(A/N: Mrs-Selene-Potter-Malfoy, xxxIhEaRtDaNcExxx, PinkSprinkles, Waywa, Annie, Jonasluver15165, Alyssa4Music4Life, ilovestarbucks, 5tarRach6330, ilovelucas4lyf, shyper-ness, JBhearter12, Feebeauty, and xXx Aazeen xXx...
I know I have already mentioned you before in my other story, but I just want to say thank you again for reviewing the first chapter. You guys are awesome.
PS: shyper-ness, don't worry about getting shot; I'll do my virtual best to keep that from happening! XD)
Natasha's P.O.V.
Beep, beep, beep...
My alarm. I swung my arm over to shut it up, almost knocking it onto the floor. I didn't even bother to look at the time since I knew very well what time it was: Time to get up, shower, get dressed, eat breakfast, walk a few miles to work, and it sort of snowballs downhill from there. There wasn't much of a positive side to the whole thing, so it didn't take much for me to give up and curl back into my wool covers. As I turned over onto my side, the bed frame underneath my mattress groaned in protest, making its old age known to me.
I fisted a great amount of my blanket and hugged it to my chest, for it was unmistakeably freezing in my bedroom. The house wasn't insulated very well, so the chilly atmosphere outside seeped its way in through the hidden, unnoticeable, cracks in the walls. The wind whistled through the minuscule gaps during the night, the dim sunlight shone through my bare windows, the tree branches incessantly tapped on the glass and formed the dark silhouettes that danced eerily at midnight.
To an normal person, my bedroom might've seemed like it came straight out of a horror movie. The kind of room that would be a choice scene for the movie's murderer to kill his first victim, immediately setting its viewers in a state of apprehension and panic. Yet, in my perspective, I admired every single frightening detail about it.
The handmade armoirs, shelves, windowsill and door frame moldings. All were created in the hands of my skilled father. He made our house literally from the ground up, with very little help. That's where I got my independence from. He was the reason why I turned out the way I was; appreciative of what I owned at the moment, never dropping to my knees and begging for help, thoughtful about being practical rather than being a spendthrift, and always willing to offer help, never vice versa.
If only I knew whether or not my attributes were...worthwhile to have.
RING, RING...
And my second alarm. It was a necessity to program a secondary alarm due to my other characteristic of not being a morning person, much like my dad. I slammed my palm on top of the back up device and blindly stumbled out of bed. For all I knew, I was sleep walking during the entire thing since my mornings were monotonous and routine. Nothing out of the ordinary and plain, almost as predictable as the clouds that rolled in daily.
Just how I liked it.
After slipping on my daily work uniform and grabbing a planned granola bar from the kitchen cabinet, I peeked into my mother's room. She was sleeping soundly and a little sedated from her anti-depressant I managed to make her swallow the night before. I felt horrible about forcing her to take her medication when she clearly didn't want to--or never wanted to, for that matter--but it was for everyone's safety. Hers, mine, and Melanie's.
Who had yet to arrive. I impatiently paced in the living room, every now and then glancing out the window for her car to make sure that maybe I was too busy muttering to myself to hear her car roll up the gravel driveway. But every single time I checked, there was no vehicle to be found.
I tried breathing slowly, taking my time inhaling and exhaling, in order to calm myself. I hated being late for my shift since it meant deducted tip and possibly paycheck, depending on if Derek was in the money-taking mood. After another long fifteen minutes of glaring at the front door to chime or knock, I sighed with aggravation, burying my face into my hands.
"Natasha?" I startled from my tense stance when my mom emerged from her bedroom, the floor creaking beneath her with every step she took. "Sweetie, what's wrong?"
"Nothing, Mom." I relaxed my shoulders. I didn't want my stressing mood to reflect back on her. The last thing I wanted was to kick start a break down before Melanie arrived. "Everything's fine."
"Did you eat breakfast?"
"Yes, Mom." I glanced at my watch for the fifth time in the last ten seconds.
"Brush your teeth?"
