Selected of Illèa-A Selection Fanfiction

1

The crisp morning air cooled the empty streets. The sun was just beginning to rise and I was supposed to be at the diner a half hour ago to help prepare some of the morning dishes. Jason will survive just this once.

My brother, Jason, was already cooking up the breakfast. I grabbed my apron and walked over to the counter with a smile.

"Since you love me, can you not tell mom I was late this morning? She'll kill me if she finds out I was late again."

"Anything for my favorite twin," Jason says with a light tap on my head using the pancake spatula.

"You better wash that. That is not sanitary."

"Customers won't care about what they don't know," Jason gestured with the spatula before exaggerating the movement of flipping the pancakes. I sighed louder than necessary so he would hear me and tied the standard black apron on. I picked up the notepad and pen to stick in the big front pocket.

"Lynn better be here soon. I can't deal with the morning rush on my own," I note as I flip the sign. Our restaurant is recognized for its breakfasts. They're amazing, if I do say so myself. But the morning rush is not.

"So, sorry I'm late, I slept in," Lynn apologized as she opened the door and the little bell rang at the top chimed with her arrival.

"Better late than never!" Jason shouted from the kitchen, reminding her of last week when she slept through her entire morning shift.

I almost went back to the kitchen to switch out his spatula for a clean one, but the little bell on the door chimed and a couple walked in. I glanced at the clock which read 7:50, five minutes after we open.

I don't understand how people willingly wake and get ready for breakfast before 8. If I could choose, I'd never wake up before at least 9.

I greeted the couple and sat them at a small table in a more secluded area. I pointed out the menus. I got ready to go through the procedure many more times as costumers filed into the diner. And then come back to the tables and get the orders.

I finally got a break from seating people as the main crowd was already in and went to the kitchen window. "Got any orders ready?"

Jason smiles and answers with a loud yell in my ear. "Order up! Table 7!" I cover my the offended ear with one hand and hit him in the arm with the other. I grab the plate and walk to table seven. "Pancakes with whip cream and strawberries?"

A girl with a pound of make-up snaps at me, signaling it's meant for her. Her dress is too short and shows cleavage-average rich girl. Poor Lynn had to guide her to the booth and take her order. Poor me had to take her the order.

She leans across her table whispers something to her friend along the lines of, "I bet you she was raised a minimum wage waitress." I ignore her comment and hand the protein shake in my other hand to her friend. The poor friend.

I glanced up at the TV screen on the wall to see Queen America reminding us about the upcoming selection. As if we could forget. I bet the girl at table seven already submitted an application this morning. Or even yesterday when the first applications were sent.

I overhear her say to her friend, "I already submitted my  application this morning. I expect to be queen a year from now."

My suspicions were confirmed. What a brat. The prince could be just as stuck up as she is, but he's had a pretty dang good education and I hope that money wasn't wasted on someone stupid enough to pick someone like her.

I feel a sudden ache and I rub my chest. My heart aches. Not in a oh, he broke my heart way. Yeah, no, that would mean I would actually have to have had a boyfriend. The ache is anatomical. I'm beginning to think that after a week, it isn't heart burn from Sunday night spaghetti.