Here chappy 4. Thanks to everyone who reviews the first 3. I am going to try to update at least 1time a week. Sorry it took so long I had a very important paper that took 1st priority over everything else and a ton of schoolwork. I'll try to update more often.
Hermione and Ron took a cab to her father's empty apartment. She packed her bag and left him a not with her new address.
Then they went to Uncle Billus' house- or space station Mars, as Ron called it- and got Ron's things. His uncle argued a little but gave in with a look of relief, as Ron predicted.
Once again, Terror Pup escorted them to the waiting cab. "That's one demented animal," the driver commented as he raced away.
"We have now spent every last dime we have," Ron commented as he and Hermione pooled the last of their money to pay the driver when they were back at the apartment.
"At least I have a job," Hermione said. "And you'll find one soon."
That night Ron pulled out the couch bed. "You're a girl you should have the bedroom," he explained.
"Isn't the sorta old-fashioned?" she asked. "I'm surprised that you'd think like that."
"Hey I'm gay," he said. "I'm not from another planet. So I have some strange ideas left over from childhood- who doesn't? Take the bedroom. The couch bed is really fine."
"We could switch each night," she suggested.
"I don't wasn't all of your girl things in my bed," he protested.
Her hands went to her hips. "What girl things?" she demanded.
"Oh, you know- all of those secret girl things you have," he said.
She realized that he was determined to give her the bedroom, and she loved that he was so sweet. She leaned across the bed and kissed him on his cheeks. "Good night, roommate, and thanks."
"Night, roomie," he called back.
That night she lay in bed, in the hot pink glow of neon light from the hotel across the street, listening to the constant murmur of the night life below and the steady crash of waves. She could hear the ocean clearly even though they were several blocks from it. She stretched and pulled down the shade so that only a line of pink shone on her covers.
Yawning, she shut her eyes and dreamed the red convertible that had been driven into the pool at her father's apartment. Only, in the dream, Ron was the driving the car into the pool and she was with him. And the pool became the ocean. The car went down and down and down. She and Ron panicked, clinging to each other in the water. Then suddenly, they realized that they could breath under water and began to swim around, feeling happier and more free than they did ever before in their lives.
Hermione's alarm rang. With a groan, she snapped open the shade and squinted against the blinding white light pouring in. once she remembered where she was, she got up and wandered into the cramped lime green living room, with it's tropical furniture. There was a note from Ron on the table: GONE JOB HUNTING. WISH ME LUCK. RW
Someone rapped on the apartment door. Hermione didn't want to answer it using only her nightshirt. What if it was Mr. Smedelinsky again? She could never say no to salespeople. If she opened the door, she might be stuck boogying al day with an ass-slapping bald geezer.
The person knocked again, louder this time.
She grabbed Ron's zip-front hoody that he'd tossed on the couch and she put it over her nightshirt. Then she went to the door and unlocked it, and latched the safety chain. "Who's there?" she asked.
"It's me Luna from upstairs," replied a female voice with a strong British accent.
Hermione opened the door a crack and looked out. A stunningly beautiful, very dark-skinned woman of about 19 or 20 stood in front of her. She was easily 6-feet tall, and slender, in cut offs and a halter-top. Her black hair was cut loose to her head and showed off the row of silver hoops that shimmered in her ears. "Greetings" she said, lifting the blender she held. "Care for a drinkie-poo?"
Hermione wondered what was in the blender. Surely it wasn't something alcoholic at this time a day. Well, maybe not so surely. The short time she had spent with her dad had taught her that anything was possible when it came to people who like to party.
"Growing old out here," Luna prodded her.
Hermione opened the door, and Luna strode in. "Hmm… do you actually fancy this lime green on the walls?" she asked doubtfully, looking around. "It could make a person's nerves all jangleish, don't you think? A bit too much relentless luminosity, if you ask me."
"I suppose," Hermione agreed hesitantly, not really sure how she felt about the bright color. Since she came to Miami she'd been struck by the colorful brightness of everything.
Luna opened the kitchen cabinet. The only thing inside was a stack of paper cups and the can of Funk-Off. "We're in luck!" she said, separating the cups and pouring the blender's contents, which turned out to be an orange-and strawberry smoothie in to them. She raised her paper cupful of smoothie into a toast. "Cheers! And here's to ridding your self of the fungus problem as well."
"Cheers," Hermione said, laughing. "There's no fungus problem that we know of. It's just a joke."
Luna suddenly roared with laughter. "Oh! Funk-Off. Just like we tell some one to sod off."
"That could be a product for removing unwanted grass," Hermione joked.
Luna didn't get it and looked confused. But then she brightened. "Oh, I see… sod! Those patched of grass you Americans are so fond of. Brilliant!"
She refilled Hermione's cup. What are you going to be doing here in South Beach?"
Hermione told her that she would be attending the University of Miami in the fall. "And I'm waiting tables downstairs until the end of summer."
"At CeCe's?" Luna asked, sounding delighted. "How convenient, and you'll just love her!"
"Mrs. Caracas?"