I turned around to hide my rolling eyes. "Mhm," I mumbled, careful not to offend her. She had developed a case of being highly sensitive to everything, so I had to choose my words with caution whenever I spoke to her. One wrong word or phrase could set her off into hysteria. "Mom, you should go back to sleep. Melanie isn't here yet." I waved my hand, hopeful that she'll take the hint from the sheer blow of air I gusted at her.
"Melanie?" Her tired age started to reveal itself when she furrowed her eyebrows, several wrinkles forming on her forehead. "The nice girl who helped me with my photo albums?" At times, when her mind wandered off and her actions were uncontrolled, she usually forgot completely what occurred during that time. Evidently, she didn't remember throwing one of those thick albums across the living room floor.
"Maybe." I shrugged. I guided her back into her bed and she willingly obeyed, all the while smiling at me. "I don't know, Mom. I wasn't around." As soon as the hurtful words left my throat, I quickly added, "I was at work."
She remained silent as I tucked her back in, pulling the covers up to her neck. She still held that smile. "You know what?"
"What?" I tried to return a grin without showing any amount of sympathy in my eyes.
Her hand escaped from underneath the wool sheets and reached up to cup my cheek. "You remind me so much of him." My eyes blinked incessantly from the sudden distress on my heart.
My mouth delayed to fall open, the words difficult to form on my tongue. "Of who, Mom?" I played along for her sake since she looked so pleased to be telling me this fact, even though I already knew who she was talking about. The hard part of it was, I didn't want to be reminded of it or even hear it.
"Oh," she weakly laughed. "You look so much like your-"
DING DONG!
She probably said his name--I saw her mouth move with articulation--but my mind forced me to tune it out with the door chime. I choked back my relieving sigh. "That must be Melanie." Gently, I set her hand back down as if she was fragile and frail. In a certain way, she was.
My legs swiftly carried me to the front door faster than necessary. Without bothering to check through the small peep hole, I yanked the door open. Melanie flinched at my abruptness. "Oh jeez..." She rolled her eyes and patted her chest. "Natasha, don't do that to me. It's already nerve-wracking that I'm actually here again."
"And I can't thank you enough." I kept my attention towards her as I walked backwards in search of my purse and green hoodie. It was only to make sure she wasn't going to make a run for it if she decided to change her mind at the last minute. I was already late enough as it was.
My fingers scratched the surface of the table where my keys laid, right where I left them the night before. After checking on my mom one more time, ensuring her returned slumber, I leisurely closed the door to her room. "You know," Melanie spoke up behind me as I jogged into the kitchen to rummage through the cabinets for that specific, and all-important, bottle. "You should really consider committing her."
My head turned tentatively and looked over my shoulder, my sight falling to the counter. "What are you talking about, Mel?"
"I'm talking about a place that could take care of her." Forgetting about time for a second, I stared at her, struggling to comprehend her words. Yet, somehow, they seemed so clear and familiar. "Like a home or something."
My arm dropped, gripping the pill bottle in both of my hands in front of me and leaning against the counter for support. "We-" I realized that the word wasn't exactly the right one to use in this conversation's context. "...I can't afford that right now."
Yes, I've thought about it. Many times, to be more specific. But money was tight already, trying to make ends meet, and I had so many other things burdening weight on my shoulders; work, bills, food. The only staples that I could handle at the time were overwhelmingly expensive, considering my pitiful paycheck. Any more, and I might have a meltdown myself.
"If you want, I could..." She knew me long enough that I despised any kind of charity, which was the reason why her words trailed off before she could finish her offer. I didn't need anyone feeling obligated or compelled to help, just because they thought they knew about me and my mother's unfortunate situation.
"Absolutely not." I shook my head, forcing into her hands the white plastic bottle. I desperately wanted to change the subject before she could pry anymore. "Remember: one after dinner." I brushed by her and stood at the open doorway, prepared to make my escape to the busy hustle of work where I didn't have any choice but to think about the day's specials. "The one I gave her last night should wear out by then." I warned her.
