Note to self: learn social skills

Chapter 3

This chapter is brought to you by JULIE who is the single most beautiful person I know. I sent her the first bit to check out for me and she saved it, therefore, saved me five pages of work.

On another happy note: I got my computer back, I have Word on it again, and I'm writing again! Yea!

And more happy news: The next chapter for difference is halfway done. I'm hoping to get it up by Saturday.

Aren't you just jumping for joy now?

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Chapter 3

I get up and get dressed, just as she's asked. The serving uniforms are actually very nice, probably the most professional things I own. The outfit is black and sleek, it hugs my figure and still lets me move.

As I get ready, I take my mom's suggestion and look in the mirror. Really hard. My hair is straight, frizzy, and brown, hanging midway to my elbows. I pull it up as dress code for serving requires and grimace. All I can see is my ears. I really do think they are disproportionately large according to my head. They sort of stick out and hang funny. They are why, despite my frizzy hair condition, I always wear it down.

I really try to look past my ears. My mom tells me all the time people don't generally swoop down to look at them and never look away. I see blue eyes, sort of bland, with this odd mix of green in them. My cheeks are sort of straight. Some girls have those define cheek bones and smooth angled faces. Well, not all of us can get those genes, I guess.

"Katie, come on babes, it's go time." Mom knocks on the door.

I sigh and stick my feet in black shoes and give one more glance in the mirror.

"Yes, you're beautiful, come on!"

I fling open the door and let her drag me away. We meet the rest of the serving staff in the kitchen. Most of the time my mom just takes care of the cleaning and meals during the week, as Mrs. Monroe is the only one consistently home. A cleaning crew comes in twice a week and for special events, we have a set of people put aside for us at the serving company.

"Well, it's happy family night." Mom says, holding a clipboard, "So, let's be as invisible as possible and let them duke it out."

There are a few chuckles. Monroe family dinners rarely erupt into fights unless other family members are involved: AKA Mr. Monroe's mother.

"Juliet," one of the crew members says to my mom, "Which did Mrs. Monroe want, the silver or gold candlesticks?"

"Gold. And shine them first. Okay, is all the food ready?"

I watch my mom run around and smooth things over. Some people might think our life is below them. But my mom was born for this. She loves running around and ordering people about and being in control of everything, and she's really good at it too.

I hear the commotion in the foyer; we all stiffen. Mom grabs my hand and drags me into the hall. I see Mrs. Monroe standing there besides her son, both of them are dressed up; Hal is wearing a tie.

Mr. Monroe's bags come in first. They are Italian leather, held together by state of the art locks, carried by a disgruntled driver. Then Mr. Monroe comes through the door, looking the marble on the floor first, making sure the driver hasn't scuffed it.

"Oh, Henry!" Mrs. Monroe cries. She runs from her place by the stair and launches herself on him, giving him a rather disturbing kiss.

I see Hal wince a little. How gross to see your parents making out? Thank goodness I'll never see that.