In her defence, she really didn’t know what she was doing with that yard sale.
I skid around the corner, one Converse catching a bit of gravel. “You havegotto be kidding me,” I mutter, pulling it off and taking off again, one shoe in hand, the other flopping precariously as I stumble into the café.
Inside, customers turn to stare, some looking confused, others horrified. Although the majority, I’m guessing, are the latter. I ignore them, too focused on Rick, who’s already giving me his “not again” look.
I run in behind the counter to Rick, who usually does a good job of keeping his composure, but now stands frozen in disbelief. His eyes widen as he takes in my dishevelled appearance and single flapping Converse.
“What… what happened to you?” he manages, his eyes narrowing at the disgrace of a shoe in my hand.
“I… I ran… And, well, my shoe just couldn’t keep up,” I say, half-joking, but immediately shutting up when I see the clearly unamused look on his face.
This is going to be a long day.
He raises an eyebrow. “I thought I told you to bring different shoes. These—” he gestures to them, “—are starting to really get on my nerves.”
You’re not the only one, buddy.
A nervous laugh slips out before I can stop it, my fingers fidgeting with the one flimsy shoe. “Well, first off, these are the only shoes I’ve got. And second… I’m really sorry, Rick. It won’t happen again, I swear. I know I’ve been late too many times, and I —”
He raises a hand, cutting me off. “Adeline, you’re a great employee, and I appreciate your hard work. But we can’t keep overlooking the lateness. It messes up the flow here and puts strain on everyone else,” he says firmly, but his sigh carries that worn-out disappointment I’ve gotten all too used to.
I really am sorry, Rick.
“You’re right, Rick. I apologize for the disruption. I promise I’ll make every effort to be more… punctual from now on,” I say, my eyes desperate and practically begging him for another chance. I try to sound convincing, like I’m sure I can somehow make everything work out. But in reality, I know I can’t promise what he needs. Not really.
“I hope so, Adeline. We need you to pull through, but we need consistency, too. This is your last chance, okay? No more of these incidents or running in late. It’s gotta stop.” His expression softens a little, and that look of pity reappears, making me flinch.
“I’ll fix the tardiness, I swear,” I say, swallowing hard. “But these are the only shoes I’ve got. I mean… honestly.”
He nods slowly. “I understand that, but I can’t afford to have unreliable employees, so fix it Adeline,” he says.
He has given me way too many chances, and I’m thankful for that. I know Rick doesn’t particularly want me to go, but I understand his point. I wouldn’t want me either.
I force a small nod, holding onto that tiny, dangerous shred of hope. “I’ll… figure something out,” I say, and the lie feels weak even as I say it.
“Good to hear,” he says, passing me a tray of food and drinks with a slight smile. “Now, could you please take this to table four?”
***
I’m taking an order, scribbling down a latte with almond milk and a croissant, when a hand snatches my arm and yanks me to the side. Just as I open my mouth to yell, Camille shushes me with a grin, and I narrow my eyes at her.
Camille is… well, she’s Camille. She’s one of my only friends,ever, and one of the only people I’d trust with my life, no question. I’d like to call her my best friend, but that doesn’t feel exactly right.
Because I know she has a thousand other friends who probably mean more to her than I do. I’ve often admired how easy it is for her to make friends, how it seems like almost everywhere she goes, she attracts company. She just has this magnetism I can’t quite comprehend. Something that makes her instantly likeable.
And she’s beautiful in that completely unfair, impossible way. Her long, curly auburn hair that I can’t help but stare at, and her clear blue eyes, framed by ridiculously long lashes, which have this warmth that makes everyone want to be around her. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wish, just once in a while, that it could all be as easy for me as it is for her. But then I notice her eyes boring into mine, and lighting up as usual, and I push those thoughts aside. Because for all the ways we are different, we are also the same.
“You won’t believe who is sitting at table two,” she says in a hushed voice.
I lean closer, my voice low. “Who?”
Just as I am about to look, she grips my jaw and spins my head round. “Brace yourself first,” she says with such seriousness I almost laugh.
I give a quick nod and roll my eyes. “I’m officially braced.”
As I glance in their direction, my breath gets caught in my throat. The three guys sit there, seemingly unaware of the attention they’re getting. Perhaps they’re used to it. They’re… impossible. Features chiselled like marble, hair styled to messy perfection, eyes that could rival the stars. It’s almost annoying, really. I’m not even exaggerating. It’s as if they’ve walked straight out of a dream, or one of those nineteenth-century, Victorian-era books. Their beauty is completely otherworldly. It’s impossible and simply unfair that anyone could look like that.
“That’s Liam Grey, Will Carson and Christian Ryder. They’re likesuperfamous! They go to Brentwood by the looks of it,” she says, clearly unable to contain her excitement as she looks at me with utter joy.
