Becca

Crap, crap, crap! I can’t believe I’m late again. Why can’t I get it together? I’m sick of feeling like my life is a game of whack-a-mole, where for every one thing I get done, several others fall by the wayside.

Rushing through the diner’s entrance, I’m greeted by the ding of the bell over the door and the low din of the patrons sitting inside. Though my heart still races in my chest, the familiar sounds are like a mist of rain after a long summer drought.

Since moving out of my aunt and uncle’s house, Ruby’s Diner is the closest thing I have to a home. Unlike my tiny, lonely apartment, there is life here and people who genuinely seem to care about me. As resistant as I am to letting people get too close, I recognize how starved I am for connection. Though a part of me wants to lean into the warm compassion and care of the owners—Aunt Rosie and Uncle Andrew, as everyone calls them—history has taught me that trusting in others is a one-way ticket to heartbreak and disappointment. I know, I know. It’s an incredibly jaded view for someone my age, but here’s the thing: if you can’t trust the people who brought you into this world, then who the heck can you trust?

No one.

That’s who.

When Aunt Rosie spots me, she waves me over from behind the register, where she’s ringing up a customer. “Hey sweetheart, good to see you. Go on back, get yourself ready, and wait for me in the office. There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

I inwardly groan, hoping it isn’t about me being late again. I need this job to pay my bills. Jobs in our small town are few and far between, especially for someone who can only work outside of school hours. While I’m sure I could eventually find another, none have the added benefit of allowing me to leave with cash in my pocket at the end of each night. Most people are content with waiting for a payday that comes every week or two, but my cash flow problems make it so I need to be paid more frequently.

Nervous, I toss my backpack into my employee locker, keeping only what I need to continue the first draft of my microeconomics project. As I tie on the white apron that’s part of my uniform, I check the board to see what section of tables I’ve been assigned. But no matter how many times I scan for my name, it just isn’t there.

This has to be a mistake. Or…

No! That can’t be it. Aunt Rosie wouldn’t fire me over this, not without talking to me first. Besides, she just told me to come back and get ready, which means everything’s okay. Right?

With my stomach twisted into a painful knot, I enter her office and take a seat. Setting my schoolwork on my lap, it dawns on me that having it with me for this discussion is a mistake. Though in the past Aunt Rosie has allowed me to work on my assignments when business is slow, I can’t help but wonder if maybe she’s changed her mind. It would make sense, I guess, since I can’t imagine too many employers wanting their staff to work on other things during company time.

By the time she strides into the room, I’m nearly shaking with anxiety. “I’m sorry I was late. I stayed up working on a school project and fell asleep on the couch. I take full responsibility and promise to do better. It won’t happen again. I swear it,” the words rush out of my mouth.

“Relax, Becca,” she says with a soft smile as she takes the seat next to me and scoots in closer. “You’re not in trouble. In fact, it’s the opposite.”

“Opposite?” I stare at her, dumbfounded.

“I got a call from a friend of yours yesterday—”

“A friend?”

“Why didn’t you tell us? Six advanced placement classes? That’s just—wow, Becca!” She gushes with a look of pride that makes my eyes burn with unshed tears. How long has it been since someone who mattered looked at me this way? “I knew you were smart, but gosh,” she laughs. “I had no idea. Why didn’t you tell us how amazing you are?”

Because I’m not.

What I’m doing isn’t amazing. It’s a means to an end, a way to escape the circumstances I was born into, along with the long list of people who have failed me. Not sure how to respond, I shrug and tuck a strand of hair behind my ears.

“I’m sorry if I embarrassed you.” She gives me a rueful smile. “I’m just so proud. I know you’re estranged from your parents—”

“They’re not my parents.” I interrupt, my tone more forceful than I intend. “They’re my aunt and uncle. That’s what I call them now.”

“I understand.” She places a soothing hand over mine. “What I meant to say is I know you’re doing all of this on your own. While I may not be your mother, I’m still so incredibly proud of you.” She lifts my chin with a finger, forcing me to look at her. “Just thought I’d tell you in case no one else has told you lately. You truly are an amazing girl, Becca.”

“Thank you,” is all I can manage before my throat closes up.

“You’re welcome. So,” she sits back in her chair, looking mighty pleased with whatever she’s about to say. “Here’s what’s going to happen. For the rest of the weekend, you, my dear, will sit at your usual study spot in the back. There, you’ll spend your work hours solely focused on that amazing project you’re working on.”

“Wait, no. I can’t… I’m sorry Aunt Rosie, I know you’re trying to help, but I really need the money—”

“You have nothing to worry about. Your sweet friend has taken care of everything. For the next two days, Mr. Montgomery will be working your tables. He’ll handle it all, from taking orders to running food and clearing tables. Then, at the end of the night, he’ll turn all the money he made over to you. Per his words, as a thank you for the best server interning experience available this side of the Susquehanna River.” She chuckles as I sit there, stunned.

“Apart from the project, your only other responsibility this weekend will be to keep an eye on him and answer any questions he may have. He shouldn’t have much trouble, though. He came in two hours ago so we could show him the ropes and put him through the paces. He’s done surprisingly well and took it all on with a heaping dose of enthusiasm. My guess is that has a lot to do with how much he likes you.”

“He-he’s my peer advisor,” I utter mindlessly, my brain still trying to understand what is happening.

“Well, I’d say he’s doing a mighty fine job of it. Anyway, I’ve assigned him the four tables in Section F, right next to where you’ll be sitting, in case he finds himself in the weeds and needs some assistance.”

That must be the end of our conversation, because the next thing I know, she’s dragging me back out to the dining room. Whereas my stomach had been tied up in knots at the start of our conversation, it’s now a twisted, churning mess that makes me want to hurl. When she pushes me toward the section Shane and I have been assigned to, my skin heats, the sensation so intense I’m certain my skin has flushed crimson. 

As soon as I turn the corner my heart stops, brought to a complete standstill by the infuriatingly charming smile on the face of the man I want to hate, but don’t.

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Author’s Note:

I'd love to hear what you think about this scene. Comment as you read along and let me know what you think. 

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