《Lock and Key》


 Chapter 1: The Dirty Spill

    ¡°Stacy¡­.¡± I hear a voice call out.


    The voice was insistent, after a few moments I felt a light tapping on my shoulder. Reluctantly, I opened one eye.


    ¡°Ana, I''m getting my beauty sleep.¡± I whine, further burrowing myself into soft, silk sheets.


    ¡°But I don''t need it as much as you,¡± I add with a half-hearted giggle.


    Still, Ana continues, tapping me with more and more force.


    ¡°Miss Willams, it''s your father, he told me to wake you. He has surprise waiting for you downstairs¡±


    ¡°¡­A surprise?¡± a smile spreads through my face. ¡°Alright, Ana.¡±


    I practically jump out of my king-sized bed, silk sheets smoothly sliding off me. I can feel the excitement and anticipation rush through my blood. Daddy is always so busy, he rarely calls for me. I feel a flurry of butterflies in my stomach.


    Hurriedly putting on my slippers I look up and see Ana¡¯s face in my vanity, there¡¯s something in her expression that I don¡¯t like. She¡¯s looking at me with something akin to pity


    A small bit of anger flares up within my gut. Who is she to look at me like that, who is she to pity me. I whip my head backwards to face her.


    ¡°Ana,¡± I call out.


    ¡°Yes, Stacy?¡± she answers


    ¡°You are the maid, nothing else.¡±


    ¡°I understand,¡± she replies, lowering her head. Sickly sweet satisfaction swells within me.


    Having resolved that pesky little issue I rush downstairs to see Dad waiting for me in the entrance hall.


    ¡°Daddy what¡¯s the surprise?¡±


    ¡°Hey sweetie, I got you your own SUV to drive. Here''s the keys.¡± he says, throwing the keys to me.


    ¡°It''s about time!¡± I exclaim. ¡°I¡¯ve been begging you for a car since I¡¯ve gotten my license¡±


    ¡°Sure, sweetie¡± Dad replies absentmindedly, kissing my cheek before putting a phone to his ear and walking away.


    Rolling my eyes, I push away the thought of my dad and his unhealthy affection for his phone. I couldn¡¯t wait to show off the car to my friends.


    I let out a laugh. My friends and I have a saying ¡®You''re either a broke wannabe or the IT thing.¡¯


    And the statement still rings true after 4 years at Weddleton Prep. Kids are pretty superficial, it¡¯s all about what designers you were, what cars you drive and who your parents are.


    Anyway I¡¯m off topic¡­ I couldn''t wait to test out my new ride. I reach for the door before Ana¡¯s voice stops me.


    ¡°Stacy, you should at least get dressed before you going outside¡±


    I can¡¯t help but roll my eyes at her, ¡°Stop mothering me Ana¡± I snap. ¡°Plus, these pyjamas cost more than your entire outfit¡±


    Hopping into the SUV, I turn on the gas. Voom voom it went.


    ¡° Yess!¡± I screamed.


    I drove around my neighborhood and laughed at the joggers, decked out in their lululemon yoga pants. Why anyone would get from one place to another using their legs astounded me. Why walk when you can be driven. Walking is nothing but trouble.


    I returned home still high with adrenaline. I went upstairs changing into an outfit so expensive only a poor kid could dream of.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    As I inspected myself in the mirror. I looked good, better than usual. There was a glow in my face and my hair was curled just right. I wonder what Dave would say¡­ a soft knock interrupts my train of thought.


    ¡°Come in¡± I call out, knowing it is Ana behind the door.


    ¡°Your father has made a reservation for dinner tonight¡±


    ¡°What time?¡±


    ¡°At 6:30¡±


    ¡®This day couldn¡¯t get any better.¡¯ I think to myself, while applying small dabs of blush to my cheeks. Satisfied with my appearance, I got up to meet Dave.


    I arrive at Dave''s house, he doesn¡¯t comment on the new car. We hangout in his living room just talking. Conversation flows easily between us, he¡¯s always been a comforting presence.


