James Marley


    <h2>Chapter 2: Who knew salad dressing could cost so much?                 </h2>


    The best part of my days are always the mornings, right after I wake up, when the world is still asleep.


    Early mornings are beautiful because the sun is just waking up, tainting the sky with an array of pastel pinks, yellows and oranges. The world feels new, wiped fresh of yesterday’s mistakes. Some would describe this feeling as ‘hope’ but I know better now.


    Early mornings are beautiful because Dad’s asleep. He’s usually snoring in the living room, no doubt having fallen asleep in front of the TV, a beer in his hand. He’s too passed out to yell, to scream, to hurt anyone.


    But early mornings are beautiful most of all because of Cassandra, my sister. I wake before her and sometimes I just watch her sleep. We share a little room, we sleep on the floor, on ratty air mattresses. Early morning is the only time when her face doesn’t carry a heaviness.


    Today her face is peaceful, her breath even. I smile, once again I am reminded of why I continue living, for her. My sweet, innocent sister, who’s had to grow up far quicker than any ten year old should.


    I look at my phone and get up reluctantly, it’s 6:32 already. I’ll be late for my 7 a.m shift if I stay in bed any longer. Quietly, I get up, making sure not to disturb Cassandra’s sleeping form. Tiptoeing to the bathroom, I catch a glimpse of Dad and just as always he’s on the sofa, TV still on, playing a rerun of some old cartoon from the 90s. I shake my head.


    I brush my teeth, wash my face and change out of my pajamas. By accident, I look into the mirror, a tired face stares back, quickly I avert my gaze.


    "This is all for Cassandra,” I remind myself. I exit the apartment at 6:42, closing the door softly behind me.


    I bike to the restaurant, my first job of the day. Cool air whips around me as my feet push down on the pedals. It’s like stepping into another world. Lines of tents and shoddy, decrepit little townhouses are replaced by newly constructed skyscrapers. But there is much time to think about it because before long I’m there.


    My fingers fumble with my bike lock, I attach it to a nearby streetlamp. But finally it clicks and I run to the employee backdoor where a fake french man with a thin mustache is waiting for me, checking his watch. His name is Frank, my manager.


    “7:01, you’re a minute late” he reprimands.


    “Sorry, Frank,” I mutter. He taps his foot impatiently as he shoos me away.


    Going further into the kitchen, I see Martha yelling at the sous chefs. My head throbs, it is far too early for her to be so angry.


    Making my steps as quiet as possible I try to get the ingredients list before I can attract her attention. Hopefully with her anger directed at the poor group of hopefully 20 year olds I will go unnoticed. No such luck.


    She turns around to me, eyes widening in anger. It’s as if she’s able to smell fear. Martha lumbers towards me. Grabbing the collar of my shirt she hisses into my face.


    “You’ve got some nerve showing your face here, bus boy, after you forgot to bring the tuna”


    “Sorry Martha,” I stammer.


    “What!” she exclaims, enraged


    “Chef,” I correct myself. “Sorry chef”


    “I don’t want you messing up today’s order. Didn’t I tell you if you showed your face around here again I would-”


    “Let the kid go Martha” a clear voice rings out, like a prayer in the dark.


    Martha moves away from me but her hands are still tightly fisting my collar. The entire kitchen staff turns their heads to the voice.


    “C’mon Martha” says Jeff, “cut the kid some slack”


    Martha glares at him but ultimately relents, with one last withering glare she pushes me and in a huff goes back to tormenting the sous chefs. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    I give Jeff a thankful smile. “Thanks dude”


    He waves it off, nonchalant as always. “Just hurry up tonight. I don’t want to save you from Martha tomorrow”


    With a nod I grab the day’s ingredients list. After a quick scan of the list I sigh, it was going to be a long day.


    The next 6 hours of my day are spent bartering with various vendors, from farmers, fishermen and store managers, all to get the freshest produce. Exhaustion and the ever-increasing weight of food makes it increasingly difficult to bike from place to place.


    I can’t help but let out a sigh of relief when my morning shift ends. Handing out the crates of food to Martha she lets out a dismissive grunt, perhaps dismayed that I managed to fulfill the list.


