"Remi!" Nea calls, flour-dusted all over her forearms, cheeks, and plaid apron. In a state of confusion, she dodges the steel tables where all the prepared meats and seasoned vegetables are still waiting to be put into separate black containers. "You have some guests waiting for you outside. And they're from school."
"Oh yeah," I exclaim, wiping my damp hands onto a ribbed dish towel. "Is it Zuri and Blaise?"
"So you were expecting them?" she asks, perfectly tweezed brows drawing together.
"Yeah," I admit through grit teeth, "it's a long story, but I lowkey owe them hot pot. Don't worry, I already slipped the money into the register and put it into the log and everything so the data isn't messed up."
"Dude, I'm sure the Wongs wouldn't mind giving them free food, but I get it," she tells me, glancing at them in the small window between the kitchen and main dining area. The two of them are still by the doorway, deep in conversation. He seems to say something that makes her throw her head back in laughter, using her hand to cover her smile. In response, he nudges her in the ribs with his elbow.
Since I already know what they're going to order, I decide it's best not to waste their time, so I head toward the fridge and scan the crowded shelves from the correct bento boxes which are separated with a plastic bag.
"Hey Sazuri and friends," I greet with a lopsided grin.
"Glad I'm so important that you could address me by name," Blaise mutters from behind her, hands tucked into his jean pockets. At his snarky remark, she rolls her eyes.
"You guys can sit here," I tell them, angling my head at the table which is hidden by a shoji room divider with a cherry blossom pattern on it. My favorite table to eat at if I have a chance, mostly because it's the closest to the kitchen and there's a mirror strip that borders that corner, underneath a bunch of paintings, hung up.
Luckily, they came at the deadest hours of my shift, which is about a little more than an hour before we actually close. The rusty burner, which is already plugged in, has a small pot with two separate slots. One I fill with a murky spicy soup that is bright red and full of dried chilis. The other I fill with the white soup that has jujubes floating in its broth.
Slowly, Blaise takes a ladle and stirs around while the concoction starts to boil.
"Thanks for inviting me Remi," she says, ripping the paper wrapping of her wooden chopsticks.
"No problem. It's my treat," I tell her with droopy eyelids. "Just make sure to eat all the expensive items before Blaise gets to it."
He looks at me with an unamused expression while she chuckles. "Will do. How about you? What are you gonna eat?"
"Actually, my break is in a little bit. I have to finish a couple of tasks before someone else takes over, but I'm probably gonna order some fried rice or something."
"Ah okay," she says, watching as Blaise dunks the glass noodles at the very bottom of the pot.
"Let me know if you need anything," I tell them before I'm heading back in the kitchen, where Nea is chopping some bell peppers into paper-thin slices at an alarmingly fast rate.
Quietly, I resume washing some snow peas in the sink, using my hand to make sure all the grime is off. When I decide they're clean enough for people not to get a virus, I put them into a basket strainer, and hand them to Nea, who is tasked with removing a long string along their spines.
Out of nowhere, Ms. Wong plates a dish full of stir-fried string beans and chicken chunks tossed in black bean sauce and hands it to me.
I frown. "No one ordered this."
YOU ARE READING
class of 2013 ✓
Teen FictionRemiya Siu is just trying to get through her senior year in one piece. Between writing articles for the school's newspaper, her part-time job at a local diner, and the piles of assignments she has to plow through for her AP classes, she barely has t...