"Yes. CeCe Caracas is just super. She let me have a place even though I came here from England without a pound. I worked for CeCe until I got up enough money to open up a smoothie stand. Now money's not a problem."
Hermione looked at the travel clock she'd set out on the table. It was nearly eleven, and she was expected at the restaurant at noon. She thanked Luna for the smoothie.
"Ta-ta, then," Luna said. "I'm so glad we met. I do hope that we can be mates. I'll see you on the beach. That's where my stand is located."
The unexpected visit had made Hermione feel optimistic and welcome. She quickly dressed in her black Capri pants, one of her white t-shirts, and a pair of black slides.
When she got to the restaurant, it was empty except for a tall thin man in his thirties. He was setting a table and wore a white apron. His short, perfectly trimmed, receding hair and buttoned-up shirt gave him a neat -even fastidious- appearance. His movements were quick and efficient.
"Hi, I'm Hermione Granger," she introduced herself. "I'm going to start waiting tables today."
"Shall I alert the Miami Herald?" he asked sarcastically.
Hermione was about to all him there was no reason to be rude, when CeCe Caracas burst out of the kitchen, "Hola, baby girl!" she greeted Hermione. "I see you met Paulo."
Hermione nodded "Sorta," she said.
"Paulo will show you everything you need to know," she told Hermione. She handed Hermione a crisp white apron. "He is a wonderful waiter."
"Thanks Mrs. Caracas," Hermione said, fighting down the nervous jitters dancing inside of her.
"Now that we know each other, call me CeCe," she said. "Everyone does."
She went back to the kitchen, leaving Hermione with Paulo. Since she couldn't catch his eye, she cleared her throat for his attention.
"Hot sauce one on each table." He told her, still not looking at her. "Over there, and combine any that are half full."
She found the small bottles of red sauce and began distributing them. Then she went back to the kitchen to combine the halves.
CeCe was hacking chicken pieces apart with a small cleaver. "You know Cuban food?" she asked Hermione.
"No. I'm part Puerto Rican," Hermione replied. "Part Irish."
"Puerto Rican and Cuban food are different in some ways, and the same in others," she said. "To tell you the truth, I'm not really a cook. My husband was the chef, but he passed on last year."
"I'm sorry," Hermione said.
CeCe sighed. "Me too. He was a wonderful man – and a fabulous cook. Unfortunately, I didn't learn anything about cooking from him. But I try my best. I could really use someone to takeover the cooking here."
This might be the perfect place for Ron to learn, Hermione thought. And it would be great to have him to have him to laugh with. She couldn't imagine herself doing much laughing with the stern-faced, sarcastic Paulo out there.
Hermione went back out with the mew bottles of hot sauce and continued to place them on the tables. Before long a man and a women came in. Paulo jerked his head toward them, motioning for Hermione to take the order.
She hurried over to the middle-aged couple. The man wore an obvious toupee and lots of gold chains. The woman was in a too tight red dress, her ample cleavage heaving forward at the neckline.
"Welcome to CeCe's Cuban Café," Hermione greeted them. "Can I take your orders?"
"We need menus," the man said in an annoyed tone.
"Yes that might help," the woman added sarcastically.
"Oh! Of course." Hermione ran up to Paulo. "Do we have menus?"
"No, we just let the customers guess at what we have," he answered dryly.
Hermione sighed, angry at her self for asking such a dumb question. "I mean where are the menus?"
Paulo pointed at the slate with the day's offerings written on it:
ROPA VIEJA (SHREDDED BEEF)
GARLIC ROASED CHICKEN
ARROZ CON POLLO (CHICKEN WITH RICE)
HAMBURGESA CUBANA (CUBAN HAMBUGER)
Hermione realized that she didn't have a pad, but how difficult would it be to remember their orders?
Another couple came in, and Paulo waited on them. He and Hermione both arrived in the kitchen together and gave CeCe the orders.
Hermione then went back to bring the couple their drinks. She had to go back because she had accidentally switched the diet with a regular Coke.
She grabbed the two plates of food that CeCe had put up on the serving shelf in the kitchen, and then hurried out with them. "Here you go," Hermione said, setting down the plates.
"This isn't arroz con pollo," the woman said, pushing the plate away.
"I'm sure that you ordered chicken," Hermione, said confused.
"I ordered arroz- rice- too!" she replied angrily. "Do you see rice on this plate?"
"No. Sorry," Hermione said, scooping up the plate and hurrying back to the kitchen with it.
"There's my roasted chicken." Paulo said. He exchanged the plate of arroz con pollo he was holding for her roasted chicken, and she rushed back to the table with it. She was moving so fast, that she didn't notice that black bean that had slipped off the plate and onto the ground.
"Yaaaiiiyyyy!" She slid along the wooden floor, the bean skidding along under her heel. Trying desperately to keep her plate up, Hermione realized that she was headed straight for her customers.
She hit the table, sending the chicken wing, rice, and black beans high into the air. Cokes splashed as she fell backward onto the floor.
The roasted chicken wing banged down on the man's head, knocking off his headpiece to the side. The chicken wing then bounced off his baldhead and landed down the front of the woman's dress, clenched tightly in place by her Wonderbra.
