Nothing in life is free. Someone, somewhere will have to pay in someway. This applies to a little thing called Love. Whoever said love doesn't cost a thing must have been insane, because to Natasha Flagg and Shane Grey, it may be the most expensive thing.
Natasha's Point Of View
"...Natasha! Order up!"
My head shot up from resting on my forearm, the hopes of getting at least a two-minute break completely ruined. I swept the room for the usual crowd of people sitting in the restaurant. Only about ten or twenty relatively old customers eating their early dinner in peace. The place was kind of dead at the moment, but that's only because it's the hour before our busiest rush of people pouring in for dinner after work.
Seriously, why couldn't they do the normal thing and pull up to a drive thru? It would've definitely save me the trouble of weaving in and out a maze of tables, taking orders with a fake smile I could miraculously poof up at that very second.
I mean, being a waitress was a pain, but I dealt with it. I chose not to go to college after high school. It was a personal decision, but it wasn't set in stone until my father died just months before graduation. I felt obligated to take care of my mourning mother since she was so in love with him. Giving up my college tuition to pay for his funeral was not a big deal.
It wasn't. At least not to me.
It's not like I had dreams of being something other than some low-wage worker in some dinky town. Instead, I spent most of my slow-churning hours at Mahogany Cork, a somewhat fancy restaurant that is lenient on the attire worn, working to the bone from the crack of dawn to the greeting of the night sky.
What a way to live…
Or die, in my case. "Natasha! Where are you?!" That squeaky call coming from behind swinging doors was my boss, Derek. Surname: Devil. The one who never tires of dogging me about orders that clearly someone else nearby can handle. Yet he's also the one who signs my paycheck, so there's some balance in there somewhere.
"I'm coming, Derek…" I groaned while lazily pushing myself out of one of the comfy, crescent-shaped booths hidden in the back of the restaurant for the special VIP customers. Those kinds of tables weren't mine to wait on. My designated area consisted of the never-ending stream of people bound to come in sometime soon. While readjusting my plain, but velvety, red skirt for my uniform appearance, my feet took me toward the dangerous swinging doors.
One would think those doors were padded with a quilted cushion that matched all of the waiters' uniforms for decoration. But the truth of it was the pads stitched to the doors with gold thread were simply there to prevent any head-slamming accidents that could pin the restaurant with any liabilities. Oh, of course. Derek was just looking out for us.
"Natasha, these plates need to go out to table four." Speak of the Devil. "And while you're out there, table eight needs drink refills, table one has kids that are bothering table two, and table six have been waiting for someone to take their orders."
"Sure, Derek." Just like that, I complied to his demands. While I struggled balancing two wide trays full of food, he just stood there, not offering at all to help. Instead, to make it look like he was actually busy, he began folding and rolling eating utensils into cloth napkins. It took a lot out of me to bite my tongue and forget to mention how difficult it must be for him to not do any real work.
On my way out of the kitchen, I hid the severe rolling of my eyes. The plates clattered against each other from being overlapped to save some space as I strolled down the wide aisles. Countless hands vaguely rose in the air, motioning for attention even if it was clearly obvious that I was already busy waiting on another table. Back and forth, I was tugged for orders, to repeat today's specials, to fetch the bill, to collect barely touched food, and other monotonous chores. It was only two hours into the busy part of the night, and I was already spent.
I held my plastered smile until I made it to the complimentary bar in the side of the restaurant. There sitting without a care in the world, feet propped up on the nearest stool and hands cradling the back of her head, was Charlie. "Tonight's pretty busy, right?" She tilted her head to the side to inspect the place. My lower level of tables had every seat filled while her assigned tables were empty. No doubt would the only job she would receive tonight was to wipe those tables clean of the dust that was collecting on the tabletops.
"You have no idea, Charlie." I knocked her relaxed feet off the stool and took a seat for the first time since my five-minute nap. "But at least I know I'll get some tips out of all of this. More customers mean more pocket change."
"That's the spirit, Shay." Where she got that nickname, I have no idea. But it's grown on me. "Keep thinking of it that way. Before you know it, it'll be time to close up and head home."
I half smiled at her optimistic statement. "Right. Home."
"NATASHA!"
My hand slapped my forehead and dragged down my cheek, accentuating the frown that crept onto my face. With a little facial exercise, my tip-persuading smile was back on. I hoped my straight posture could convince Derek that I was pleased to see him come from behind the bar, even though he didn't look too happy to see me. "What's up, boss?"
"What, dare I ask, are you doing?" He rose a stern eyebrow.