As if last night's example wasn't a visible word of warning already.
Shane's P.O.V.
God, it felt so good to be in a real bed. Thick cotton sheets, over-fluffed pillows, king-sized mattress. As opposed to that rectangular lump they pathetically called a bed at camp. No more bothering bug bites, no more scratchy sheer sheets that failed to keep someone like me warm at night, no more suffering nights without the help of a heater. If heaven had a sleeping headquarters for all of its occupants, then I was so sure that my hotel bedroom was somewhat close to it.
"Dude." But I could definitely go without someone waking me up harshly. I felt like my brain was just shaken in a glass jar when I was violently agitated awake on my shoulder. "Breakfast."
At that moment, I seriously thought that Jason had taken the place of our Uncle Brown. But at least he didn't greet me with pouring cold vase water down my neck. "Dude," I grumbled back into my pillow. "Sleep."
"Shane." When I blatantly ignored his call, Nate pulled my pillow out from under me and smacked the top of my head with it. "Wake up."
Regret knocked at my skull, mocking me for making the mistake of rooming with my brothers. There was no question that I wouldn't have gone through this infuriating excuse of a wake up call if I hadn't been so lenient with who I roomed with; I could've been enjoying the sweet silence that I longed for ever since we entered this small city. I guess silence and isolation was never destined for me.
I dug my frustrated fist into the mattress and shot up into a seated position. "What?" Through my disheveled hair, Jason and Nate had their mouths firmly clenched shut, letting out their obvious snickering through their noses. I glared at them severely while running my hands through my hair so that they had nothing left to laugh about. "What?" I asked again with a much more stern tone.
"I told you," Jason laughed out the rest of his unnecessary chuckles as he traveled across the hotel room. "We need to find a place to eat."
"It's not even breakfast anymore." Nate pushed back his jacket sleeve and checked his wristwatch. I would have to say that my silver watch was so much better than his genuine leather strap one. "It's practically brunch now, since you just had to sleep in."
"Hey," I shook a pointed finger at him. "You didn't have to wake up every single day during the Summer to teach some class, okay? My sleep was bound to catch up to me once the season's over."
Nate's face remained expressionless and blank. He rose his own finger to his face, pointing at himself. "Don't. Care." He reached for something at the foot of my bed and chucked one of my suitcase bags at me. I let out a struggled breath once the heavy object landed on my stomach, one of my eyes squinting. "Get dressed, Shane. Let's see if camp's really changed you or not."
The both of them walked away from me with unsure looks on their faces. They doubted me. They doubted that I've changed from my spoiled ways. They were skeptic about my transformed personality, they questioned my revolution from my qualities of being a jerk.
All I have to say is that...I wouldn't bet against them.
Incredibly defeated by my own thoughts, I crawled out of bed and changed--into my clothes, that is. Not my personality like so many people, such as Mitchie Torres, I had convinced.
I took my time, easily ignoring the rolling eyes I was receiving from Nate and Jason. I had to make sure my appearance looked more than exceptional in the mirror's reflection since I expected ready photographers at the hotel's front door or lobby. It would be extremely unacceptable for them to see me so tired and miserable with myself and the thought of never seeing her again.
My brothers seriously took my intelligence for granted; there were paparazzi waiting for us downstairs like I knew they would be. It kind of irked me that they weren't very interested in me, though I just survived an entire summer at some 'life-altering' camp. Instead, they wanted to know about my brothers. I wanted to give them what they wanted, but I was only granted to answer a few of their questions before I was dragged off by the collar of my shirt. Apparently, neither Jason or Nate wanted me to talk about their personal lives and what my opinion was on them.
Whatever. Another day. There'd be another day.
I spent the entire ride to wherever we were headed underneath my shades, arms folded across my chest. The journey over didn't bother me too much. The driver could've been more careful and dodge the small potholes of the city streets, but I just wanted some sleep. Unfortunately, the seconds flew by behind my closed eyelids and the driver halted abruptly at the location.
