The Original Bad Boy

11| Food Critic

"The original bad boy . . . calls himself a monster and knows he's a monster."

11|Food Critic

"It's all full. Can I take a seat with you?"

"Of course, Ms. Johnson."

What in the world is she doing here, though?

"Call me Eve." She plops down across from me. "I'm hardly twenty-five and you make me sound so old," she chuckles, tying her brown hair in a ponytail. None of my self-defense instructors are older than college student age, but they hold equal places for my teachers. It feels odd to call your teacher by the first name, especially the ones you have only known for a week or two.

"If you insist," I mumble.

Is there a way I can head inside the restaurant without appearing rude? I turn and lean a little, checking if the busy place settled down or not. Unluckily for me, it hasn't.

"Are you okay?" Ms. J--I mean Eve asks, her eyes scrutinized at me.

"Perfectly fine," I assure.

Her eyebrows furrow and she hands me a napkin. "There's something stuck in your hair on the side." She points to the left side of my head. What? I quickly wipe my hair and see dried blood. I dust it away quickly and blame it on the head butt I gave to Leo.

Since my teacher's right there, I can't help but say, "Thanks. Those self-defense lessons came in handy, today." She looks surprised. "I head-butted a teenage guy and came here to celebrate."

She chuckles softly before picking up the menu on the table.

"These teenagers, nowadays. Some of them really need to be put in their place," she mutters disdainfully. I can't disagree. "And where the hell are the waiters? I'm starving."

I cringe.

She's sitting at my parents' place.

"The restaurant's really busy and on top of that, there's some food critic everyone's trying to impress," I explain, feeling it to be my responsibility. "Don't worry, I'll call one over." I look over and raise a hand at one of the waiters passing by. She gives me a nod and holds a finger she'll be here soon.

"No, no, that's alright," Eve says. She leans forward and pretends as if she's about to tell me a secret. I move forward slightly, smiling a little. "Actually, I'm that food critic. Don't do anything else. I want to see how they treat me as a regular customer."

My smile weakens.

"Ah ha," I nod along.

Should I tell her this is my parents' restaurant or not? I should definitely acknowledge my parents' somehow that the food critic they're fussing over is the wrong one! We don't want our restaurant shut down! NYC is not an extremely affordable place to survive in.

"Why don't we celebrate your first time defense use together?" she suggests. "You can help even help me decide how the food quality is. What say?"

No, thank you.

"I don't think--" I begin.

The waitress, Debby, comes to us holding nothing in her hands because she knows neither I nor my close friends pay for the food here. She looks like she's in a hurry and all I want to scream at her to behave more formally!

"Can you tell me your orders fast?" Debby urges. "The restaurant is hectic."

If I can facepalm myself right now, I would.

Eve is entirely unimpressed by the service. My parents are definitely going to fire Debby for such behavior towards the real food critic. I bring it upon myself to take care of the horrid situation that has fallen.