My gaze shifted from side to side, slightly confused since it was visibly obvious what I was doing. "Nothing..."
"I don't pay you to do 'nothing.'" He held out a white cloth and crumb scraper. He couldn't be serious. But of course, he shook the objects in midair, insisting I knew what to do with them. "Table three."
I easily grabbed the white cloth, but I willed for my hand to take the crumb scraper. What a lowly chore it was to spend twenty back-breaking minutes picking off every single bread crumb on the tablescape. If I were to leave even one speck on the table, Derek would notice and scold me for not doing the job right. So it was either a spotless tablecloth or a sit-down lecture. And what kind of sane person would choose the second option?
I trudged to the not-so-far table over by blinded windows and knelt onto one of the seats to get a better reach of things. My eye caught the full moon out through the blinds and I found myself sinking into a fully seated, and comfortable, position. The stars shone through bushels of tree branches, like little night lights in the dark sky. The leaves shook in the light breeze created by the few passing cars. Most of which belonged to the wealthy social class of the economy, since no one of the lower class could afford the pint-sized portioned food served here.
The vision of it all lulled me into a dream-like state, something that crossed my path frequently.
Summer. What a bust.
I couldn't believe I actually spent my summer in a restaurant, working my butt off until the day's end. And for what? To survive on a paycheck that barely made it past minimum wage and lousy tips from stingy customers who refused to follow the server's tradition of fifteen percent. I could've been loading my bags into a car that was headed for college, but no. Instead, I was loading dirty dishes into a massive dishwasher that didn't do too good of a job for what it was worth.
"Natasha! Tables!" As usual, Derek's irritating squeaky voice brought me back down from my moment of peace. I rolled my eyes from behind the safety of the tablecloth before whipping off the bread crumbs and food remnants. My hands placed themselves on my hips as I huffed with accomplishment. There. That wasn't so hard, now was it?
My hands clapped together to remove any sticking crumbs on my palms and pulled out my handy pad and pen, more than ready to take a stream of orders from the dinner rush. I sped through table after table, listing the chef's specials and doing the best I could to make the customer feel welcome. Even if they did come off as snobby people who were ungrateful of the service.
"Shay!" Charlie whispered behind me, but I kept my smile on and glanced at my currently full table. "You have to help me!"
"Not now, Charlie." I whispered through clenched teeth. "I'm busy."
"Please?" She dug her elbow into my spine rather than into my side. I held back my painful grunt.
"If you will excuse me..." I bowed my way out, dragging Charlie along with me. She tripped and stumbled over the legs of chairs, all the while apologizing to each and every person. We managed to make it behind the area where the dirty dishes were collected. "Thanks, Charlie. You just gave the table I was waiting on a reason to deduct my tip." I tip toed over the mountain of plates to find the couple I was serving with slight stink eyes and shaking heads.
"I know. I'm sorry." She lamely apologized. "But I just got my first set of customers of the night."
"Yeah, so?" To make my time more productive, I began to roll up eating utensils in cloth napkins before we ran out. "Am I supposed to congratulate you or something?"
"They're famous people!" She exclaimed in a hush voice. "You know, like people from the red carpet!"
"Big whoop." I shrugged my shoulders. "We get rich people in here all the time, Charlie. You know that."
"But they're celebrities, Shay." She emphasized the word as if it's supposed to mean something. "Celebrities."
"There's a point to this whole thing, right?" I rolled up my sleeves and pushed back my lifeless, pin straight, jet black hair before digging into a plastic bucket full of ice. I risked the frostbite feeling to reach for the fork that I idiotically dropped a second ago. "Because I'm busy, Charlie. And my shift's almost over, so..."
"You know how star struck I get, Shay. I'll be like a deer caught in the head lights in front of them." She widened her green eyes at me while hysterically running her hands through her red hair. "Come on. Please?" She let loose her pouty expression to lure me in.
Unfortunately, I was too easy to persuade. "Fine." I threw my last rolled up bundle into a drawer underneath the table. "But only with the food. You have to take their orders first. It'll look awkward if I'm just standing there beside you."
"But Shay-"
"But, nothing." I collected a number of plates and tucked them under my arm to make it seem like I was exiting the area with a finished task. "I'll be waiting my tables. I can feel the tips slipping through my fingers as we speak." I swung my arm in the direction of her assigned booth tables. "Your customers await you, Charlie. Don't want to keep them waiting."
"If anything goes wrong, Shay, I swear." She shook her head to prepare herself for what's to come.