    The more I think about it, the more perfect he seems. We¡¯ve been friends for years, he¡¯s pretty cute and Daddy would definitely approve of him. I¡¯m about to invite him to dinner with Dad at the restaurant when he asks the dumbest question I¡¯ve ever heard.


    ¡°Hey Stacy, would you date a poor person from our school?¡±


    I gasp. ¡°No¡­ sweetie, they''re poor.¡± I answer, slightly amused by such a question.


    His expression saddens. ¡°There¡¯s this girl I like, her family isn''t doing so great-¡±


    ¡°Dave, how could you ever think of such a thing?¡± I interrupt. A sinking feeling erupts in me, this pseudo date really isn¡¯t going according to plan.


    ¡°She¡¯s the best person I¡¯ve ever met and she¡¯s mine.¡±


    Despite the look of disgust I¡¯m giving him, he continues.


    ¡°And you might consider her poor but she¡¯s worth more to me than anything else.¡±


    Then he smiles, declaring that ¡°she''s perfect.¡± I almost throw up in my mouth.


    We fight. Why couldn¡¯t he just understand that I just wanted what¡¯s best for us, for him. I could live with him dating some other girl but not this mystery gutter girl.


    He said I was just ¡®a brat in rich girl shoes.¡¯ And made it clear he didn¡¯t want to see me anymore before slamming the front door in my face.


    To make matters worse Daddy never showed up for dinner. I got a text from him saying he couldn¡¯t make it. A text, not even a call for his only daughter.


    I snap at the waiters, I berate the food. Do anything to feel in control again, how did a day that started out with so much promise turn to be such a tragedy.


    I leave the restaurant, still angry. Seeing the new car only reminds me of Dad, and thinking about it only brings on feelings of emptiness.


    I reach into my jacket pocket to get my key only to find it empty. I check the other pocket, I look around me. The keys are nowhere to be found. I must have forgotten it.


    Cursing myself inwardly I return to the restaurant. The staff flinch when they see me, and I feel a slight ping of remorse for my behaviour earlier tonight.


    ¡°I left my keys here¡± I say to a waiter.


    ¡°It must be in the kitchen in the back¡± he says, promising to find it before scurrying away.


    Sitting at an empty table while I wait I bring my hands to my face, feeling tears well up in my eyes despite myself. I allow myself to be vulnerable for the first time today. At least it can¡¯t get any worse.


    Except it can. It did. Out of nowhere, some idiot loses his footing, dumping a caesar salad on me.


    Like I said, walking is nothing but trouble.


    I snap, flying into a rage. Honestly, I don¡¯t even remember what I said, curses probably. The young waiter does nothing but apologize.


    I cause a huge scene, but I¡¯m beyond caring, I¡¯m far beyond mere embarrassment.


    The manager comes out, apologizing to me and scolding ¡®James¡¯ the waiter. They quickly shoo the idiot away but nothing can appease me.


    ¡°When I come back, it¡¯ll be with a lawsuit¡± I threaten as I march out of the restaurant.


    My foul mood from the day before carried over to school. Predictably, my friends and classmates ''oohed¡¯ and ¡®ahhed¡¯ upon seeing my new car, but their praises rang hollow.


    The car also perhaps predictably brought unwanted attention. I smelled Ben¡¯s cologne before I saw him. He slid an arm around my shoulder, bringing me away from my friends.


    ¡°New whip?¡± he asked.


    I nodded, not looking at him while trying to wiggle my way from his grasp.


    ¡°We should take that car out for a spin¡± he suggested, his tone thickly accented with douche.


    Successfully separating myself from him I quickly make my way to class, looking back to make sure he¡¯s not following me.


    Classes are uneventful until the last period. Choosing a spot in the back with my friends I pull out my phone, planning to zone out this class just as I had the whole day.


    ¡°Move it freak¡± a slimy voice yells out, at the front of the room.


    Now normally, things that like wouldn¡¯t raise any eyebrows except I recognized that voice. Groaning inwardly I realized it was Ben.


    Raising my head from my bedazzled phone, my eyes open in recognition. It¡¯s the idiot from the restaurant.


    I stare for a few seconds, blink and then look away.


    The bell rings.

 Chapter 2: Who knew salad dressing could cost so much?

    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¡¯