Excerpt from Gemma (Continued)

"This is Hazen," Buddy says, pushin me forward, givin me a slap on the ass. Like he owns me, like I’m a donkey or somethin. And this guy, this Hazen guy, steppin forward, smilin big for a mouth that looks like it's not used to smilin much.

"Hey there, little girl…" which kind of offends me, cause I'm not little, I'm twelve for Christsake. Would correct him on his assumption, but I don't want to be rude.

"Hi," I say. I'm feelin funny, don't know why. Don't like the way this Hazen guy is lookin at me all greasy, oily-like. Freakin me out.

"Well, what do you think?" Buddy asks, me standin there, just standin there.

"Good. She'll do, she'll do real nice," says Hazen smilin. Runs his forefinger down my arm, does it slow, like he's brandin me. Don't like it. Try to step back, but there's nowhere to go. Buddy's stepped in right behind me, right up close, crowdin me in. Nowhere to go, and I kinda suffer from

claustrophobia, you know like panic spells when people crowd me too close. I get dizzy, everything kinda slows down, rushes by, blurry like. Standin there in Denny's. Buddy pressin up against my back, this Hazen guy right in front, table, chairs, cuttin out my air. I can here the kitchen noises, dishes, cutlery clinkin loud. Real loud, like they're amplified, and yet voices muffled, foggy, like they're talkin through a vacuum hose. And they laugh, Buddy and Hazen, they both laugh, tunnel laugh, and then Hazen takes out his wallet, gets it outta his back pocket starts countin out money. "Twenty … forty … sixty … eighty … and … one hundred dollars." Gives the money, the hundred dollars to Buddy. And I'm wonderin what this has to do with my waitressin job.

But Buddy doesn't explain. Just pockets the money, give my ass a feel, the stuff my hand into this Hazen guy's sweaty, clammy one. His soft, pulpy, soggy hand, that feels like mashed, spit-out bananas. "She's all yours, man," Buddy says, smilin still. Smilin big. Then he makes a

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