I rubbed my eyes underneath my sunglasses before lazily unbuckling myself from my seat. Following Nate and Jason, I looked up at the overhanging sign. Mahogany Cork.
"What the heck is 'Mahogany Cork?'" My face contorted a bit with disgust. The name of the place didn't seem like it served appetizing food.
"'Mahogany Cork' is actually a good place to eat," Jason said as he was the first to enter through the door.
Nate placed his hand on the door to hold it open for himself so that it wouldn't hit him while he turned to me. "We had to find some place to eat while you were at camp. I didn't want to eat hotel food for three months."
"And this is the best place you could find?" My head swiveled up, down, left, right to analyze the restaurant's setting.
Well, red was everywhere. That part was obvious. Chairs, benches, selected tablecloths and cloth napkins, wall paper. Everything was embellished with the pigment, making it a little overbearing. Whoever decorated the place probably had no idea that mahogany was a reddish-brown, not altogether red. Surely the failed decorator did not own a single piece of clothing that he or she could compare to.
There were specks of gold carefully placed as minuscule dots on the wallpaper, which I could see was slightly bubbling with air in the corners. Unbelievable. The place was falling apart and I couldn't understand why my brothers took the risk of entering this death trap in the first place. For all I know, behind those walls were scavenging mice, or rats even, growing mold, and decaying wood support.
"Shane." Nate's warning tone implied that he already knew I was thoroughly scrutinizing the place in my mind. "Get used to it. We won't be leaving the city for a while." He didn't see me widen my eyes at him since he turned in time to direct his attention to the maitre'd. "At least not until we find out what our manager has in store for us," he added.
My head fell back in disappointment and my eyes followed the movement. All I could do was groan in protest. Another necessary verbal complaint erupted from my throat when I discovered we were in a formed line. A line! At a place like this, they should've at least acknowledged the presence of Connect 3 and put us ahead of everyone else. But no. There were a few people of in front of us, taking up my precious time of sleep.
"Torres." My head shot up when I heard the reservation name. "Party of three."
The host ran his old finger down a list of names written in a thick booklet. As if there were hundreds of people reserving a table at this place. "Ah, yes." The host nodded. "Here we are." He gathered the appropriate number of black leather menus into his arm, the other directing. "Right this way."
"Thank you!" That voice. I knew that cheerful, melodic voice.
"Mitchie?" I leaned to my side, pushing Jason out of the way to see better. It was easy anyway, since Nate and Jason were next up in line. I left them to do whatever they needed to while I anxiously followed that familiar cascade of brown hair. "Mitchie," I called again since she didn't hear me the first time. My reaching hand that touched her elbow helped me out a bit.
She turned around with a beautiful greeting smile. "Shane!"
"Hey!" I matched her surprised reaction since I didn't expect her to still be within the city's limits. "What are you doing here?"
"Oh, I don't know. Eating?" She sarcastically shrugged her shoulders, pouting her lips in contemplation. We definitely had to eat here more often. After a moment of acting, she straightened her composure. "What am I talking about? I should be asking you the same thing!"
"Same," I chuckled. "I thought it'd be a good idea to check out some of these restaurants." In an untimely manner, my brothers brushed by us, purposely walking into my arm, and snorted in disagreement. It took a lot of effort to ignore their actions, but I had to act civilized in front of her. "So, do you want to eat with us or something? We have plenty of room at the booth." I had to assume we were seated at one of the booths. If we were anywhere else, I'd have to walk out.
"Um," she paused, looking over her shoulder and waving to her parents who were sitting at a simplistic table. "Yeah, sure, I guess. I don't think they would mind."
We took our seats across from each other. She politely and timidly waved to my brothers, who I completely forgot to introduce. "Hi." Jason stuck out his hand since he was sitting right beside her. "Jason."
"I'm Nate." Nate did the same, briefly shaking her hand.
"Mitchie," she laughed uneasily. "Wow. Connect 3." She nodded with an impressed look on her face. How cute. She was starstruck.