"I'm so sorry," Hermione cried as she climbed up off the floor.
With on hand on his fake hair, the man stormed out. His date yanked the chicken from her bosom and hurled it a Hermione before joining him.
CeCe had run out of the kitchen to see what was happening. Paulo was besides her, holding the two meals he had been about to deliver.
Hermione hurried up to them, shaking and covered with soda. "I'm so, so sorry!" she said.
Paulo turned to CeCe. "Now do you believe me?" he asked her.
"Okay, you win," CeCe replied. "I guess it's true… My chicken is a little rubbery.
Paulo scowled. "A little rubbery? That chicken bounced futher than Serena William's best serve."
"Okay, so what if your first day at work will someday be made into a disaster movie starring Ashton Kutcher and Hilary Duff?" Ron said later that day. It was about six o'clock, and they were walking along Ocean Drive on the beach side. "At least you didn't get fired."
"I think that she was afraid to come too close to me," Hermione replied. "She was probably afraid that she'd be sucked into the black hole of disaster that I had become. It didn't stop all day. I spilt things. I got orders mixed up. I even forgot to give someone that check and they left without paying."
Ron chuckled. "At least you have a job. I got laughed out of some of the best restaurants in SoBe today."
"SoBe?" she asked.
"Yes. That's what those of us who are in the know call South beach," he explained. "And now you know those of us that are in the know know, ya know?"
"I guess that I know," she agreed, laughing.
The stopped in front of a clothing store. "This place sells bathing suits."
Despite all of her mishaps, she managed to earn $30 in tips at lunch. She had no bathing suit, so she and Ron were now on a mission to find her one.
"Remember," he said as he pulled open the door to the store. "Don't pick out something that says 'Mother Teresa at the beach' all over it.
"I'm not the type of girl who has to show everything everything I've got," she insisted.
"No kidding," he agreed. I'm still in shock from your last bathing suit."
"You mean that cute suit with the knee-length board shorts and short sleeve top?"
"That's the one," he replied. The only thing missing was the little ruffled swim bonnet."
"I would have packed it but I could never find it again after that day that I wore it to Coney Island with you."
"I have a confession," he said. "You couldn't find it because I threw it in to the incinerator. I saw it on a chair in you apartment one day and just thought, What the hell. She'll thank me someday. After all, what are gay friends for, if not to save you from your worst fashion mistakes?"
"You burned my bathing suit?" Hermione cried, aghast.
"It's not like I made a bonfire and danced around it or anything. I just dumped it down the incinerator chute."
"I can't believe that you burned it," she said again. "Did you really? Are you just telling me the truth?"
"Yes, and not to worry, that's why I'm generously offering to help you pick out a new one- a much better one," he said, guiding her into the store. "Someday when I'm filthy rich again, I'll even offer to pay for it."
Inside Hermione looked trough a rack of Speedo tank suits, while Ron Brought over bikinis he thought would look good on her. After she refused the 10th bikini offering, he gave up. "Your hopless," he told her. "I'm going to go look in the men's department."
"Happy hunting," she said as he wandered off. She pushed a few more suits down the rack and picked one out, but she couldn't keep her mind on shopping. Maybe Ron was right. It was possible that her style needed a little shaking up. She realized that she was holding a black tank suit in her hand.
She put it back and went over to the two-piece rack. Pushing aside a group of hot pink and lime green string bikinis, she looked for something with a little more coverage.
After trying on four suits, she settled on a denim fabric two-piece with a halter top and board shorts.
"Perfect," Ron said, appearing form behind a rack. "I'm proud of you for showing your girlage a little." He came alongside her and leaned in close. "Don't be obvious," he said in a low tone. "But shift your drift over to the flip-flops over there."
Hermione pretended to stretch and casually glanced to the right. She froze in mid stretch.
Standing in front of the flip-flops- rack was the hottest hottie that she'd everlaid her eyes on. He was about six feet tall maybe a little taller. Broad shoulders muscled out from under a black t-shirt. His jeans weren't too tight, but were tight enough to give a truly inspiring rear view. He also had a lightening bolt-shaped scar on his forehead that only served to add to his hotness. "Whoa," she breathed out, letting her arms drop.
He turned their way as though sensing the attention they'd focused on him. Large bright green eyes took them in, and his white teeth glinted slightly when he smiled at them.
Both Ron and Hermione smiled back, dazed and confused by the brilliance of his looks. We must look like two escapees from the psycho ward, Hermione realized.
Despite that, she couldn't stop staring at him as he walked away from the flip-flops to the front counter.
"Did you see how he was checking me out?" Ron whispered.
"Dream on," Hermione disagreed. "He was smiling at me."
"Uh-uh," Ron insisted. "Gay all of the way."
Hermione watched him head toward the front door – he stopped and looked over them.
He was interested in… one of them. Be straight, be straight, please be straight, she found herself feverishly hoping as she went back to the and reconsidered the hot pink string bikini.
Well there's Harry hope that you like the chappy. I will update sometime in the next week. I only have 2 regents then the rest of the summer to update the story.
Hermione Jane Potter 14
