Disclaimer: I don't own anything except for my OCs. Tragic, isn't it? And I'm super ultra mega sorry for it taking so long to post. I will not bore you with my pathetic excuses... but the blame fully goes on whoever decided not to have wifi at the resort I was at.
Chapter 11
Flora's POV
Two weeks later
"Order up!"
I quickly ran over to the counter. Due to the fact that I had been baking so many batches of cookies that – shocker - the newsies had become incapable of eating them all (I went a little bit stir crazy), Jack had finally let up on the injunction that kept me under lock and key in the newsie house, and told me that I needed to do something with myself. So there I was, one week later, the newest waitress at Tibby's.
"Jesus, girl, get a move on!" Trevor, the head cook at Tibby's, stood behind the counter glaring at me. I swear, if I had had wings on my heels, it would not have been fast enough for this guy. I pulled the plates onto a wide platter and set out towards table six.
"Vi!" Milena, one of the other waitresses called. I'd told everyone at the restaurant to call me Viola. Not that I didn't trust them, but I didn't want anyone slipping up. With my luck, the day one of them slipped up would be the day that Mr. Lloyd decided to drop by for a cup of coffee. Milena called me Vi, being the big believer in nicknames she was. "Jak się masz mój kochany?"
"You know I don't speak Polish," I teased, deftly popping the plates down onto the table. Milena could speak flawless English, even though she'd grown up speaking only Polish. She had a knack for languages, and the determination to learn any that she could. She couldn't be called beautiful, not exactly, but she was something better than beautiful: she was striking. Some girls, you would look at for a second, then forget their faces. Milena was someone whose image was so singular, you never quite forgot. She spoke softly, and was a very gentle soul. Being around her, after spending most of my day with boisterous newsies, was a very welcome change.
"Sorry," she shrugged, not looking very sorry at all. "Maybe you should learn. A girl can never know too many languages!"
"Alright," I laughed, finishing putting the plates down. "I'll get right on that."
She studied me, her dark eyes narrowing. "Maybe you should. It'd get your mind of that boy."
An image of David popped into my head, but I shook it out. "What boy?"
"David. One of those newsies you're so fond of." She said mischievously.
"First Elle, now you." I threw my hands up, exasperated. "Does everyone I meet have to pair me off with David?"
She just smiled calmly, which was utterly frustrating. "You clearly like each very much. And you keep making those literature references that sound romantic!"
"That doesn't make him 'my one true love'!" I swoon dramatically.
"You said it, not I."
I'm saved from making a snide comeback by Trevor screaming at us from the kitchen. "Order up, for Christ's sake! I swear, if your not here in two seconds, it will be you we're frying up!"
I can't quite hear what Milena says next, but it sounds like an impressive stream of curse words in several different languages. I bite back a smile, and go to pick up my next order.
"Buon giorno,"
"Buon giorno,"
"Il mio nome è Racetrack,"
"Il mio nome è Milena,"
"Vuoi andare ad un appuntamento con me?"
I slammed a plate down in front of Race. About half of the Manhattan newsies had claimed a table at the front of the restaurant, and Race was taking advantage of Milena's aptitude for languages.
"Don't you dare make her say anything she'll regret later!" I exclaimed. "If you're going to eat here, at least have the courtesy not to drive the waitresses crazy!"
"Oh, but he wasn't driving me crazy!" Milena said, straightening up. "He was teaching me Italian!"
"I know he was teaching you Italian," I rolled my eyes. That girl was sweeter than sugar, but entirely too trusting. "What he was teaching you to say in Italian is the issue."
Race blows me a kiss. "Caught again, sugar!"
I frown. "You know I hate that name!" The newsies had taken to calling me that after the cookie debacle. I guess Jack was right when he said I might not like the name they gave me.
He shrugged. "Why else would I'se use it?"
Milena giggled. Traitor! I readied myself to destroy them both, but was distracted by the sight that comes through the front door.
It was Jack, David and Les, looking like they'd just come back from a nice holiday in hell.
I faintly heard the rest of the newsies yelling, but everything had gone quiet in my mind. I began to run, weaving around tables, until I came to a hurdling halt in front of them.
I found my voice, and it sounded completely alien to me. "What the hell happened?"
Jack grinned, which would've been more comforting if his mouth hadn't been bleeding. "The Delancey's needed ta be taught a lesson."
I sighed heavily. I understood that the Delanceys were spectacularly horrid, but the newsies seemed to take taunting them as their raison d'etre. "Come back to the kitchen, I'll clean you up." I scooped Les up in my arms, and wove back through the tables with them following.
