Here's chapter 9 - enjoy!
Beck Oliver was always destined to be a superstar.
At age six, he had landed the role of Joseph in his feederdoon nativity and had put in a performance that the teachers would use as a benchmark for future productions for years. Whilst his delivery of Joseph's shock at Mary's pregnancy would awkwardly be recreated nearly ten years later, it was perceived as so-well performed that a particularly religious audience member ambushed Beck's parents at the end to suggest that he may have been the famous figure in a past life.
They preferred to believe that he was just a good actor.
After this, elementary school had seen the young boy try out a multitude of different hobbies, most of which he had excelled at. Whilst contact sports had proved to be better suited to his friend Moose, Beck had held his own pretty well in the short period of time he'd spent in soccer and ice hockey teams, even if he'd eventually decided that they weren't his calling. In addition to this, there were piano lessons, guitar tutoring, dance classes, gymnastics, skateboarding - all the different methods of entertainment a young boy could dream of. Jeff and Sanah Oliver were more than happy to fund their only child's escapades, content so long as he was growing into the sensible and kind young man they had pictured ever since their first sonogram, and so Beck was lavished with a whole host of experiences which allowed him to decide his calling.
Which eventually led him back to the beginning - acting. After the role of Joseph, he bagged Simba in his first grade production of The Lion King, only to then make it three out of three with his lead role in the grade three Billy Elliot performance. His parents were delighted; at age ten, their son was completely outshining his castmates and being personally scouted by local theatre managers to appear in their productions. Maybe only one in a million made it in Hollywood, but Beck was going to be that one.
It was this belief that had been the deciding factor in relocating their entire world 1300 miles south when Beck was ten. A job offer in Los Angeles that Sanah otherwise wouldn't have looked at twice now seemed like an opportunity - a glittering, perfect prospect that had oh-so-conveniently fallen into the family's path, almost as if it was fate. To ignore this would be idiotic, the couple had decided, and so off they went, with their far less enthusiastic son in tow. To the ten-year-old Beck, this wasn't a life-changing opportunity, this was simply a life change. He was moving away from all his friends, his school, the room he'd grown up in, everything he knew. Sanah and Jeff knew that, one day, when he was striding down a red carpet with a glistening smile and a pretty blonde on his arm, he'd understand the magnitude of their sacrifices. He would turn to the bustling reporters and credit them for his success, appreciating their belief in his talent from such a young age. Because Beck Oliver was going to be a superstar; it wasn't a question of if, it was when.
Now, 16-year-old Beck wasn't at the top of his English class, but he was pretty sure that shoving lettuce into Subway footlongs didn't fall under Merriam-Webster's definition of superstar.
"Any tomatoes?" He asked the young girl on the other side of the glass screen.
"Uh, yeah." She replied, apathetically, failing to look up from her phone screen.
Beck sighed as he lined the sandwich with tomatoes. This really hadn't been where he'd pictured himself a few years back. Nevertheless, it paid the bills, and Beck certainly had several of those these days.
"Cucumbers?" He asked, only earning a nod this time. Not that that was rare - he didn't rank his job particularly high on the valuable human interaction scale.
"That everything?" He asked the girl, shooting her a friendly smile.
"I guess." She replied, smacking her gum as she did so.
In response, Beck wrapped up the sandwich and passed it over the counter.
"That'll be 8.29."
The girl wordlessly handed over a ten dollar bill and Beck scrambled to find her change, handing it over so the girl could leave and he might finally have a chance to check his text messages without his manager noticing. The girl took the money and began to leave.
"Hey, you forgot your drink!" He called after her, noticing that she had left it behind.
The girl turned and, without an ounce of gratitude, grabbed the cup before leaving the store without another word.
Some people might've at least got a thank you for that, he thought, but there was no use in mulling over all the customer interactions he had each day. He had grown used to expecting the worst from every single person that walked into the store.
But at least now she had left, and Beck estimated he had maybe five minutes before his manager returned from her probably unsanctioned lunch break. Five minutes in which he could check in on Jade and Toby, provided no customers came in-
The ring of the bell by the door signalled its opening and Beck's heart dropped into his stomach at the sight of a woman entering the store. He hadn't even finished typing his passcode into the phone. He dropped the device back into his pocket and could almost feel Jade's unanswered messages burning a hole into the material.
"Sorry, were you expecting someone else?" The woman commented and Beck suddenly realised that he had made no attempt to hide the disappointment on his face.
"Oh, uh... no, I just-" He stammered, his face turning red.
"It's fine. I'm kidding." The woman replied. "I get it. You're at work, I'm a customer - me coming in means you have to do your job." She laughed. "No hard feelings."
"Thanks." Beck smiled back, embarrassed. "What kind of sandwich do you want?"
"Hmm, I'll just have a look." She replied, perusing the menu above him. "I haven't been inside one of these in a while."
Thinking about it, Beck wasn't particularly surprised by this admission. The girl was wearing an expensive looking cream blazer, Ray-Bans and gold jewellery which probably totalled at more than all his pay checks added together. She wasn't the usual type of customer that entered the store.
