Hey guys! I'm excited about this story! I really like this plot. This first chapter is just a little bit for you guys to read and see how you like it. It's not that long but the chapters will get longer. Read and review, review, review PLEASE! I need ideas, thoughts, and support! So here's my disclaimer.. I do not own Gallagher Girls! Ally Carter does. So here you guys go!
"What about Mark's party?" Bex's hopeful voice rang through the phone. I sighed and flicked on my left blinkers. Skillfully, I held the phone in between my shoulders as I drove.
"I have work."
"James?"
"I have work."
"Harry's?"
"No matter how many parties you name, it will not change the fact that I have work," I say, sighing in frustration.
"Just call in sick," Bex suggests. I pull into my usual spot in the QuikMart parking lot and turn off the car. My spot is ideal; right in front of the store so that it doesn't take long to get inside if it's raining or I'm late. But it's also right underneath a big tree so that if it's hot out, the car stays cold in the shade. There is a sign in front of it on the curb that clearly states that it is for Employees only. It took me months to earn this spot as rightfully mine. Months of getting here early to claim this spot, beating people out for it, and making sure other coworkers didn't park here.
"No. I finally made it to manager and if someone sees me at a party, they'll rat me out for sure. And plus," I say as I step out of my car into the hot, California sun, "It's immorally wrong." I push my sunglasses down over my eyes only to push them back up again as I step into the air conditioned store.
"Yeah well it's also immorally wrong to ditch your best friend. On a Friday night. When you should be out partying," Bex spoke the words slowly as if trying to make me understand.
"Take Macey with you. I'm sure you guys will have a blast. Now I got to go."
"Macey's parents took her on a surprise trip to Paris. They left on they're jet an hour ago." I rolled my eyes. Macey's parents were super rich. Like Daddy Warbucks rich.
"Fine. Then take Liz but I have got to go." I hung up on her without waiting for her response and slid my phone into the back pocket of my khaki shorts, putting it on mute. Usually I didn't work Friday's but Jen got sick and I had to cover for her. Being the manager and all, I was usually the first to be called in for extra time.
"Hey boss," I say to Mr. Henry back in the employee break room. He looks up at me and greets me with a pleasant smile.
"Good morning Cameron." His loud, nasally voice filters through the room, bouncing off all the walls.
"Cammie," I correct.
He smiles again.
"Of course. My mistake. Cammie." His pudgy belly jiggles under his shirt as he looks around the room, spinning in a slow circle. I have no doubt that he's looking for something he's misplaced.
"Need help?"
"No, no," he mutters, his eyes flickering from the desk to the shelves. "I just can't seem to find your apron." I reach behind me and pull the apron off of the hook where I had seen it when I walked in.
"Found it," I say as I pull the apron on over my green polo work shirt and tie the string in the back with deft fingers.
"Very good, very good dear. Now since Lucy is on her maternity league, we got in a new employee today." Mr. Henry flips open a binder sitting on the desk and loose pages flutter out onto the ground. He doesn't notice so I crouch down and pick them up, knowing he'll lose them if I don't. Mr. Henry continues talking, "His name is escaping me right now, but I'm sure he can tell you. I sent him to the dairy aisle. We got in a new shipment of cheeses and milk." I nod and thank him before briskly walking out of the room and making a beeline for the dairy aisle.
I hated newbies. Not necessarily the person themselves, but I hated how they would come in knowing nothing. They get they're grubby fingers over things that I had made perfect in this store and change it. Here's a quick fact about me.
I'm a perfectionist.
No doubt about it. If it's not my way, it's the high way. People get freaked out walking into my room. Not because of how messy it is, but because how everything is in the exact right spot at all times. Oh and another quick fact about me.
I'm stubborn.
As in so stubborn I really don't know how I have friends. But somehow I do and I have three of the best friends in the world. And the craziest friends in the world. They couldn't be more opposite. Bex was the fiery, tough British girl all the guys are intimidated of. Liz was the quiet, southern girl who was smarter than a calculator. (Yeah we tested it out- she can answer math problems .4 seconds quicker than a calculator can.) And Macey was the rich, runway model who traveled to more countries than Renee Richardson's number of freckles on her face. (Renee has 102 freckles on her face. It took us almost a full study hall to count them.) If you want to know about me? Well I could describe me to you in one word. Average. I'm not smart, but not stupid, not gorgeous but not ugly. I'm not the president of any clubs, or the most popular girl in school, but I am far from a loser. Macey or Bex right now hold the most-likely for Homecoming, and Liz is holding the place for Valedictorian. I'm just their best friend who everyone knows but hardly is ever talked about. And honestly, I really don't mind it that way.
I turned into the dairy aisle, stopping short at the sight before me. The newbie was carelessly restocking the shelf with cheddar and American cheese. To any other employee, they would have thought he was doing a good job. But no. Not for me. He wasn't separating the cheese piles. Just tossing them onto the shelf, mixing the two together. And he wasn't wearing gloves. I felt my hand twitch at my side and I took a deep breath before walking over.