"I know," I smirked, casually taking a sip of water from the complimentary glass sitting at the table.
"So, Mitchie," Nate spoke up. She looked up from her fidgeting fingers, still clearly nervous that she was around us. "Do you live somewhere around here? I thought you would've been on a flight back home already."
"Oh, no." She shook her head. She transferred her squirming toward the rolled up utensils wrapped in the cloth napkin. "I live out of state." My heart dropped a little bit from that fact. "But my parents and I are staying in town for a week or two, before I have to go back to school."
"Oh." It was a great attempt for me to disguise my disappointment, but I was unsuccessful.
"What about you guys?" She lightened up the situation by smiling at me. "Don't you have some touring to do or something? I'm sure you guys don't have to worry about school and all that boring stuff like I do."
"I don't know," I muttered, my words still trickled with discontent.
"Really, we don't," Jason backed me up. "We have no plans for a while."
"So you're all going to stay in town, too?" she wondered, her positive aura still going strong. "Shane?" She caught me off guard with the question suddenly directed toward me.
"Yeah, of course!" I scoffed, as if it was a ridiculous question to ask me. "I love it here."
Nate choked momentarily on his water and Jason started to cough harshly at my words. I glared at them for only a second, making sure that Mitchie didn't see.
"Hello." Thankfully one of the waitresses walking the aisles finally came up to the booth. "I'm Charlie, and I'll be your server today." Her voice was strangely quiet. Maybe even quieter than the neighboring booths; I could barely hear her.
"I'm not ready yet," I told her, flipping my menu open. "You can go for now."
"Oh." The waitress hesitated to leave, stepping left and right with waver. "Um, o-okay." She bowed out and left.
"Shane." I suddenly felt someone kick me at my shin.
"Hey! Ow!" My hand shot down to rub at the injury. From the edge of the table, I peered over to find Mitchie glaring at me. "What?"
"That was rude." She shook her head in disapproval.
"Oh, sorry." My movements became slow and broken when I came to realize how offensive my words came out. "Did you want to order?"
"No, but that was wrong the way you treated her."
"Well, I'm ready." Jason slid his menu to the middle of the table. With a wave of his hand in the air, the waitress came back, but in a shrinking position. She was tense. Even as she wrote down our orders, her hand shook with a bit of an edge.
I sighed. There had to be some way for me to think my words through before I spoke.
Natasha's P.O.V.
I made it to the restaurant in the nick of the time, down to the wire for me to check in. As fast as possible, I took off my sweatpants that covered me on the walk, or jog, over. Along with my jacket and purse, I threw my things into my incredibly small unlocked locker, since Derek failed to supply the locks.
Straight from my locker, I took my apron and wrapped it around my waist, patting the pockets to make sure my pen, pad, and other essentials were in their place. On my way out, I took a glance at the waiting orders pinned above the finished plates and carefully piled them onto a bigger tray. I even grabbed the plates that didn't belong to me so that I could redeem my late arrival, if Derek did find out. Unquestionably, my co-workers would be glad to take some responsibility off their shoulders if it meant that they could keep their tips.
I was on a fluid roll, taking orders, fetching the checks, and all. So I didn't get much time to stop and take a break, but at least my customers were satisfied and happy. And any server knew what that meant: bigger tip.
It was busier than most afternoons since it was the weekend and everyone in the city decided to be lazy and forget to make their own lunch. There were even people, or celebrities as Charlie called them, seated at the booths. It was certainly enjoyable to see Charlie actually working rather than relaxing at the bar with all the other slothful employees. And Derek, most of all! I couldn't believe my eyes that he was actually fretting over the real labor that his staff had to face everyday. A pleasurable sight, for sure.
"Natasha!" I was careful to not drop my shoulders in frustration when I heard Derek call me. Through all the dining commotion, my ears were sensitive to hearing marching footsteps come up behind me. "Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen." Derek placed his hand on my shoulder while I was in the middle of promoting the chef specials. "If you don't mind, I need to borrow her for just a few minutes." In my mind, I was gagging at how fake Derek sounded. If my customers only knew how disgustingly lazy he was, then they wouldn't have let him drag me away.
