the slums || jj maybank

ten. fuck topper

ten. fuck topper

"Can I get you guys started with something to drink?" Another shift. She noticed the group of six boys seated around the rounded table.

"Do we look like we're ready?" the boy asked, his voice annoyed at the inconvenience that was Skye. His frosted blonde tips, blue eyes that barely glanced up at her, and salmon polo shirt said everything Skye needed to know about him. With rich people, it was never just pink—it was salmon.

She inhaled deeply, his frustration with her for doing her job aggravating her. Despite the survivalist mentality Skye had adapted, she did still grow up as a spoiled girl. And she never had to experience being degraded by someone she was probably richer than.

Skye gave a smile, putting on her customer service face. "You gentlemen just let me know whenever, okay?" She gave the sweetest tone she could muster to these boys.

He gave her another annoyed look, his face reading a "you're still here?" She didn't say anything, but simply turned and walked off.

Not five minutes later, the boy began to raise his hand. "Hello? Can't some guys get some service in this damn restaurant?"

Skye glanced towards the back, Kie giving her a look of sympathy and irritation toward the table for her. Skye inhaled, heading towards the table. She smiled.

"Sorry about that guys, what can I get for you?" Skye swallowed her attitude towards the immature boys. They were all the same; she knew exactly the type.

"We ordered drinks about ten minutes ago and still didn't receive them," the boy attempted to explain, his mouth with a hint of amusement shown.

Skye knew they were just trying to make her day a bit harder. "You know, I must've missed those. What can I get for you to drink?"

"I shouldn't have to repeat myself."

Skye's annoyance was becoming more apparent. But she knew they just wanted to get a rise out of her.

"So sorry about that," she muttered.

"Oh, we've upset the help," the boy stated, looking to his friends. He acted as though she couldn't hear him, but they all knew damn well they could. They all let out a laugh. He turned to her.

"Want me to make it up to you, baby?" another boy at the table asked, glancing her body up and down.

Skye smiled. Her tone was sweet; she concealed the pure disgust and annoyance. "Your daddy's money doesn't make you better than anyone else." Her comment was directed to the entire table. This was out of character for Skye, but she couldn't help it; these boys embodied everything she resented. Telling off guys like them was something she had always wanted to do but couldn't at home in fear of her father.

The face of boy who led the initial disrespect fell. He looked up at the girl, his eyes holding some anger and shock that the girl had the nerve to speak down to him like that; did she know who he was? "What?"

"Hiding behind your credit card," Skye elaborated, her tone still pleasant. She dragged out the words as if to help him understand better. "It's just a charade. It doesn't make you happy. You all just act like it does. So can I take your drink order or not?"

The boys face sunk a bit more. His lip fell into a tight line. "Like you would know, you dirty Pogue? I bet you don't have more than fifty dollars in your pocket."

Skye made sharp eye contact with the boy, his amusement returning; he believed he had hit Skye where it hurt. Little did he know, it wasn't the comment about the money that truly stuck with her as much as the reminder that she wasn't who she used to be. She took a deep inhale, swallowing her words that she wanted to yell at the boy. Instead, he stopped her.