the garish color of my bra. In the background, the basketball game on TV whistled and cheered.

Upon Connor's ogling welcome, I remembered in a hot, mortifying rush when I had been to this house before. Connor had a brother, Grant, a year older than us. Grant had repeated his senior year and was placed in my Chemistry class during his fifth year before he could graduate and accept a lacrosse scholarship. The teacher, a lacrosse coach, had paired him with me on the final research project. Knowing that I was a good student, the coach hoped my study habits might rub off on Grant, or at least my work would bump up his grade to allow him to graduate.

Grant had invited me to his parents' house -- this house -- to work on the project. I had struggled to get him to focus on the assignment; extracting productivity from the lacrosse captain was like pulling stubborn teeth. But what Grant lacked in academic vigor, he made up for in charm, instinct, and cunning. As the night progressed, I surprised myself by agreeing to complete the entire project, then sign both our names.

More astounding, though, was how I had ended my night: on my knees, my argyle sweater and pastel bra tossed over the arm of the couch -- the same couch in the center of the room where Aidan and Duncan now sat -- with my lollipop-pink lips wrapped around Grant's cock. The older boy's cleverness in coaxing me out of my top and into the blowjob was baffling even in that moment as I eagerly fellated him. After swallowing three viscous mouthfuls of salty cum -- before going home to write 'our' paper on acid-base neutralization -- I had implored and sworn him to secrecy. As Connor's leering eyes burrowed hungrily through my white polo tonight, I wondered if Grant hadn't broken that promise.

I snapped back from my memory as someone thrust a cold beer into my hand. "I can't drink, I'm dri-" the chanting crowd drowned out my excuse, "Drink! Drink! Drink! Drink!" I took a swig, but as the tumult continued, I returned the bottle to my lips and took two more sips. "Okay, but I can't get drunk. I have to drive."

Trevor smirked, "Yeah, I saw your sweet ride. Is that an Optima?"

"It's better than taking the bus, at least." I responded.

"You meet a lot of guys like that? Taking public transit?" He was quick with a reply.

"Not as many as you'd think..." I tittered at my own joke, but it seemed like no one else had heard me.

Duncan pulled a pack of cigarettes and lighter from his pocket. He held the pack invitingly at me, but I shook my head 'no'. Aidan threw an arm around his drunk compatriot, and the two left down the hallway from which I had entered. The remaining boys munched on pizza and talked privately -- but loudly -- among themselves. I stood awkwardly next to the table as I quietly finished my beer. I placed my keys on the table, using my free hand to open the trash can and dispose of my empty.

Yearning for my bed, I cleared my throat, repeating the noise until I finally caught the attention of the group. "So that's, uh, one-fifty-eight ninety-four." I looked around the room, waiting for someone to acknowledge me and pay so I could leave.

"Hey! What's your rush?" Trevor retorted.

"Yeah, Trevor said you were going to hang out. Make friends, you know. It is my birthday, after all..." Connor echoed. His eyes glinted with mischievous fake hurt. The twins moved to my either side, engaging me in cursory conversation, trying to get me engaged into the party.

"Why'd you move back?" Tommy asked as Reese pushed another beer into my hand. "Who have you been hanging out with?" I took a polite sip as I skirted his and his brother's questions about the collapse of my career and my new, solitary existence in our hometown. A commotion of rowdy laughter from the hallway drew my attention.

"Hey, guys! Check this out!" Aidan shouted as he and Duncan burst into the library. As they rushed, I saw that Duncan held an illuminated box above his head. I thought my head would split open from aggravation as I realized that they'd stolen the rooftop sign off Ari's car.

"Think this will look good on my Audi?" Duncan asked, holding out his arms as he balanced the plastic prism on the dome of his head. The ghastly pizza-smile seemed to ghoulishly laugh along with the prank.

"Ah, fuck! Give that back!" I cried, rushing at Duncan. I'd warned Ari that this exact thing was bound to happen! The drunk boy nimbly tossed the sign to Connor, who then flipped it to Reese, each pass setting me further behind the progress. I leapt and scurried between the hexagonal group, throwing out my arms trying to intercept the sailing sign. Colliding with Aidan, I felt his arms encircle my ribs, one hand clutching my waist to slow me and the other carelessly grazing my breast. I broke away from his grasp and continued my futile chase.

Concluding that the game of keep-away with a party of six-foot men wouldn't end in my favor, I pursued an alternate tactic. Exasperated and breathless, I appealed to Trevor for help. "You dragged me in here! Will you please do something about them?!"

"The way I see it, if you want it back, why don't you offer them something in exchange?" He suggested unhelpfully. I held my hands out from my sides, incredulously demonstrating that I had nothing. "I bet there's something you have that they'd want..." He baited.