Monica's P.O.V
I'd been sat here at this diner table for what felt like forever. Must've only been maybe ten minutes. But watching the only person on shift dodge your gaze as if you're that much of an eye sore wasn't very entertaining.
Studying my hands, the grazes and little cuts, all the skin peeling around my bitten down nails. Revolving the simple silver bypass ring round and round my finger.
It had been a gift when I was only small. My mother gave it me, although it didn't fit me for the next five years. Now, I can't get it off with out nearly dislocating my finger.
My eyes find the boy behind the till again. His eyes don't find me. They hadn't for the past ten minutes since I'd sat here.
I'd go up and try to order, but I suppose I didn't have the energy or efforts to act witty about how he's avoiding me like plague. Although I knew exactly why.
Billie Joe, behind the cash register, looks as bored as I am. That doesn't prompt him to come ask for my order though. No, instead he seems a million miles away. Vacant eyes staring at nothing in particular.
Yet my vacant eyes stare at him.
I don't know why, maybe I was just dying for a milkshake. Or maybe I didn't care. I suppose anywhere away from Tre's house was nice to be.
Even if I wouldn't be served any time soon.
Billie Joes P.O.V
I'm pulled out of my thoughts when my mom appears beside me. I let out a sigh. She crosses her arms.
"I know you don't enjoy working Billie Joe," She mutters. "But a smile wouldn't curse you,"
"What would I be smiling for," My voice is monotone. I'm tired, I'm irritated, this is the last place I want to be. "There's not even any customers coming in,"
My mom takes a look around, hands now on her hips. That's how I know she's already fed up with my attitude.
She catches sight of Monica. My heart pauses.
"Actually-" I pipe up. "Maybe there's some stuff I can do to keep busy in the back? I'll go have a check Huh?"
I begin to walk away, my mom catches me by the ties behind my back of the apron.
Curse this stupid apron.
"Not so fast." She drags me back. Eyes back to Monica. "How long has that girl been sat there? Have you even served her?"
I look away. Far side of the room away from her. "No," I admit.
"Stood here staring into space? And yet there's a young girl over there still waiting to be served? Need I say more Billie Joe?"
"It's not like that," I huffed, crossing my arms and looking to my mom. "I can't,"
She squints. "You can't?"
"No,"
"And why's that?"
My bottom lips draws under my teeth. For a few silent seconds, I chew it. Hoping it might help me come up with an excuse valuable enough to give my mom.
She stands silently, waiting.
I've got nothing.
"Go over there," She orders. Instantly.
I drop my arms. "Mom I can't,"
"What is it? You've hurt you're ankle, your feet are sore? Or you just can't do your job right,"