"What are you doing?" I can't help myself from spitting out the minute I'm over there. He looks up at me and then back down to the cheese shelf. In my frustration, I can't help but notice what a pretty shade of green his eyes are.
"Unloading this cheese," he says in a tone that says it should be obvious. I role my eyes and my foot begins to tap impatiently.
"I can see that," I retaliate. "But why aren't you separating the cheeses?" I ask slowly, trying to get his impossibly slow brain to process what I was saying. A smirk appears suddenly at the corners of his mouth which makes me cross my arms angrily. He stands up slowly, getting taller and taller until he looms over my small figure. He brushes his hands off on his pants and sticks one out to me. Gross. Still, I take it and shake it.
"The name's Zach," he says. I notice his confident posture and the way his eyes sparkle a certain way as he looks down at me. He shoves his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels. The smirk on his face finishes off his look, and he's practically dripping of cockiness.
"I didn't ask you for you're name. I asked you why you weren't separating the cheeses. The colors are too similar and if someone buys the wrong cheese, it's on you. The cheddar should be on the left and the American should be on the right." He blinks once, twice.
"It's cheese," he says slowly, looking at me like I was crazy.
"I know it's cheese!" I sigh in frustration as I throw my hands into the air. "But it's still important. Everything's important to keep a business moving smoothly. All of this is in the packet that Mr. Henry should have given you." Truth be told, I worked hours on that packet for Mr. Henry. It was basically a guide of the way things should be done around here. So that way there is no confusions. No mix ups. All I had to do was tell Mr. Henry about my idea and he agreed automatically to give them out to all newbie's.
"You mean this thing?" Zach pulls a folded up, ripped packet out of his pocket and opens it up, revealing mysterious stains on the front cover.
"Yes, that thing. Did you read it?" I say, looking at the ripped up packet disdainfully. He laughs, as if this is a joke. I scowl at him. His brows furrow at my scowl.
"You really wanted me to read this whole thing?" he asked, shoving it back in his pocket. I cringe at the sound of the packet crinkling. All that hard work, just for it to be shoved back into a newbie's pocket without a second glance. I don't think so.
"Yeah, I wanted you to read it. And you are going to read it," I say forcefully. He just smiles, amused, and looks down at me. For a moment he doesn't say anything. "What?"
"You're kind of cute for an up-tight bitch." My jaw drops and my face immediately flushes as I feel my blood boil.
"And you're really stupid for a cocky bastard," I fire back. "Read the packet!" I practically yell. "And put on sanitary gloves too!" With that I spin on my heel and start to march away.
"Okay, Princess," he calls after me. I hear the amused note in his voice and know that he's just trying to get to me. My back is turned to him but I can imagine him smirking as he says the words. I nearly lose it. So I take a few deep breaths and calm down. But as I turn out of the aisle and head to the cash register, I can't stop thinking one thing. Shit, he got the last word.
Liz was smart. But not just smart; she was a genius. At the age of seven she was in Pre Algebra and by the time she was in middle school, she was doing college math. The school had to bring in a college professor to come in during her math period. But part of why she was so driven was because she always had a competitor. Jonas Anderson was always right behind her, just a little behind, making her drive to stay ahead. As long as she could remember, he had teased her and aggravated her, making her hate him. Jonas was friends with Grant; Bex's boyfriend and Cammies brother so she had to put up with seeing him around all the time. They had never been friends; she had called him her "archenemies" to her friends. So when Bex called and asked her if she wanted to go out to a party, the first question out of her mouth was,
"Is Jonas going?" Bex sighed over the phone, annoyed with the constant banter going on between the two of them.
"How should I know? But does it really matter, Lizzie? You guys aren't six. If you don't like him, avoid him. It's really that simple," Bex says, the sound of her car radio playing in the background. "And plus, you don't really have a choice, because I'm already in your driveway."
"What?" Liz jumps up off her bed a runs to her window, peeling back her curtains. Her parked car is sitting in the driveway, Bex in the driver's seat. She looks up and waves at her, smirking to herself.
"Now let's go, we're wasting valuable party time," Bex orders. Liz sighs, giving in. She really had just wanted to stay home and study for her tests on Monday.
"I hate you," she grumbles.
"I know." Bex smiles. "Now put something nice on. That blue shirt you got for your birthday is cute." With that, Bex hangs up without a goodbye and turns her radio up, knowing Liz will be down soon.
"I think I see Bex and Liz over in the kitchen," Grant's loud voice reaches me over the pounding music. The familiar smell of alcohol and sweat surround us. Bodies swarm through the house like a bee nest. James Walker always throws the best parties. And his house is right on the beach, making it a great party spot. People are also scattered across the front lawn and along the beach in his backyard. We head over to the kitchen and it takes us a minute to spot them. Finally, we see them and make our way over. They see us to and I watch Liz role her eyes when our eyes meet. This makes me laugh, making her even more annoyed. We push our way over to them.