"Need some help?" He asked her.
"Yeah, thanks." She smiled.
"Well the meatball marinara's super popular and so is the BMT, so maybe one of them?"
"They do sound good." She nodded. "What's your favourite?"
"Mine?" Beck asked, taken aback. It was rare that customers would even look up at him as he took their order, let alone ask him questions about himself.
"That's what I said." The girl smirked.
"Uh, well I like the chicken but-"
"Then I'll take the chicken." The girl interrupted.
"Uh, okay." Beck replied, pulling on a pair of gloves. "What bread would you like?"
"Hey, I told you I haven't been here before." The girl laughed. "Make it however you like it. I mean it, veggies and everything."
Beck smiled in response. "Okay then." He laughed, appreciating the ease of this next task, and took out his favoured type of bread.
"So how long have you been working here?" The woman asked, leaning against the counter.
"Not long. Maybe six months?" Beck replied, slicing the bread.
"That sounds like a long time to me." The woman replied. "The longest job I've ever had I started on the Monday and quit by the Wednesday. Worst days of my life." She groaned.
"It's not so bad." Beck replied. "It pays the bills at least."
"Bills? What bills could you have? What are you - 17?"
"16."
"See, you're too young to be stressing about money. Someone like you shouldn't be working somewhere like here." The girl commented, taking off her sunglasses. She had pretty eyes, Beck decided; they were brown, like his own. But he'd always preferred blue.
"Someone like me? What does that mean?" Beck asked, raising an eyebrow.
"You know..." She replied. "Don't make me say it - you just have that look about you."
"That look?"
"Yeah. You look like you should be on billboards or playing the heartthrob in a shitty Nickelodeon show, not elbow deep in a vat of lettuce at 6pm on a Tuesday."
Beck looked down at his hands, full of lettuce. He laughed.
"Maybe. But I've got a lot of time for that in the future, I guess. For now, the lettuce puts some weight in my pockets so I'll take it."
The woman rolled her eyes. "Not the money again. Come on, surely you have other priorities. You're a teenager - don't you wanna have fun and shoot for the stars?"
Priorities. These days, Beck's main priorities were the girl whose agitated messages were weighting his phone down like an anchor, and the boy whose little body was probably absorbing all his mother's irritation like a sponge of serenity.
He looked up at the young woman in her sparkling jewellery and spotless clothes and thought that it was unlikely that she'd really get that.
"I like to have fun," Beck shrugged. "but I'm also realistic. I guess the dream is to be able to have fun whilst making money. Two birds with one stone."
The woman nodded. "Hey, I might be able to help you out with that."
Beck looked up from cutting the woman's sandwich and shot her a quizzical look.
"Don't look so concerned." She laughed. "It's nothing shady. My dad's got a lot of connections and by virtue so do I. I think I could probably help you out a little."
"Really?"
"Yeah, I do a bit of modelling for this studio. If I got your headshots, I think I could convince them to take you."
"For real?" Beck's eyes widened.
"Yeah. You're pretty hot, you know. And I'm only 18 by the way, so it's not weird for me to say that."
Beck blushed. "Thanks. But why would you want to do that for me?"
The girl shrugged. "I don't know. You offered to help me out before so now I'm repaying the favour."
"I didn't do anything, I just gave my suggestions-"
"Hey, don't backtrack! I've already given you my offer but I can take it back if-"
"No, no!" Beck stammered, making the girl laugh. "Thanks, really, thanks. That's an amazing offer - I really appreciate it."
"It's no problem, really." She replied. "I'm glad to be helping you out."
"You're more than helping me out." Beck beamed with gratitude. "How do I get my headshots to you?"
"What's your number? I'll text you."
Beck replied eagerly, and the girl typed the number into her phone contacts.
"And what name should I add to this number?" The girl asked, batting her eyelashes.
"Beck Oliver." Beck replied, wrapping up the girl's food.
"Beck, pretty name." The girl nodded. "It's very nice to meet you Beck Oliver."
"No, the pleasure is all mine." Beck shrugged. "Here's your food." He added, pushing the bag towards the girl.
"Perfect. How much do I owe you?"
"Nothing. It's on me." Beck grinned, bashfully.
The girl beamed with delight. "But I thought you were all money money money, Beck Oliver? If you start giving away free sandwiches then how will you pay the bills?
"Well, I guess you'll have to get me that modelling job then."
"Touché. I guess I'll have to wait for you to send over your headshots."
"As soon as my shift finishes, I'll get them to you."
The girl smiled. "Well, I guess I'll be seeing you soon then, Beck." She said, manoeuvring towards the door.
Her hand was on the handle when Beck suddenly remembered something.
"Hey, wait!" He cried, and she turned to face him. "I never got your name."
A wide smile broke across the girl's face, her eyes creasing as if in tandem with her glossed lips.
"It's Alyssa. Alyssa Vaughn."