The Last Chance (Book 2 of the Cheer Series)

Fifteen:

Rebecca (how mean am I?)

The detention class was relatively empty. The teacher sat at his desk, feet on the table, while watching a movie on his tablet. Meanwhile, the rest of the five of us, sat around, on our phones, passing notes, and relatively not obeying the rules of detention.

I look around, bored. I turn to my phone, and scroll through Instagram. I feel something hit the back of my head. I'm pretty sure it was a piece of paper. I roll my eyes.

I look where the paper landed, pick it up, look at the teacher to make sure the coast is clear, and then open the paper.

"Hey Sweetheart, I just wanted to say that I am going to get you back. You are never going to see it coming. Yours Truly, The King." I turn around, looking at the blue eyed bad boy. I narrow my eyes.

I take my own piece of paper, and write my own note:
"Hey Wannabe, Bring it on. Yours Truly and Faithfully, Queen Vix."

I smirk, and turn around. I eye Steven. He looks bored, and he is on his cellphone, playing Fortnite. I aim and throw the paper at Steven's face. He looks surprised for a few seconds, so I quickly turn around, and act innocent.

The rest of the the detention is mostly uneventful. I haven't been hit on the head with another piece of paper. Most of the time, I was eating and doing homework so I do not have to do it this afternoon. I had to excuse myself from drama practice today, and both the teachers freaked. They tried to get me out of detention, but it did not work. I was in too much trouble.

Trouble does seem to follow me everywhere. Everywhere. I walk out the detention classroom, and I'm met with empty corridors. I grasp my backpack straps tightly. I'm not afraid of Steven. Hell no. I have nothing to lose.

~~~~~~~~

The bus takes me home as usual. Some of our families are not as rich and cannot afford such luxuries as cars. Hell, I'm already working two jobs. Not that I really care, I can drive, because I drive my mother's car every so often, but the bus suits me just fine. I don't need those types of things. I may want to, just once in a while, drive to school, but I really do not need it. I really don't.

As I get home, I get changed out of my school clothes and into a black formal jeans and a black button up shirt. I slip on my high heels and I fix up my name badge. I walk to the restaurant, which is a few blocks down from my house, and check in.

"Rebecca! You're here. Grab an apron. Tonight is going to be a busy one." My manager says, and I do so.

The restaurant is already quite full, and I have to rush around to my different tables, trying to get where I need to be. It's a ton of work.

I see one of my tables has just been filled, so I walk over to it and almost trip myself, when I see who it is. It's Steven. With a girl. She is from school, one of the cheerleaders, I think, and she obviously recognizes me too, because as soon as she sees me, a snarl lines her pretty features. Steven doesn't even look at me, but when he sees her facial expression, he does, and instead of a snarl, a smirk dances across his mouth.

"The Queen is a waitress." He states, and laughs. "Oh the irony."

The cheerleader joins in, throwing out insults of her own at me, but I let their insults and harsh words fly over my head.

"Would you like something to drink? Something for the table maybe?" I ask, taking out my notepad. The two look at each other and nod. They both order, and so my torturous adventure begins.

"I did not order that!" The cheerleader states as I place her drink on the table. "I did not order the diet Coca Cola. I order the normal Cola."

She didn't. Actually. She ordered a diet Coca Cola, but the customer is always right. So, I leave the smile on my face and walk back to the kitchen to change her order for a normal Coca Cola. However, I have a feeling that she will tell me that she actually wanted the diet one, so I keep the can in my pocket. I walk back to their table and place the normal Coca Cola on the table.

"Umm... I think I actually want the diet Cola. I am on a diet. Unlike some of us." She almost snarls. I smile, insincerely, and let the insult fly over my head. I take the normal Cola off the table and put the diet Cola, from my apron's pocket, onto the table. Then, I walk away. I've already taken their food order.

I serve other tables while I wait for their food to arrive. No one else is difficult, but I have dealt with countless difficult customers. I have learnt to rise above anger, keep a smile on your face, and always, always, be the bigger person. No matter how difficult they are. They will therefore have no reason at all to call the manager, or decrease the gratuity tip.

I bring out their food. A salad, for the cheerleader, obviously, and a hamburger for Steven.

I place their orders on the table. "I hope you enjoy you food." I smile, and start to turn away, but I already know one of them is going to find something wrong. They are trying to get a reaction.

"The," I hear a pause, but I carry on walking away. What will it be this time? The bun has too many seeds? I shake my head. When customers do something along that line, our manager always says the same thing. Take it back, wait for a few seconds, in the kitchen, and then walk back out. Somehow, that convinces the customers that everything has been improved and fixed. It works.

"The burger doesn't have lettuce on it." Steven comments. Lettuce? Seriously? Who cares if their burger doesn't have lettuce on it?

"I am deeply sorry for your lettuce-less problem. I will take it back and make sure they put a lot of extra lettuce." I say, trying not to laugh. It's actually quite funny. Lettuce? Steven frowns. It's like they are trying to get a reaction out of me. I won't let them. So, I take the burger, and walk into the kitchen.

"Please give me a lot of lettuce! Like a ridiculous amount of it?" I ask the chef. The chef looks at me sympathetically.

"They want extra lettuce? Is this the same table?" The chef asks. I nod. "Righteo. Coming right up." The chef takes two huge leaves of lettuce, lifts up the burger bun, and then puts the two leaves on it. I take the plate and walk back out. I place the plate on the table.

"Enjoy your meal." I say, sounding like I mean it, but I truly don't. Idiots. I look at the table as I walk past. Steven has taken both the lettuce leaves off his burger. Typical.