Who I Once Was (Book Three in the 'Small Town Girl' Series)

Chapter One: Girl Meets Five Years Later

A person's name is their identity. It's what makes them who they are. And yeah, you can share a name with a person, only your name is used in a context that's specific to you. Like introducing yourself to the people that are going to change your life forever...

"Isaiah Babineaux and Skipper Jackson from Austin, Texas." Zay gestured towards Lucas.

"What are you two doing here?" He asked, dryly.

"Well first is waitin' for a better reaction from you."

"Maya, something's changing." The brunette girls aid.

"Ok, Teach. Where do we sit?" I asked. 

Or meeting the love of your life.

"Farkle Minkus." He said, extending a hand to me. I shook it.

"Skipper Jackson."

"I like your name. It's weird like mine." I smiled.

"Thanks, Kid. I like your name too." He returned a goofy smile.

"You're pretty." I raised my eyebrows.

"Um...Thanks. I'll see you later...Farkle." I said, patting his shoulder.

"Bye...Skipper."

But the biggest name drop I have had to date...is the day I graduated High School.

"Skipper Jackson." I walked across the stage, smiling as my father's camera flashed and my friends and boyfriend applauded from their seats. That was the day that my name meant the most to me...because it could've meant anything.

Up to this point, Skipper Jackson was a cheerleader. A model student, a friend, a girlfriend, a daughter. But now that High School is over?

Who knows who Skipper Jackson is going to be?

~~~FIVE YEARS LATER~~~

"Listen here, " The woman grabbed my name tag, her eyes violently skimming the name printed on the plastic, "Skipper! I ordered a triple caramel macchiato and this is only a double, I'm not stupid! I can taste the difference!" 

"I'm sorry Ma'am,' I said, "But a triple caramel macchiato is just three pumps of caramel which is exactly what I gave you. I followed the recipe to the letter, and I'm afraid you relying on your taste buds is not enough to get you your coffee for free, a Starbucks gift card, or anything of the like!" 

"I'd like to speak to your manager." She snapped. I offered her a fake smile.

"One moment, let me go get him." I turned around, walking into the back towards the office, and letting the fake smile fall from my face.

This was never part of the plan. I went to Stanford University, an incredible school. I was studying education, I was going to be a teacher, teaching students, shaping their lives, but instead...

I should've known it was going to happen. My life at this point is just a string of tragedies, so I should've known that I wasn't going to grow up and live in a world full of sunshine. It was my Math Education professor.

I discovered quickly once I got to college that I am a decently attractive person, and therefore I attract a lot of attention, which included Professor McCallister.

"Skipper, can you come see me in my office when you get the chance? I need to have a word with you."

The rest of the day after that is a bit of a blur, because all I can remember was the event that ruined everything.

I was sitting in one of the chairs in front of his desk, and he was leaning on his desk directly in front of me.

"I know you're struggling in my class, Skipper. Here at Stanford, all we want for our students is for them to succeed, so I want to help you do that."

"That would be so great," I told him, "Its true, my grades are slipping. Math is one thing but learning how to teach math is completel different-"

My words were cut off by his mouth on mine. It was rough and he tasted like black coffee. The idea almost made me throw up in my mouth. I shoved him off of me, slapping my hand to my mouth and looking up at him with tears in my eyes. His smirk turned into a glare.

"I told you, Skipper. I'm trying to help you. With out some...extra credit, you aren't going to be able to pass my class." He slid his hand up onto my knee, slowly trailing it up my thigh. "I just want you to succeed Skipper. Don't you want to do well? Don't you want to be a teacher and mold young minds?"

Needless to say, I punched him in the face. But even with having done that, I was traumatized. There was no way I could face being in school and seeing everyone stare at me and whisper about the girl who almost got raped by a professor. So I reported him to the proper authorities, to make sure he would never do this again, because I guarantee he'd done it before, and I dropped out to take classes online.

I just graduated, finally equipped to be a teacher so I can quit this crappy job and do something I'm actually passionate about!

"Jason," I addressed the manager, "We've got another customer trying to scam their way into a free coffee." He shot me a look.

"Were you at least cordial this time?" He asked.

"Yes!" I said defensively. "I am always cordial! You just choose to believe the story of the customers instead of what actually happened!"

"The customer is always right, Skip. The sooner you learn that the easier both of our lives will be." 

"Don't call me Skip." I said. He raised his eyebrows.

"I'm paying your bills. I'll call you whatever I want...Skip." He stood up, walking out of the office, and I rolled my eyes, following him. "What seems to be the problem here?"

"Your incompitent employee screwed up my order and then refused to own up to her mistake." Jason shot me a look.

"She ordered a triple Caramel Macchiato, which is what I gave her, but she insists that it doesn't taste like its enough caramel and demands she get her coffee for free for the mix up."

"What happened to the customer's always right?!" She shouted. "Does this establishment have no concept of customer service!" 

"Do you have any concept of what the word service means?!" I exclaimed. "A service is something that I am volunterrily doing for you. There is nothing preventing you from buying a gosh dang coffee machine, and making it yourself, but I dedicate my hours to making coffee so you don't have to, and it is not your right to treat me like dirt because you don't want to cough up a dollar nintey-five-"

"That's enough, Skipper!" Jason yelled. "That's strike three, you're out of here!" My eyes widened.

"What?" I asked. "Your firing me?!"

"I ahve told you repeatedly that you cannot scream at the customers-"

"I didn't sign up to be a doormat! I signed up to be a Barista! Maybe you should actually do your job and stand up for your employees!" I shouted back. At this, all of the Baristas behind the counter began applauding, and I guestured to them. "There's the evidence right there. Maybe I'm not the one who should be getting fired."

"Get. Out." He growled. I glared at him, yanking off my apron and visor and dropping them at his feet.

"With. Pleasure." I went into the back room, grabbed my stuff and walked back out, climbing over the counter and walking out the door. I've never felt more triumphant.

That feeling of triumph quickly faded when I realized that I was now unemployed.