    At night the restaurant opens and a rush of people enter. It’s considered by many to be one of the best restaurants in the city so reservations can be made months in advance.


    Today seems to be especially busy, people are going out one last time before summer ends. Pretty soon, dozens of orders are being delivered out the kitchen, like a well oiled machine.


    Until suddenly like a wrench in the gears, a shrill voice disturbs the comfortable rhythm we’ve all found ourselves in.


    “Do you know who my dad is?” The voice is practically screaming.


    I lift my head to catch a glance at the face behind the voice but no such luck, the onslaught of people in front of me block my view.


    I ignore the girl’s voice, focusing on my own orders. Still I can’t help but overhear gossip in the kitchen. Apparently the voice belonged to a rich heiress, she’d been sending back each plate of food with a barrage of complaints.


    I roll my eyes at the gossip. It really isn’t fair how this one girl is wasting enough food to feed a family for a day.


    My mind wanders and I can’t help but compare her life to my own, to Cassandra’s. Opportunities in her life are handed to her on a silver platter while Cassandra and I have to fight and claw for scraps. She’s probably some spoiled little brat. How could life like this be fair?


    These thoughts were running in a loop in my brain as I carried out a bowl of salad. I passed her table.


    At first glance, she’s everything you’d expect from a rich daddy’s girl who’s never worked a day in her life. She’s a young blonde thing wearing a tight fitting dress, in her exquisitely manicured nails carries the latest designer bag. But something about her made me take a second look. There’s something in her expression that looks familiar. She looked… sad.


    Distracted, I trip on a chair leg, spilling the salad on her. Immediately, that vulnerable look is wiped from her face, replaced with anger. She shoots up, enraged.


    “Do you know how much this costs!” she yells. The clanking of spoons and talking of voices stops, heads turn to watch us.


    “I’m so sorry ma’am” I say as I begin to profusely apologize.


    “Of course you don’t. It costs more than a year’s paycheck for you”


    Averting her gaze I continue to repeat apologies.


    “Sorry is not good enough. How dare you embarrass me like this”


    I open my mouth to speak before Jeff rushes in front of me. Saving me for the second time today. He shoos me away and I’m dismissed for the rest of the night.


    The last days of my summer break are quiet, but filled with tension. I don’t tell Cassandra about my job but she can sense something’s off about me. I brush off her concerns. The next morning, I’m ignored, even Jeff avoids eye contact. For the first time in years, I find myself eagerly waiting for school to start. After all, how could anything be worse than my life now, I thought. How wrong I was.


    On the second day of school a pair of heels appear before me. It’s early in the morning and the hallway is empty, or so I thought. Looking up, my breath hitches in my throat. Blonde hair, a tight fitting dress, another designer bag held in a well manicured hand, it’s her.


    She speaks first, “Hello James, how nice to see you here” her voice is dripping with venom.


    “Hi” I say, my voice quiet. God, I wish the floor would just swallow me whole.


    Her eyes narrow, “you remember who I am, don’t you?”


    I stare blankly at her, not offering a response.


    “Don’t you dare lie to me, I recognize you from the restaurant”


    “I’m sorry-”


    “Save it” she interrupts. “You ruined my dress, the salad dressing has permanently stained the fabric”


    “I’ll pay you back” I promise.


    Hearing this she laughs, I feel myself shrink. “You,” she exclaims in disbelief, “you’re telling me that you have the cash to pay for another $20 000 dress”


    My silence answers her question. Her face contorts itself in a smile. “From now on you’ll be doing all my classwork” she commands.


    “What?” I ask, surprised. My head begins reeling.


    “Math, English, economics and chemistry. You have quite a semester ahead of you James. Better get started soon.” She says mockingly, dropping a stack of textbooks into my lap before sashaying away.


    “Wait, you can’t do this” I protest.


    She turns, and the playful mean girl act disappears, replaced by a look of genuine rage.


    “You have no idea what I’m going through”


    And suddenly, like a switch she turns back on the playful mean girl act.


    “You are in no position to refuse. You’ll do as I say or so help me God I promise to ruin your life.”


    Knowing she’s right I let her walk away without another word of protest. Looking down at the pile of work she’s literally dropped into my lap I open the first page of a notebook. Inside is a name, signed in cursive. ‘Stacy Williams’