Part 1 (1/2)

16 Things I Thought Were True.

Janet Gurtler.

For Jean Vallestros Because I told you I would. So I did.

chapter one.

1. Working in an amus.e.m.e.nt park should be amusing.

#thingsIthoughtweretrue A fter pausing for a deep breath, I force myself to walk into the room with my head held high and my shoulders pulled back.

I can totally do this, show people who I really am- not the girl they saw dancing on the video.

I'm focusing so hard on keeping my cool that I trip over a chair and it clatters to the ground. Everyone in the staff break room stops talking and stares. They're all wearing the same Tinkerpark T- s.h.i.+rts but in different colors. Red, blue, yellow, or green, we're all dressed as brightly as a package of Skittles.

”Aes back at me in a slight echo. I swipe some ChapStick across my lips.

The girl starts crying even harder, but helpful posts in 140 char- acters or less don't appear. Life should be more like Twitter.

”Are you all right?” I call.

There's no response, but then there's a clank and the stall door opens and huge glistening brown eyes stare out at me. I recognize the girl from the snack shop that's next to the gift shop where I work.

”You're Morgan McLean,” she says. It's a statement, but her voice goes up at the end, as if it's a question. She's short and skinny with surprisingly chubby cheeks. She looks fourteen but she's wearing a blue Tinkerpark s.h.i.+rt like mine, blue for concessions. There's rank and prestige attached to different jobs as well as different colors.

Red is for the games people, yellow for rides. Blue s.h.i.+rts are the lowest on the employee totem pole, and she swims in hers.

”Um. Yes,” I answer.

3.

sixteenthings.indd 3 9/9/13 2:21 PM.

J a n e t G u r t l e r She walks over and stands beside me at the sink, and then turns a k.n.o.b to run water over her hands. ”Ouch,” she squeaks. ”Hot,” she says, turning the water off and shaking off her hands. ”I'm sorry. I ruined your break.”

I glance at us in the old mirror above the sink. It's dark and scratched, and our reflections are barely visible, but I see misery in the tightness of her lips and the droop in her eyes.

”No. No you didn't. What's wrong?” I ask her.

”It's Adam,” she says and sighs. She reaches for the white, pulley, continual towel to dry her hands. I cringe at the germ count that must be on it.

”What did he do?” I ask.

She leans against the sink and sighs deeply. ”He...yelled at me.”

I lift my eyebrows. ”Welcome to the club. He's the boss. It's pretty much his job to yell. Maybe you shouldn't take it so personally.”

Adam is a senior next year, like me, but we never hung out with the same people even when I had people to hang out with. I've avoided him at work since he yelled at me on my second day when I forgot my name tag. He seems like he's trying too hard- probably that's why he's in management.

”But...I mean, I want him to like me,” Amy says.

”Why?” Even as I ask the question, the answer is written all over her face. ”Oh. You have a crush on him?”

She lifts her shoulder and chews her lip, sneaking a look at me.

”Kind of?”

I can see how he's cute in a smart- nerd way, with black plastic- framed gla.s.ses and wavy hair. Not my type though. That makes me

4.

sixteenthings.indd 4 9/9/13 2:21 PM.

1 6 t h i n g s i t h o u g h t w e r e t r u e wonder for a fraction of a second if I have a type. ”Why'd he yell at you?”

She tugs on the bottom of her T- s.h.i.+rt. ”He saw me eating pop- corn from a bag before I served it to a customer.”