Don't Try the Noodles

Chapter 01

Chapter 01

Bailey

I have lost count of the number of times I wanted to give up during these past four years of my life. But it's strange. No matter how bad things got, I always found some way to push on through. Perhaps the reason I could hold on to hope was that deep down I somehow knew that someday someone would finally come to my rescue. There would be a shoulder to lean on. Words of encouragement. Something better.

It hasn't happened yet. I'm still in the hoping phase.

One thing to celebrate at least is that I'm out of high school. In spite of it, the torment hasn't entirely ended. The ghosts of my past continue to haunt me. The memories. Their hurtful words. When can I escape from them?

Just how long can I go on hoping?

"Excuse me! We're ready to order!"

A group of four teen girls are sitting by the window of my parents' restaurant. The curtains are wide open. The summer sun is too bright. I can't wrap my head around why they chose such an inconvenient table.

As I walk towards them, I feel every one of the girls' burning stares. And with the sun flashing in front of me, it's like I'm under a spotlight.

I should have worn some makeup today. Even if it feels out of place from my regular routine, it still has to have been better than my bare face. Makeup can add the illusion of bigger eyes. A healthier complexion. It can hide the undesirable.

I really should have worn makeup today.

"H-Hi," I stutter to the group.

I feel so small compared to the blonde-haired girl before me. She's wearing eyeliner and mascara which only accent her already beautiful blue eyes. Beauty on top of more beauty. She doesn't wear makeup to hide things. She has nothing to hide.

"Hey," she says.

I can't look at her. I can't look at her equally pretty friends either.

I'm on my shift right now, I remind myself. I've done this a hundred times over. Don't show your shyness. I clear the growing lump in my throat and say, "Welcome to the Cho's Chows. What can I get for you?"

Each person in the group says their order, and I mechanically jot down exactly what I hear. This is the easiest part of my job, listening and occasionally nodding to reassure that I'm still here with them. It's when the spotlight is no longer on me.

I bring their order to the kitchen, where my dad takes the notepaper and automatically gets to work on the required ingredients. He has been doing this for more than two decades. Fried rice and an omelet are no challenges for The Great Master Chef Cho, or simply Master Cho as Ethan likes to say. Actually, both of those titles have originated from him, undoubtedly my dad's number one fan.

"Hey, Bailey. Those girls over there just asked me for my number," Ethan says over the kitchen counter. He nods towards the group by the window.

I pretend to look past him at the girls, but I can only bring my gaze to the drawn curtains in fear of accidentally making eye contact. "Oh. Um, that's nice...?"

"I didn't give it to them though." He leans in closer towards me. "I can't risk Master Cho thinking I'm flirting with people on the job. I have a high reputation to uphold as his apprentice, you know."

"So, you chose my dad over the pretty girls—" I catch myself, having just let the word pretty slip out. My face grows hot. This is why I should never talk much.

Luckily, Ethan looks indifferent to my comment. "I guess they're pretty, but far from my type. I prefer someone with a bit more flair, if you know what I mean. Someone who isn't so easy to get."

Eyeing the scratch marks on Ethan's arm, I say, "Like your cat?"

He laughs. "Maybe. She is quite the beauty."

"Yeah, I can imagine."

"You know, for a girl who doesn't talk much, you're quite funny when you want to be. You should come out of your shell more."

He playfully ruffles the top of my hair with the mannerism of an older brother. Just an older brother. No one would ever think we are dating anyway. Ethan belongs with someone like one of those girls by the window—someone pretty.

I straighten my hair out and return to work without another word. While cleaning a table, I think about what Ethan said.

You should come out of your shell more.

Although I didn't say anything back to that, an honest response would have been that my shell is too thick for me to break out of any time soon. It's not that I have zero hope of ever doing so, but it's just something that will take time. A lot of time.

Four years' worth of plastering myself inside these protective walls will not come crumbling down in an instant. It'll require a lot of confidence and acceptance on my part, both of which I know I severely lack.