I sighed lightly. "Yes, Derek?" Proper and more, I clasped my hands in front of me and stood upright to pay attention to his oncoming demand.
"I need to take over some of the booths." His eyes shot over to his section of tables.
"You mean your tables?" I asked for clarification.
"Yes." He nodded fervently. "Take the other half of the room. Charlie's got the other half taken care of. Now, table fou-"
"Does that mean I still have to man the tables in my section? Or..."
He stared at me once I trailed off, then broke out in a laugh. "Of course! Just because I assigned you other tables doesn't mean you're relieved from your other chores!"
Chores. He called them chores. What am I, a child?
But I just gritted the enamel off my teeth and bit my tongue, and complied to my insane boss' orders.
I tried to keep myself seem keen on the whole situation while I waited the greater amount of tables. I sped through the tables, weaving in and out dangerously. Derek was lucky that I had the great ability to multi-task everything from cleaning spills to balancing ten-pound trays of food on one hand, or else his restaurant that he was supposed to be managing would fall to pieces.
"Y-yes, sir. Of course." Charlie unconsciously bowed with an apology.
I rolled my eyes when I saw Charlie frantically trying to stay on top of her five booths. She had to be confident, show no sign of vulnerabilty, but had no control over her stuttering and stammering. She was just asking to be a doormat.
We met up at the dirty dishes area, our place of refuge for a few minutes. "Charlie..." I didn't mean to sound so dissatisfied with her style of waitressing, but it couldn't be helped.
"God, I suck at this." As a routine reflex, she raked her fingers into her hair again, caring less if she messed up her tidy appearance.
"No, Charlie." I patted her shoulder after throwing my hand towel over my own. "You don't...'suck.' You just have to be a little more secure in yourself. Don't think too much about what your customers think. Really, they just want their food and go."
She looked up at me with pleading eyes. "Do you think you could help me, Shay?"
I retracted my hand and took a step back. "No."
"Please?" She raised her hands in a clasped bond, shaking it slightly. "Please, please? Just for tonight, and I'll totally get the hang of it if I see you in action. I won't ask for your help again after today."
I sharply exhaled. I figured Charlie was inexperienced in a way, since she's never had this many customers at once before in her working lifetime. I've been working longer than she has. She was a rookie while I was skilled; I thought of her as my protege. That is, until she was bumped up to the much easier job than I had, regardless of her work history. I made the assumption that it had something to do with Derek's way of thinking out things. Maybe he thought that since she had a better 'look' than most of our equal co-workers, it would be easy for her to wait tables.
Her face was worthy to stand of those that had one hundred dollar bills in their pockets.
"Fine." I gave in, naturally. Sometimes, I despised how helpful I was.
We bartered on the agreement that she would still wait on some of her tables, while I took control of the more intimidating sets of customers. It wasn't difficult for me; I just had about twelve tables to keep an eye on simultaneously. And yet, Charlie still struggled.
"No, I didn't want the sauce on top. I wanted it on the side!" A man,--no, a teen my age, I think--complained to Charlie. "Take it back."
"Shane, stop it." I was waiting the table next to Charlie's, so I could hear a girl from the booth scold the guy. Served him right.
"Yes, Mr. Grey." Again, Charlie bowed. I was tired of seeing Charlie bow for apologies. But besides that, everything was going smoothly. Too smoothly for Charlie.
To entertain myself, I made a personal bet with myself that she would manage to mess up something before I could blink.
CRASH! CLANG! Drip, drip, drip...
And unfortunately, I won that gamble. It was as if it was a nightly thing for her to drop plates and break things.
"Look at what you did!" The same complaining 'boy,' as I decided to call him since he was acting ridiculously immature, shot up from his seat and wiped at his pants. There was a brown stain that I was sure wouldn't come out so easily.
"I'm sorry..." Charlie whispered in a barely audible voice.