"You'll be fine." I reassured her as I walked backwards with a mental GPS of where to turn at the right time without bumping into anyone. I'd been working at this restaurant for so long, I knew which chair had a missing screw or a scratch on the leather cushion. Without breaking the conversation, I placed the new plates on a recently cleaned table and readjusted everything. "As long as you breathe and speak, you'll be fine. Oh, and don't trip or anything like that." I mocked her.
She scowled at me, but like clockwork, she tripped over the two steps onto her platform of tables. She glared at me even harder, but I just rose my hands up in defense. I spun back around and pulled out my trusty pen and pad of paper. I slightly bowed to the man of the table. "Good Evening, again. Would you and the miss like to order now?"
"Ah, yes. I would like to order the chi-"
CRASH
Like a reflex, my hand slapped my forehead and I shut my eyes firmly. Afraid of what I was going to see, I hesitantly opened one and found poor Charlie on the floor with broken plates and food all around her. Her mouth could've caught a fly from being wide open in shock. The full booth of people were snickering and chuckling at their personal entertainment, which made me hate celebrities even more.
--
"Oh, ew." I picked out a string of cheesy pasta out of her hair and threw it aside. I sat on top of a kitchen counter while she held a strong frown on her face in front of me. "I told you to be careful, Charlie. What happened?"
"I could've sworn that guy was hitting on me. Or flirting with me."
"Are you kidding me?" I cocked my head forward and stared at her skeptically. "You barely said a word before you made a mess of things. How could he possibly have hit on you in that short amount of time?"
"I'm telling you." She blew a puff of air upwards to shoo away loose strands of hair. "Deer caught in the head lights." She lifted her index finger to point at herself. "But thanks for helping me the rest of the night, Shay. I owe you."
I chuckled. "Give me your tips and we'll call it even."
"How about I'll cover one of your shifts sometime this week? I need the money anyway." She completely ignored my suggestion by replacing with one of her own.
"No way." I fervently shook my head and denied her offer. "I need the money more than you do. I can't give up any one of my shifts."
"Oh, right." She guiltily dropped her head at my reasoning. "Your mom."
"Yeah, let's not talk about it." I hopped off the counter and began to walk towards the swinging door exit to avoid the developing conversation. "Let's just go collect the rest of our tips and call it a night."
"I know I've said it before, but I'm sorry about your-"
"Oh look!" I deliberately cut in and jogged for the nearest table. "Two bucks! That's a little more than I usually get from the couple that eats at this table every Thursday night." For the rest of the night, I repelled myself whenever the topic was brought up. I didn't feel like talking about it. "You didn't get much, did you? I mean, you only served one table."
Charlie exaggerated her sigh as she solemnly walked down from her platform. She held a crumpled bill in her hand. "Twenty."
"Wait, twenty dollars?" I snatched the bill from her hand and rose it up to one of the table lamps. The watermark of the President appeared, clarifying it for me. After a few seconds of examining the twenty dollar bill, I slowly handed it back to her in realization. "Oh yeah. These are rich people we're talking about here. Twenty dollars is like a dollar to them."
She slumped into one of the table chairs in disappointment. "I could've easily gotten at least thirty dollars if I didn't spill-"
"Everything?" I finished her sentence for her. It made her shrink deeper into the seat. Like the good friend I was, I patted her back. "It's okay, Charlie. But if you didn't serve those kind of people and helped me with my area instead, then I bet you would've gotten more." I dug into my apron's pocket for my tips. "Look, I got about..." I counted the numerous bills and loose change on the table in front of us. My separating motions stilled when I finished counting. "...twenty dollars."
"That's it?" Charlie sorted through my pile of tips and counted again. "Man, after all of that work, you only got the same amount that I did?"
"I guess so..." I sighed before stuffing the money back into my apron. "But tomorrow's another day." The both of us walked together to the back exit of the restaurant, towards the employee parking lot. On my way out, I grabbed my old green college sweater hoodie. One more quick sweep of the closing restaurant and we locked up.
"Are you sure you don't want a ride home? It's pretty dark out." Charlie manually unlocked her cheap Volvo by stabbing her key into car door. It didn't look too dependable to ride in.
"Um, no. It's okay, Charlie." I stuffed my fists into my sweater's front pockets and headed for the main street. "My house is the opposite way you're going. I don't want to trouble you."
She stuck her head out of her rolled down window. "You sure?" A persistent girl, she was.
"Don't want to waste your gas money, right?" I reminded her.
"Oh yeah." She grimaced at the thought. "Okay then."
