Besides spending every Saturday with Carrie, Zac called her every night at 7 o'clock. They usually talked for about five minutes, just a quick "Hi, how was your day?"
Carrie sat on her bed, staring at the phone, for almost half an hour that night. "What do you think happened?" she asked her roomate, Anna.
Anna glanced up from her needlepoint. Her face looked similar to Carrie's, but she was leaving for her surgery the next Saturday. She was lucky enough to have wealthy lawyers as parents.
"He probably had a meeting and forgot to tell you about it." Anna shrugged. "I'm sure it's nothing bad. He just got busy is all."
"Im sure you're right." Carrie settled back with a copy of her favorite book, "Blood and Chocolate". "He'll call tomorrow."
It was almost ten o'clock that night when Zac returned home. In his arms, he carried a Belladonna's dishwasher uniform. Belladonna's was the classiest restaurant in East Tulsa and Zac happened to be friends with the son of the owner.
"Even our dishwashers look good," Mr. Cortez had explained. "I expect you to keep your shirt tucked in and neat. Half of your job is looking good, even though the customers probably won't see you."
"I have a job," he announced as he stepped into the living room where his mother and younger sisters were watching TV. "I start tomorrow."
They ignored him. The same thing happened when he went into the sunroom to tell Taylor and Isaac. He tried to call his friend Aaron, but there was no answer.
"Am I fucking invisible?" he screamed, kicking his door.
"Zachary, watch your language," his mother yelled.
"Sorry, Mom. I just needed to know that someone could hear me," he snapped.
Diana's motherly voice echoed through the house. "Zachary Walker Hanson, don't you take that tone with me, young man. I will ground you."
Zac didn't answer. He laid his Belladonna's uniform out on his bed and admired it. The red polo shirt hugged his upper body, showing off his muscled chest and abs. The short sleeves emphasized his bulging biceps and the khaki pants hung just right from his slim hips.
"I resort to being a dishwasher," he muttered. "Isn't it ironic, don't ya think?" He giggled at his own idiocracy and folded the uniform back up. He'd laugh about it tomorrow. For now, he had to get some sleep.