I rushed to Charlie's side and piled the broken pieces of plates and glasses onto a tray that I brought over; I was prepared for this kind of thing to happen. Charlie groaned in embarrassment, trying to ignore all the criticism she was receiving from only one person. Everyone else around her seemed to have become accustomed to her clumsiness and ignored our scampering to get the area clean.
"Shane, stop it!" The girl continued to calm him down, along with two other guys sitting at the same table. "I'm so sorry. He's not usually like this."
"That's what you think," one of the other boys, the curly-headed one, muttered under his breath.
"What kind of waiter are you?!" The 'boy' demanded.
"Dude," the other one that sat next to the girl, spoke up. "Shane, shut up. She already said sorry. It was an accident."
"Waitress," I corrected him, although he wasn't listening to me. Shane, the name of the immature guy, refused to listen to anyone. He fumed like any spoiled teen, pampered celebrity would have.
"Accident or no accident, she ruined my clothes!"
Charlie and I exchanged glances. Hers worried, mine annoyed. Never the less, we both avoided making eye contact with the angry customer.
"Shane, you are being ridiculous!" The girl shouted, finally. She quickly silenced the whining child. "I thought you changed! I thought you were beyond this whole popstar-image and acting like a jerk!"
Like a threatened puppy, Shane brought himself down from causing a scene. "...Mitchie. I-I..."
"You're unbelievable!" Her hands were thrown into the air, disbelieving the situation. She must've not known too many celebrities. The way she stood up for Charlie, I assumed she was one of us. One of the average Joe's. "Don't touch me!" She snapped her arm away when he reached out for her. It was like watching a soap opera. "You, Shane Grey, are a stranger to me. The other day, I introduced the real me. I thought you did, too."
"I did!" What a lame attempt at lying. "Mitchie, I did! You have to believe me! I have changed!"
The guests standing alongside them didn't give much support, for they rolled their eyes and kept silent.
"Well, this doesn't exactly prove that, now does it?!" She motioned to me and Charlie, still on the floor and cleaning up the mess. Carefully dodging our scrambling hands, Mitchie, the brave one, stomped off with a condescending scoff.
"Mitchie, wait!" Shane kicked over the tip of the shattered-plate tower, nonetheless ignoring our existence. He grabbed her by the arm and turned her around. "Believe me, I've changed. I'm not like that anymore. You just...just caught me on an off-day." Mitchie remained silent with skepticism, her eyes narrowed behind her bangs. "L-let me prove it to you."
"How?" She nodded her head in our direction. "Not even if you apologize to them will I forgive you for lying to me!"
I immediately averted my curious gaze when Shane glanced over his shoulder. His mouth was clenched shut with excessive pride. No apology left his throat. He turned back to face Mitchie. "Come on, Mitchie," he pathetically begged.
Her hardened face softened by only an ounce. Aside from the other conversations going on around them, she stared at him silently, carefully studying his face. Once his hand caught hers, their fingers tangling, her expression melted away. She wasn't strong; she was putty in his hands. "Two weeks, Shane," she warned. "You have two weeks to prove it to me, before I go back home." She tried to whip away his hand with an odd sense of tenderness. "I'm eating with my parents." She walked off and sat at another table that I was supposed to be waiting before any of this ever happened.
Shane slumped back into his seat, his hand muffling his guilty expression. It was his turn to groan in embarrassment.
I shook my head and scoffed a little.
Celebrities. They hardly give us a reason not to hate them.
(A/N: I'm extremely glad many of you like this story! Thanks so much for giving it a chance.
Just to let you know, this isn't my main focus right now. It's just a side story. But I'm giving it as much effort as I'm giving to Video Girl. So don't fret about me forgetting Video Girl and Monica/Nate. It's my first story ever and I'm definitely not giving up on it.
But you know how writers are. It's kind of difficult for us to ignore story ideas once they hit us.
I'll try and post a new chapter of Video Girl ASAP.
While you're patiently waiting, do you mind reviewing this story? Opinions would be greatly appreciated.)