"I'll see you tomorrow, Charlie. Drive safe." I waved while she followed me down the alley. She returned the wave just before driving off.
Shane's Point Of View
"...Nice to meet you." I shook her hand. "I'm Shane Grey."
"Hm." She nodded with an impressive look on her face. Clearly she was holding back a smile. "Likewise. I'm Mitchie Torres."
"So, when can I see you again?" I wasted no time in asking her. "You know, since Camp Rock's over?"
She shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know." Her grin began to broaden as she continued to play along to the whole reintroducing concept.
After spending the whole summer talking to Mitchie Torres, alleged daughter of Hot Tunes China, I didn't know what to think. I thought she was a cool girl, one that I could talk to about things that I couldn't even mention in front of my brothers. Honestly, unless we were spilling out our guts into a song, feelings were absolutely off-limits among Jason and Nate. It'd just be awkward.
Anyway, it was nice to be able to talk. Just talk. None of that rockstar, popstar knowledge in mind. The first Mitchie I met stared me straight in the eye and told me she believed I wasn't a jerk. I, for one, knew that I was, but I wasn't too eager to prove her wrong. She understood me, and I thought I knew her. That is, until I found out about her little lie that had spread like wildfire in camp.
From that moment on, I was through with her and whatever lies she managed to spark up in the duration of the three months. I didn't care if she bragged how she hanged out with The Shane Grey. She could've told the whole world how I didn't truly know who I was, and how sad and pathetic I was. Whatever. I convinced myself that a girl like her wasn't worth thinking about anymore, and became strung up on who that girl with the voice was.
But when I discovered she was the girl with the voice, I knew it. To me, it seemed like fate. It was like fate was giving the both of us a second chance to reintroduce ourselves, as the real people we were.
I laughed, but was sort of confused from her answer. "You don't know?"
"Nope." She brushed by me, flashing me her brilliant smile. "I guess we'll see each other when see each other."
"Oh really?" I turned around to watch her head for the door.
"Really." She nodded confidently. "I'll see you around, Shane Grey."
--
"Dude, she so wants me." I pointed out while handing my luggage and things to the limo driver to put into the trunk.
"Who?" Nate inquired, opening the car door from the side. "The girl with the voice?"
"Do you even know her name, Shane?" Jason lugged the rest of my things into the car before climbing into the back seat. "I mean, you do have a reputation of liking girls, but having no clue what their names are."
I glared at him while I took the bench seat along the side of the limo. Nate sat in the other passenger seat besides Jason. "Yes, I know her name." I said in a way as if it was a 'duh' statement. "Mitchie Torres." I sighed dreamily, sprawling out along the length of the seat. I layered my hands to form a pillow behind my head.
Nate slammed his head into his head rest. "Oh God, don't tell me-"
"Tell you what?" I propped myself up on my elbows and scowled at him. "Tell you that I might actually have feelings for her? Because I do."
"Sure you do, Shane." Jason sarcastically sang. "And you're going to completely ignore that she might be another money-hungry-"
"Whoa!" I firmly cut in. "She's not like that. I know she's not." My outburst caused for my brothers to shut up for once. "She's completely down-to-earth and that's what I like about her."
"And how do you even expect to build this so-called relationship?" Nate's silence didn't last to long. It was unfortunate on my part. "She probably lives in another state or something. Somewhere far way from here, from Camp Rock."
"There's always the jet." I suggested my stroke-of-genius idea. "The moment I find out where she lives, I could fly out and-"
"Stalker." Jason coughed out the name, thinking he could get by without me noticing. Oh, I noticed.
"But how do you plan to do that, Einstein?" Nate sneered. He was really starting to get on my nerves. "You didn't even get her phone number."
"Hey, I-" I was incredibly ready to bite back, but I stopped myself when I realized he was right. "Dang."
"Face it, Shane." Nate shook his head in disappointment. "You might never see Mitchie again. Forget about her."
The car began to rumble, indicating we were on the move and leaving Camp Rock officially. We were going to stay at a nearby hotel for the meantime until our manager figured out our schedule for us. "I'm not going to, and you can't make me." I fell back onto my seat and relaxed into a comfortable position. "She's the girl with the voice and she's going to-"
Suddenly, the limo came to an abrupt stop, making me roll off the seat and onto the floor of the car with a loud thud. I groaned in pain when I ricocheted off the wall of the mini-fridge door.
"What the heck was that?!" Jason questioned the situation out loud and rolled down his window.
