Twin rivalry

Chapter 2

Casey:

"What?" I blurted out, staring wistfully at the door of the safe warm cleaning room. I needed a mountain of reeking plates to wash and a radio to repair. Thanks Stacey.

"I want you to serve today," he repeated himself, mopping away the sheen of sweat flooding his forehead with a damp cloth.

Mortified, Stacey tucked her pampered, varnished nails under her armpit. "No way!"

"You have to learn to do it Case. Whilst Stace can keep the customers coming, she can't wash up, and visa versa. I need you to learn."

We both exchanged horrified looks. "Dad I-"

"No Casey. Learn to step out of the shadows," he prompted gently, tugging my hand towards the direction of the counter. "Celia (a worker) will be behind the counter collecting money and ready to help."

I bit my lip, carefully weighing the options. I had a chance to talk to 'buff boy' but there was also a 99.9% chance that I would embarrass myself. I didn't want to be compared.

"She doesn't want to, Dadda!" Stacey screeched, gesturing dramatically at me with her glossy, pouted lips. "Don't make her."

Narrowing my eyes into slits, I gave her an irritated glance for being the source of her excuse.

"Fine," I gritted my teeth, hearing what sounded like gravel crunching inside my head. "I'll do it."

Anxious, I snatched a spare apron from the musty shelf next to me and tied it over my frumpy uniform, before marching stubbornly towards the main room.

"I knew you'd do it, darling!" Dad chuckled from behind me, muffling Stacey's agitated protests.

Suddenly, the reality of my decision sunk in, and knots of nerves tightened themselves around my waist. I felt bile snake up the back of my throat as I pushed open the door and was greeted by thousands of hungry faces. The smell of mouth-watering, savoury food wafted up my nose.

What should I do? Do they come up to me? Awkwardly, I ducked my head and stooped my shoulders as low as I could. Imagine you're invisible! I muttered to myself, wondering why such a task was so difficult for me.

As meek as a mouse, I dragged my feet across the marble, tiled floor towards the counter. Celia's bubbly, glowing face greeted me. "Casey? You're never down here!" She chirped, fumbling for change to give to the impatient looking man on the other side of the cashier.

"I know and I, what do I do?" I hissed, attempting to tame my mane of lion hair by sweeping it into a tight bun, which came loose the moment the support of my hand's left it.

Celia chuckled, ushering the next customer to come forward. So casual, as if it were second nature. "Just go up to any that don't have a plate in front of them, ask them what they would like, list it down on that sheet of paper (she tore a few leftover receipts and gave it to me to write on) and then give it to Marcus."

The line in front of her extended vastly, and I was rudely pushed aside. Who was Marcus? "Celia!" I called out, nudging a few people politely out the way, only to be barged back. BAM! Unexpectedly, I stumbled back on my nimble feet and wedged into a nearby table, shamefully landing between the ketchup and salt. Pain flared up my shoulder as I felt a revolting crack from the impact.

Sheepish, the colour flooded to my cheeks as I tried to get my sprawled body off the table- Only to tug the table cloth with me. Crunch! To my horror, the salt and pepper went along with it, dusting the floor with their mess.