She told Zoe she was going to hit FroYoLo.
“I can’t stand to watch Dallas drool over you,” she said.
“Dallas and I are just friends,” she said. “He gets that.”
“Yeah, okay, whatever,” said Val. “I don’t actually care if you hurt him because—bottom line—that dude is basic. I mean, he was named after a TV show.”
“He says he was named after the Dallas Cowboys,” said Zoe.
“Of course he does,” said Val. “I’d say that, too, if I was named after a TV show.”
Zoe felt the greasy air settle onto her skin as she entered House of Huns. Dallas and three other cooks were grunting around the giant grill, which they referred to as the Ring of Doom. They were all comically hunky. They carried rubber-tipped spears and wore cone-shaped leather hats, which were ringed with fake fur. They had wide leather straps crisscrossing their chests and backs, but were otherwise shirtless. Because of the heat, they perspired constantly. Every so often drops of their sweat hit the grill and sizzled.
The grill itself was an imposing black circle with a hole in the middle for scraps. Customers handed over the frozen meats, veggies, and sauces they had selected from the salad bar—placards suggested at least five ladles of sauce, and recommended various combinations—and then pushed their tray along the cafeteria rails that surrounded the grill as the cooks fried the stuff up and chanted nonsense that sounded Hunnish. There was a miniature gong positioned nearby that patrons could strike with a mallet if they put something in the tip jar. Whenever the gong was struck, the cooks stopped whatever they were doing and flexed.
To say that Dallas loved his job would be a tremendous understatement.
He beamed when he saw Zoe—then remembered he was supposed to be a Hun.
“What want?” he barked theatrically.
“Can I talk to you?” said Zoe.
“No talk,” said Dallas. “Eat.”
Zoe gazed down at the grill. It was heaped with grayish chips of what purported to be pork and beef. A handful of frozen peas rolled around like marbles.
“I’m not eating this stuff,” she said.
She saw, with a pang, that she had insulted him.
“No eat, no talk,” he said. “Mrgh!”
“Seriously?” she said.
At this, Dallas transformed back into Dallas for a second and said, almost pleadingly, “Come on, Zoe. Work with me!”
Another cook—was he Head Hun?—stomped over to where they were standing and pounded a fist against his pecs, which were glistening with sweat and body lotion.
“Girl no eat?” he said to Dallas.
Zoe rolled her eyes.
“Okay, okay,” she said. “Girl eat, girl eat. Mrgh!”
Later, when Dallas was on break, he sat across from Zoe as she twirled noodles around a fork.
He’d taken off his Hun hat, and pulled on a white V-neck T-shirt torn slightly at the base of the V. He was fanning himself with a laminated menu.
“What’s up?” he said cheerily. “I haven’t seen you in here since you dumped my ass.”
Zoe smiled.
“Yeah, sorry about that,” she said.
“You kinda broke my feelings, dawg,” he said.
“I know,” said Zoe. “I didn’t realize—”
“You didn’t realize what?” said Dallas. “That I had feelings?”
“Kind of?” said Zoe.
Dallas surprised her by laughing, and she saw a flash of the cute, unpretentious guy she used to make out with in the handicapped bathroom at Target.
“Totally honestly?” he said. “I didn’t really know I had feelings, either. But it’s all cool. No worries. I mean, I’m about to ask somebody out, anyway.”
“The Girl Who’s Gonna Say Yes?” said Zoe.
“She is gonna say yes,” said Dallas.
“I know she is,” said Zoe. “I’m seeing somebody else, too.”
Dallas’s face fell.
“Ugh,” he said. “Why’d you have to tell me that?”
“You just said you were asking someone out,” said Zoe.
“But still!” said Dallas.
Zoe ate a sickly looking chip of pork as a goodwill gesture. Dallas pretended not to care, but she could see a flicker of pride in his eyes.
“It’s better than you thought, right?” he said.
Zoe nodded.
“It’s really not,” she said.
Behind her, another cook began beating the gong in a low steady rhythm to signal that Dallas’s break was over. When Dallas didn’t immediately stand, the cooks added an unintelligible chant on top of the beat. Dallas looked over Zoe’s shoulder at the half-naked savages who were his co-workers.
“I should go soon,” he said. “Before my bros get rowdy.”
“I can do this quick,” said Zoe. “I want to go caving again, and I want you to go with me. I don’t know how to do it in the snow, and you’re the only caver I know who’s as good as my dad was.”
Dallas shook his head.
“No way,” he said.
Zoe’s heart fell—until he continued.
“Your dad was way better than me,” he said.
“Here’s the messed-up part,” said Zoe. “I told Jonah I’d go into Black Teardrop if the cops wouldn’t. Actually—this is crazy, but whatever—I told him I’d bring my dad a blanket.”