"HEY! WATCH IT!" A girl's voice yelled. "I'M WALKING HERE! EVER HEAR OF PEDESTRIANS HAVING RIGHT OF WAY!?" There was a loud slam against the car. I assumed she pounded her hands on the car in fury. I hurriedly sat up from my fallen position to look at the window as the driver started to move again. I climbed into the seat between Nate and Jason to get a better view of the psycho chick.
Out the window, there was a girl with a hardened expression across her face, her hands tightly forming fists. I could see her hot breath huffing out of her mouth in anger, but her body was probably shaking from only wearing that thin green sweater. I couldn't see her face from under her hood and long bangs.
She was kind of creepy.
Natasha's P.O.V.
"Jerk." I muttered to the car driving by. I only had to walk a few miles to get to my house, which I've done countless times before, and now someone chose to run me over? I scoffed in disbelief. In my mind, I imagined the hilarious headline. Natasha Flagg: Death by Limo.
It took me a while, but I brushed the near-death experience off my shoulder and continued my walk home. It wasn't too far from the camp I was walking by. I would've driven home and relieved myself of walking about three miles along a gravel road, but I sold the car long ago. I needed the money to pay off whatever I could of our lake house bills.
It was a great house to live in, giving great consideration that my father built it up from scratch. We were the first to occupy the land near the lake, and I thought it was going to stay that way. But there had to be some stupid music camp built up across the other side of the water. The entire summer, I was forced to listen to their campfire songs and whatnot. They weren't exactly my choice of lullabies.
But trudged through it. That noise wasn't really reason why I had trouble sleeping at night.
As I approached my front door, ready to unlock with my keys in hand, there was a loud shatter that echoed inside. "LEAVE ME ALONE! WHERE IS HE?! WHERE'S PHIL?!"
Oh no...
I frantically made my way to the door and nervously rattled my key against the lock, frustration delaying me a few seconds. Once inside, I found pieces of glass laid out on the wooden floor. Everything in the living room was turned over, scattered, and disheveled. I slid my feet along the floor, careful not to step into any sharp shards of glass, and traveled into the other room.
I found a head floating behind the safety of my sofa. It gravitated upwards when I dropped my keys onto the counter. "Natasha?"
"Oh God, Mel." I raked my hand through my hair before pulling her up from her frightened fetal position. "What happened?"
"What happened?" She reflected the question back to me with incredulity. "I'll tell you what happened. Your mother-"
"GET OUT!" An object went flying across the room and Melanie ducked her head reflexively.
"I don't know how long I can do this anymore, Natasha. Your mom is going to kill me!" She began to gather her things on the table, some on the floor and hidden under the sofa.
"No, come on, Mel." I didn't know whether to stop her from leaving, or to get to my obviously hysterical mother. "You know I need you to watch her while I'm at work. No one else can."
"I don't know why anyone would." She touched the bottom of her lip to inspect if anything was there. "I'm leaving."
"Wait!" I mentally scolded myself for what I was about to do. I dug my hand into my purse and pulled out my bundle of tips and forced it into her hand. "Please, Melanie. My mom needs your help. I need your help."
She stared at money that I handed her before curling her fingers over it in acceptance. "I'll be back tomorrow."
"Thank you." I shot her a grateful smile before she headed out the door. The very second she did, I carefully sidled around the corner and peered into the hall.
My mom. Curled up on the floor, rocking herself insecurely with fear in her eyes. I ran over to her and rubbed her arms in assurance. A smile broke out on her face. "Natasha. You're home."
"Hi, mom." Slowly, I pulled her up from the floor and sat her down on the nearest available seat. "Did Melanie give you your medication?" She firmly shook her head 'no.' "Okay, I'll go get it. Stay put."
I wandered into the kitchen and opened a few cabinets. Pushing aside the herbs and such, I found the specific pill bottle that I was looking for. As I picked it off the shelf, I froze to the sound it made. When I brought it to eye level, I carefully read it. One every Twenty-four Hours. Her anti-depressant. It made me depressed just looking at it. When I opened the lid and poured out its contents, all that fell into my hand were five white capsules. Only. Only five pills were left.
I balled my hand into a fist and shook my hand in realization.
Better make these count.
(A/N: So... New story? It's too bad Fanfiction only allows me to choose two descriptive genres for the story. I was caught between Drama/Romance or Humor/Romance. So to satisfy my own needs, I decided to call it a Romantic Dramedy. You know, romance, drama, and comedy. Hopefully...
Do you like? It's been on my mind for a while, so I just wrote it. I don't know if it's interesting to you all, so I'll leave it up for a while. Let me know if you're interested.
Please Read and Review!)