Lollipop Love

Chapter 1

C h a p t e r  1

"Hey, waitress!"
"Where's my food?"
"Mommy! We've been waiting forever!"
"Order up!"

Customers shout continuously. Kids are catapulting ice cubes and shooting spitballs. Babies wail mercilessly. The quaint Italian restaurant explodes with hangriness and impatience. I don't notice, though, with my headphones blasting Closer.

'So baby pull me closer in the backseat of your Rover'

I glance around to make sure my boss, Mr. Dortez, isn't near. I close my eyes and lean my head back against the wall. I hug my knees to my chest and embrace the music.

'So baby pull me closer in the backseat of your Rover
That I know you can't afford
Bite that tattoo on your shoulder
Pull the sheets right off the corner'

I sing along softly.

'Of the mattress that you stole
From your roommate back in Boulder
We ain't ever getting older
We ain't ever getting older
We ain't ever getting-'

I jump at the blast of static from my  ear buds. I slowly lift my head, and from under my Twenty One Pilots hoodie, I see my boss. I shift my gaze to see the tattered ear buds hanging limply from his wrinkled hand.

His stern, poorly spray tanned face ignites with fury at my sight. I gulp.

I see Emmalee, my best friend, subtly wandering closer behind Mr. Dortez, worry on her face. My eyes stay glued to the ground as I slowly stand up. Mr. Dortez leans closer. He whispers to me angrily," You imbecile, idiotic b**** Get your sh!t filled head out of the clouds and get back to work. This is your last chance to straighten up, slut."

I feel tears gather in my eyes, but I push them back. Grabbing my earbuds, I run to the bathroom, knowing that Emmalee would meet me there. I quickly wipe the dripping, cheap mascara from under my eyes as she walks in, her heels clacking on the tile.

I whip around to see her rushing in for a hug. I tense up and squeeze my eyes shut. Holding my breath, I wait for the torturous "sign of affection" to pass.

Emmalee finally releases me. She observes my work attire and frowns,"Really, Jazz? Lame band hoodie, ripped jeans and converse?" She clicks her tongue," this isn't McDonald's."

I roll my eyes and turn towards the mirror. She doesn't understand music. Disgusted from my reflection, I decide to face Emmalee again.

"Babe, what happened?" She asks. I shrug. Emm shakes her head and grabs my hands," Wanna come over this weekend? Cade and I are throwing a party."

I cringe. Cade, ugh. Her boyfriend. They're always French kissing and playing tonsil hockey. I hate it, but I gotta support my friend.

What do I say? I can't let her know. I take a deep breath and mumble," I have nothing to wear."

"What?" She asks.

"Sure!" I say, throwing on a fake smile.
Her face brightens and she surprises me with a devious hug. I awkwardly pat her back and then pull away.

Emmalee smiles, pulls my hood off my head, and gleefully skips back out into the restaurant. I sigh and turn back towards the mirror. Ew.

I pull back my hoodie sleeves to see the bright red marks. Disgusted, I yank them back down.

Slightly refreshed from splashing water on my face, I walk back out to the chaotic restaurant. Mr. Dortez glares at me from across the room. I quickly go to a used table and begin cleaning up dishes. I notice how unusually crowded it is today and groan. People, ugh.

I rush around for the next hour, cleaning tables, taking orders, serving ungrateful brats their dessert, and avoiding my boss. Around 5:50, the restaurant becomes busier. I rush around trying to make everyone happy.

I begin to clear off another table, and as I back up to take the nasty dishes to the kitchen, I bump into someone.

I gasp, and think, as I'm falling, it's over. My head hits the ground hard, knocking the breath out of me. The once loud obnoxious surrounding goes quiet. I keep my eyes closed shut. Slimy spaghetti is plastered on my face and I feel the burning bubble of root beer on my hands.

After what feels like eternity, I open my eyes. Mr. Dortez is standing over me, his face beet red and his hands clenched into fists.

His voice rumbles through the room,"Peterman! You're fired!"

I lay there for a few seconds.

"GET OUT! GET OUT!" I hear him scream. I scramble to get up, but I slip on a broken plate. Mr. Dortez, losing his temper, subtly kicks me, hard, in the side. I jump up and run outside, my side aching and my eyes swelling up with tears.

I run a good distance away from the restaurant, then I trip.

"Fuck," I mutter,"Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!"
I yank my fallen hood back on and pathetically limp home. "Home" for me, is the third bench next to the rose bush on the north side of Central Park in New York.

I collapse completely on my bench and cry. I cry for Emmalee and Cade. I cry for the poodle lady and the spoiled brat girl with the curly hair. I cry for all the perfect people with families and homes. They don't cry for me, because they don't know.

None of them know about my bench or my suicidal thoughts. They don't have a clue that I steal soggy fries and slimy meatballs from my former job's kitchen. I scream into the night, tears streaming down my face. I don't care if they stare. Let them. They don't understand.

They never will.

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