"Hey babe," Grant says, slipping his arm around Bex's waist and pulling her close to his side protectively. He will never admit it but he is a big softie on the inside. He watches out for Bex all the time, and when it comes to Cammie, he's like her dad.
"Hey," I say to Bex and Liz. Liz looks away, acting like she doesn't hear me but Bex smiles and nods in acknowledgment.
"Where's Cammie?" Grant asks, his eyes scanning the crowd for her.
"She's at work," Bex says, her tone of voice making it clear that she was not happy with this. Grant laughs and shakes his head.
"She's always working," he says. "I swear she spends more time there then anywhere else."
"You're wrong," I pipe in, "She spends most her time at the soccer field." Everyone nods in agreement. Bex and Cammie have played soccer together since they could walk. That's how the two met; I've heard the story too many times. As they grew up, Bex was always the goalie and Cammie was center forward. As their close friends, Grant, Liz and I always sat in the stands, cheering them on every game. And then of course attended all the after parties.
"Grant, I want to go dance," Bex says, starting to walk towards the mass of bodies swaying in the living room.
"Okay, see you guys later," Grant says to us, following after her obediently. Immediately the air surrounding Liz and I becomes stiff and tense. Awkward even. She picks at her nails, biting them from time to time. It's a nervous habit that I've noticed she's always had. I shift my weight to my other foot.
"I'm going to get a beer," I tell her. "But I suggest you don't." She looks over at me, scowling.
"Why?" she demands to know. We can barely hear each other over the music so I grab her tiny wrist and pull her through the busy crowd. We step outside into the backyard and begin walking to where the beach starts, moving away from the crowd. It's not that much better, but we can hear each other clearly now.
"I don't want to completely rob you of your innocence, and ruin your reputation as the good-girl." Her scowl deepens.
"I am definitely not a good-girl," she counters. I know it will make her mad, but I can't help it and I crack a smile. This sends her into a fury.
"Where's the keg?" she demands, spinning around looking for it. "I want a beer. Get me a beer." I laugh again and grab her shoulders, stabilizing her.
"This bad-girl act is cute. Really, it's adorable. But cut it out. You don't need to do stuff you're not comfortable with just to one-up me," I say. She roles her eyes.
"I'm not trying to one-up you; I'm trying to prove them I am not a goody-two-shoes." Her tone is sharp which makes me cringe slightly, but not enough for her to notice. She really is beautiful. The light from the bonfire to the right of us made her blonde hair look flaxen, and her skin seems to glow. Yeah, I know I sound stupid.
"Oh please, you have not done a bad thing in your life." She crosses her arms over her chest and cocks her hip, getting ready to argue her point.
"I have too."
"Name one." I watch as her mind reels, thinking back on all the things in the past that might have been considered bad. Something seems to click in her mind and she smiles, satisfied.
"Sophomore year, Professor Hall gave me his keys to his lab. Instead of using them for school-related-purposes only, I snuck in Johnny after hours. And we made out," she says. Her tone is strong and confident, but you can see the slight blush on her cheeks and the guilty twitch of her eye. Still, I raise my eyebrows, impressed.
"Impressive," I compliment.
"I know. Now where's the damn keg?" she asks again, insistent.
"Don't get drunk," I order her. "Because then I'll be stuck dragging your sorry butt home and explaining to your parents why you're wasted."
"My parents are out of town for the weekend. Business meeting." For any teenage girl, this would be great news. But Lizzie's parents were always gone on business, never home to spend time with her. And even when they were home, they were shut up in their studies, typing away on their computers. I had seen it first hand. Of course I had only met her parents once or twice, not just because they were always away, but because Liz hated me. It was no secret and she didn't try to hide the fact. But who could blame her? I was always teasing her and getting on her nerves about everything.
I sigh. "Alright Liz, I really don't care. Do whatever you want." I let go of her shoulders and she smiles.
"Good. Now come teach me how to use the keg," she demands before spinning on her heel and walking away quickly.
"Kegs in the other direction!" I call after her. Her head snaps back around.
"I know that!" She yells before turning back around and taking an unsure step in the other direction. I laugh before following after her.
Cheese. It was just cheese, but yet she acted like it was the end of the world. She was sassy, she held her own and she was gorgeous. Not Megan Fox gorgeous, but she had an understated beauty. Her long, toned legs went on for miles, and even with the green work smock on, you could tell that girl had curves. She definitely played some sort of sport to get like that. It looked like she spent a lot of time out doors from the dark color her skin was tanned. I remember that her hair was thrown up in a ponytail, an extra holder on her wrist. And even though she probably had just thrown it up, it couldn't have looked more perfect.
Even though I had only met her once, and she spent that time yelling at me, I wanted to meet her again. Mr. Henry kept me busy the rest of my shift, so I didn't get a chance to see her again. I didn't even know her name. But I did know that I couldn't wait until my next shift when I would get to see her again.