"Girly, you'd better not be taking them back to the kitchen!" Trevor yelled. I shot him a very unladylike gesture, and Les whistled. Some lady I was. The Mother Superior would have been horrified.
I pushed through the doorway of the kitchen, and plunked Les down on the counter. I turned to face David and Jack. "The both of you sit." They sat down on two of the crates that dotted the kitchen floor like unwieldy constellations. "Why you must do these things is beyond me! You come into my place of work and it's like you've suddenly turned into Tybalt!"
David perked up, despite the giant gash on his forehead. "Peace? Peace. I hate the word, as I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee."
I turned, searching for the first aid kit. "Yes, well I'm not feeling so charitable towards you at the moment." I retrieved the kit and kneeled in front of David. I pulled a bandage out, and began to wrap the cut on his forehead.
Les piped up. "You should be nicer. He fought the Delanceys for you!" My body froze up at his words, but my eyes flickered from the bandage to his eyes.
"For me?" I searched his eyes, looking for a reason he'd do that for me. "Why?"
Jack smiled wryly. "We ran inta dem. Started talkin' 'bout youse. Said youse were a doirty…" He paused, seemingly unwilling to say the words.
"Whore?" I filled in the gap, a sad smile playing on my lips. The look on their faces told me I was right. "Go on."
Les picked up the story's thread. "And all sorts of other nasty things. Things you shouldn't say in front of a lady."
Jack continued. "So our boy Davey slugs him. Which of course set 'em off…"
"You didn't have to do that," I hadn't broken eye contact with David since the story began. That simple action – defending me – is something no one had done for me in five years.
"I couldn't just let it happen," he shrugged, and then winced. "You're too good for them to even think about you, let alone say those things."
For the first time ever, I was totally and utterly speechless.
"Um…" I desperately searched my mind for the words that would adequately express the overwhelming… feelings that were rattling around my heart. On one hand, I was dizzily happy that he would stand up for me like I was the princess in her tower, and he was the knight in shining armor. On the other, who the hell needed a knight in shining armor? I was no swooning southern belle who needed people to fight duels on her behalf. "Thank you," I said decisively. This was an act of kindness, not something I needed to over analyze. Granted, I had already analyzed it half to death.
He smiled gently. "Anytime,"
Jack coughed dryly. "If yous two are done I's need someone ta fix me up."
I rose abruptly, blushing furiously. "Don't you worry. I'll make you pretty again!"
I cleaned both him and Les up with devastating efficiency. Apart from a few teeth knocked out of Jack's mouth, none of their injuries were permanent, thank God. I'd thought that some of the nastier cuts might need stitches, but all they really needed was bandages and some iodine. Once they weren't a sight for sore eyes, we returned triumphantly to the dining room. The newsies called out to the returning heroes, congratulating them on the "soaking", as they put it, of the Delanceys. I barely paid attention to that. What I did pay attention to was Milena, again perched on the edge of Race's chair, and learning some semblance of Italian.
"Vorrei ottenere così ubriaco non mi ricordo più il mio nome."
"Vorrei ottenere così ubriaco non mi ricordo più il mio nome."
"Oh no you don't!" I exclaimed. "Racetrack Higgins, I warned you once!"
"What was he making her say?" Skittery called. I rolled my eyes. Of course he would want to know that.
"If you must know," I sighed dramatically, really milking the moment for all it was worth. Why couldn't I have a little fun with it? "I wish to get so drunk I no longer remember my own name." The newsies whooped, Milena turned a delicate shade of magenta, and Race at least had the grace to look sheepish.
Milena drew herself up, and stormed away, uttering a stream of colourful language in several different languages. Her vast knowledge of curse words made me wonder about where exactly she picked up her languages.
"Since when do yous speak Italian, Fl… Sugar?" Kid Blink called out, quickly stopping himself from revealing my secret identity to the entire restaurant.
I scowled at him, but answered him all the same. "I wanted to read Dante, so I learned Italian from a dictionary."
David tilted his head curiously. "You know there are English translations, right?"
I shrugged. "I didn't have one at the ready, and I really wanted to read the Divine Comedy."
He looked at me keenly. "You're incredible, you know that?"
I blushed, but desperately tried to hide it. "You do know how to make a girl feel special!" I turned my attention to the rest of the table. "Now, if you aren't going to settle up your tab, I'll send you back to the kitchen, and you'll be washing dishes for two weeks!"
They all started pooling their money, and I turned my attention to that, blush (and accompanying feelings) successfully hidden.
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